Page 63 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Brian

Southampton, England

After one last stop to wander the beaches of S?o Miguel, Portugal, we were back in England, and I couldn’t believe three weeks had passed so quickly.

The gangplank stretched before us, a bridge to reality that I wasn't ready to cross. Southampton's gray sky pressed down like a weight, and I could feel the familiar armor of my old life trying to reassemble itself around my shoulders as passengers were bustled into a baggage claim and customs area.

I adjusted my carry-on bag and glanced at Enzo beside me, noting the way his usual easy confidence had been replaced by something more fragile. His dark eyes kept darting between the crowd below and me, like he was searching for reassurance that this wasn't where we said goodbye. The thought of separation made my chest tight with an anxiety I'd never experienced before—not the manageable stress of work deadlines or financial planning, but something primal and desperate that threatened to overwhelm my carefully constructed emotional defenses. Gemma walked just in front of us, her knuckles white on the strap of her purse.

"I'm not ready for this to be over,”

I whispered to Enzo and Gemma as we entered the customs line. She turned to face us, smiling.

Enzo's hand found mine, fingers intertwining with a grip that felt like an anchor.

"Then don't let it be over,"

Gemma said.

Enzo nodded.

"We figured out how to make it work on the ship. We can figure out how to make it work on land."

We gathered our luggage, and were swept efficiently through customs, and before I knew it, we were stepping outside into the drizzly Southampton afternoon.

The crowd outside the cruise port was a sea of faces, reunion hugs, and taxi drivers holding signs. I was scanning for Gemma's arranged car service when a familiar figure near the Uber pickup area made my blood freeze. Tousled dark blonde hair, that boyish smile that had charmed teachers, employers, and women for thirty years, expensive clothes that didn't quite hide the desperate edge around his eyes.

Jake.

My younger brother stood there like some fucking ghost from a life I'd been trying to leave behind, his presence an unwelcome reminder that reality had sharp edges and complicated histories. The sight of him sent rage and protective instinct warring in my chest, but I forced myself to maintain the steady pace down the gangplank even as my jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth.

"What is it?"

Enzo asked, his voice immediately alert to the change in my posture.

"My brother,"

I said, my voice coming out flat and controlled.

"Jake's here."

I felt Enzo tense beside me, his grip on my hand tightening protectively.

As we stepped forward, Jake's eyes found mine across the crowd. His expression shifted from casual confidence to something like shock as he took in the way Enzo and I stood together, the obvious intimacy in our body language, the way my arm remained firmly around his waist despite the public setting. Behind us, Gemma was chatting with another passenger, and hope flared in my chest that maybe she hadn’t seen my idiot brother.

Before I could second-guess myself, I turned to face Enzo fully, my free hand cupping his jaw as I pressed a soft, deliberate kiss to his lips. The gesture was tender but unmistakably possessive, a clear statement of ownership and affection that anyone watching would understand. Enzo's eyes widened, but he leaned into the touch with a small smile that made my heart race.

"Take Gemma to the waiting area for the car service,"

I murmured against his ear, my voice low and urgent.

"I'll deal with my brother."

"Brian—"

he started, but I cut him off with a look.

"Please,"

I said, and something in my tone must have conveyed the seriousness of the situation because he nodded immediately.

“I don’t want her to have to deal with him.”

"Of course. But if you need us—"

"I know."

I squeezed his hand once more before releasing him, watching as he turned to intercept Gemma with that easy charm that had first caught my attention weeks ago. Within moments, he was guiding her toward the line of limousines, his hand on her back as he bent to whisper something in her ear that made her glance back at me with concerned eyes.

Then I was alone with Jake, the crowd flowing around us like water around stones. He approached with that familiar swagger, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands kept fidgeting with his phone. Up close, he looked like shit, his clothes hung loose, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"What the fuck is going on, Brian?"

he said without preamble, his voice pitched low but carrying that edge of desperate anger I remembered from our teenage years.

"Why did you go on my honeymoon cruise with Enzo? And, apparently, with my fiancée?"

The possessive pronoun made something violent twist in my gut, but I kept my voice level as I gestured toward a quieter corner beside the building we’d just exited.

"Let's talk."

Jake followed, his expensive loafers clicking against the concrete. When we were out of earshot of the main crowd, I turned to face him fully, taking in every detail of his appearance with the analytical precision that had served me well in business negotiations. The subtle tremor in his hands, the way his eyes kept darting around like he was looking for escape routes, the careful way he held himself that spoke of a man barely maintaining control.

"I've had enough,"

I said, my voice quiet but carrying the kind of authority that made clients sit up and pay attention.

"I'm done watching you hurt people who don't deserve it. I'm done cleaning up your messes. And I'm especially done watching you treat someone like Gemma as if she's just another mark in whatever con you're running."

Jake's face went through a series of expressions—surprise, indignation, and finally something like panic.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Gemma and I were engaged. We were supposed to get married."

"Were you?"

I asked, my voice taking on the same tone I used when reviewing suspect financial documents.

"Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you targeted a successful woman, convinced her to pay for an expensive cruise, then disappeared when it came time to actually commit. That's not love, Jake. That's fraud."

The accuracy of my assessment hit home. I watched his carefully constructed facade crack, revealing the desperate man underneath. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and for a moment I thought he might actually try to hit me. Instead, he deflated, his shoulders sagging with the weight of whatever lies he'd been carrying.

"You don't understand,"

he said, his voice breaking.

"I'm in trouble, Brian. Real trouble. I owe people money, and they're not the kind of people who accept payment plans. That’s why I left for Bali."

"