Chapter 22 Angie
ANGIE
“So we just say, ‘Hey, we’re dating’, and move on?” I ask as I pace the floor in Brandon’s living room.
“Eh, um, not quite like that I’d hope.”
I look over at him, leaning forward on the couch, with his elbows resting on his knees, and a pensive look on his handsome face.
We’re three weeks away from Christmas, and today we’re telling his brothers, and then next week we’re telling our families that we’re dating.
To say my nerves are through the roof is an understatement.
The holidays are supposed to be a joyful time, and here we are about to ruin it.
When I talked to my therapist last week and this morning, she said the fear of rejection will likely cause me to spiral more than the possibility of acceptance. I’ve talked with Brandon about how this may cause a backslope, and he’s reassured me that he’s with me through it all.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just—I’m nervous. Okay, they’re your brothers and…” I clamp my mouth shut because this is not how I intended to do this.
“Yes…?”
Here it goes. “And, I love you.”
If it’s possible for a man to get bashful, I just noticed that look on his face. I think I was waiting for the right time to tell Brandon I loved him, but when is any time the right time?
“I love you too,” he tells me, patting the spot on the couch next to him.
“I don’t care how my brothers react,” he begins, and I arch an eyebrow in a sure movement, which he backtracks, “okay, I do care. But whether they react positively or negatively, it’s not going to stop me from loving you or choosing to be with you.
Because if it comes down to you or my family, I choose you. ”
I’ve gone my whole life without being a first choice and hearing it from Brandon reinforces the love I feel for him is real.
I reach my hand up, lightly caressing his cheek, and I lean in with the intent to kiss him, because telling someone you love them and then being told that they choose you, a kiss is the natural next step.
But a knock on the door, signaling his brothers’ arrival, sends us both on high alert.
“We’ll be okay,” he says and kisses me on the tip of my nose before getting up and answering the door.
My heart beats like I just sprinted the final quarter mile in a marathon. I put my hair up and take it down, repeating that in the three minutes it takes for Brandon to open the door and hear him and his brothers talking in the foyer.
“What is so important that you needed us here to tell us?” The question is asked steps from the living room, and suddenly, I want to throw up. The ring on my thumb gets rotated more than my tires have in the last month as I wait for them to appear.
“Just go into the living room and I will tell you,” Brandon says, and I know him well enough to tell when he’s frustrated. Like now.
Ford is the first to see me standing at the end of the couch, twisting my hands in front of me. Followed by Evan, Malcolm, and Brandon bringing up the rear.
“What is she doing here?” Malcolm asks with venom.
Okay. Ouch.
“Watch it,” Brandon barks.
Seeing the Hayes brothers in the light of day makes me realize they’re still healing. Yes, it may look different for everyone, but their shock and anger at seeing me, one of the root causes of their pain, is proof of that.
“How long?” Ford, the youngest and who looks the most like Brandon, asks. Evan and Malcolm turn their heads to Ford, who looks back at them. “What? We can all assume that’s why she’s here.”
Brandon gives me the go-ahead to tell them. “About six months.”
“What?” and “How!” and so many profanities are thrown out that it’s hard to make sense of it. Did I know they would react this way? Yes. Is it upsetting they’re acting this way? Yes.
“How could you?” Malcolm spits at Brandon.
“How could I, what?” Brandon throws back.
It’s no secret they butt heads, Brandon has told me, and I can see it so clearly now.
When we were younger, I couldn’t, mainly because I kept to myself and Brandon spent time with the older kids.
But on the rare occasion when I was forced to “mingle with kids my own age”, these boys were it.
“So what are we, your testers?” Evan asks. I think he might be the most accepting. It’s hard to look at him because he looks so much like James that he’s a reminder of what they lost. Maybe that’s how they feel when they look at me.
Brandon comes to stand between us like his brothers are prepared to launch at me. “Yeah, basically. We don’t want to hide anymore. And I don’t want any secrets between us.”
“Seems like you should’ve kept this one in the vault,” Malcolm snarls.
“Malcolm,” Brandon sighs, seemingly over his brother's attitude.
“She’s a Taylor,” he says, like it makes a difference.
“I can’t change my last name any more than you can change how much you loathe your brother,” I speak up, tired of the hate being spewed, and stand next to Brandon.
“You can hate me and who my brother was, but it doesn’t change the fact that Brandon and I fought against everything to be together.
You think he and I went into this easily?
We didn’t. So you can hate my brother for taking yours away, but be lucky you still have each other. I’m alone now. Don’t you see that?”
I hold each of their stares as Brandon wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him and placing a kiss on my temple.
From the way their eyes flare, the act surprises them at seeing their older brother display affection like he’s never done before.
And it’s possible that he hasn’t. From what I understand, Brandon never had a romantic relationship when he came back home.
“I’m late for work,” Malcolm says, breaking the tense silence and turning toward the door. Evan and Ford look after their brother like they don’t know him.
If I was in their shoes, would I react the same way?
The slamming of the front door has us all jumping.
“Well, as long as you two are happy, we’re happy,” Ford says with a smile, and I’m grateful that he’s accepting. “Looks like Mom is getting a daughter-in-law after all.”
“Whoa,” Brandon says, slowing them and me down. “We’re not quite there yet.”
“Oh, please. You told us. Now your next step is the parents.”
“And look how well Malcolm took it,” I mutter.
“Well, we approve. We know you’re not your brother. And Malcolm will understand that,” Ford claims, and he really does look like Brandon in this instance. “B, will you take us home? Malcolm insisted on driving us even though he knew he had to work.”
“Yeah,” he looks down at me and makes sure that I’m okay after the last thirty minutes.
“Go. I have to get ready for work anyways,” I tell him and wave bye to his brothers.
Once I hear their chatter fade and the front door close, I rush through getting ready for work with Malcolm’s fire department in the forefront of my mind.
I pull into one of the empty spaces in front of the firehouse.
Windows that frame the upper half of the building follow a path to the front door.
My context clues are telling me that if I go inside, I’ll find Malcolm.
I’ve never stepped foot inside a firehouse before.
Most of my experience comes from television shows, and I decide to go that way but veer toward the open garage where I see some of the guys working on the trucks.
“Hi, I’m looking for Malcolm,” I ask one of the guys.
He sizes me up, maybe thinking I’m a scorned lover, before nodding. “Be right back.”
I walk a few paces away from the open area, pulling my coat tighter to ward off the December chill, when I hear footsteps.
“What?”
I turn around and face him. “You have some nerve,” I begin.
“I have nerve?” he asks, like he wasn’t totally out of pocket earlier.
“Yes! Your brother is happy for the first time in his life. Do you know how nervous he was to even tell you guys?”
He crosses his muscular arms over his chest in a defensive pose. “I’d be happy if it wasn’t you.”
“You wanna yell at me? Do it. You wanna throw a teenage tantrum? Go ahead. You wanna yell at my brother? I can give you directions to the cemetery and his plot number.” The furrow in his brow smoothes when I yell that out.
“I hate my brother for doing what he did to your family. I hate him! Do you think this was easy for either of us? He’s a Hayes, I’m a Taylor.
We knew that people would either come to the idea of loving us together or they’d revolt. ”
“So break up,” he says, like it’s that easy.
“I can’t,” I tell him and bite my bottom lip to stop the trembling, but he notices.
“Your brother is light and goodness and brings so much happiness to me and everyone around. I’ve seen it every day for the past six months.
But you’re so hellbent on winning the race for Best Son that you are on a fast track to pushing everyone away. From pushing him away.”
Over his shoulder, I can see we’ve garnered the attention of his co-workers.
“I love your brother, Malcolm,” I whisper, my throat tight from emotion.
“He anchors me to this world when I’ve needed something—someone to keep me in it for years, and by some twist of fate, we fell in love.
You don’t have to agree with it or love us together right away.
But hating me, and continuing to loathe your brother over some one-sided competition fueled by your jealousy, will cause you to lose him, and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself. ”
I wait for him to say something. Anything. But the longer we stand here, the quicker I realize that Malcolm will be the toughest of the Hayes brothers to accept mine and Brandon’s relationship.
“When you’re ready to be an adult and have an adult conversation, I’ll be working at Blue Pint Outpost until closing.”
With a tired sigh, I hop back into my car and head to work.
We can’t force people to accept our relationship right off the bat.
I mean, we kept our relationship a secret for months because we wanted to be sure that we were more than temporary.
So, of course, it’s going to take more than six seconds for people to be happy for us.
But his brothers are different. I don’t know what their home life was like after James, since they still had each other.
And maybe that’s on me for assuming that just because James died, they kept their joy.
I’m wiping down the bar from my last customer when a familiar figure in a gray hoodie, dark-washed jeans, and a dark blue jacket over top with a dark maroon beanie takes a seat at a barstool in front of me.
“I heard you went to talk to my brother.”
“Did I overstep?” I ask.
“No, Angel. You didn’t overstep. But from what Ford relayed to me, he deserved it. So good job,” he tells me and takes his beanie off, ruffling his hair in the process.
I give him a tight smile. “Thanks. So, are you finally going to let me serve you a drink? My reputation as a bartender is slowly tanking.”
His perfectly straight, white teeth flash with a smile. “Yes. Have at it.”
I make sure he can’t see what I’m making for him and present it to him in a tumbler garnished with lime a couple minutes later. “I present to you, The Angie.”
Brandon arches a brow at me, and I feel Joe hovering on my left side.
“Okay. Fine,” I deflate. “It’s just vodka, peach schnapps, and cranberry juice. Better?”
“Much better,” Brandon says and takes a sip. “Whoa.”
“Too much vodka?” I ask, nervous that I got the measurements wrong.
He shakes his head and takes another sip. “Nope. It’s perfect.”
“Hi. Can we get a round of The Angie too?” a group of women at a table behind Brandon asks.
“Told you. Perfect,” he says with a smug smile.
I get to work on making drinks for that table and inform Hannah of what’s going on. When word gets out through social media, this place gets packed for a cold December night, and we actually have to turn people away. Plus, we ran out of everything to make the drink.
A couple hours later, I finally come around to stand next to Brandon without a bar between us. The night had slowed down, and he hadn’t complained about my being busy. I lay my heavy head on his shoulder and breathe in his clean linen scent.
“You’re a rockstar, you know that?”
I sigh wistfully. “I know.”
Brandon opens his mouth, but movement behind him distracts me, and he turns to look at what’s caught my eye. “What exactly did you say to my brother?”
“Say or yell?” I ask and kiss Brandon on the cheek before moving back behind the bar.
“Hey,” I hear Malcolm tentatively greet.
“Hi. What can I get ya?” I ask, putting on my best customer service voice.
“Nothing for me. Angie, I wanted to say that I’m sorry.
And you were right.” He places his radio on the bar and takes a seat next to Brandon, and while they don’t look exactly like a mirror image of each other like the other two, you can still tell they’re related.
“Brandon, it’s hard for me to be around you.
You had a lot more time with James than I did and I guess I just got jealous and decided to take it out on you in my own way.
So, I am sorry. And I am happy for you—the both of you. ”
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“Yeah, thank you.”
Malcolm looks like he’d rather be anywhere than here anymore. And who’s to blame him? He’s been holding onto James’s loss like it just happened.
“Well, I should get going. My rig is waiting,” he says and gets up. “I promise I won’t tell Mom and Dad until you do.”
“Thanks, Malcolm in the Middle.”
“Bye, rollie pollie.”
I feel my eyebrows scrunched by the nickname, and I open my mouth to comment about the name, when Brandon says, “Don’t say it.”
“My lips are sealed,” I say and get back to work with a smile on my face for the rest of the night.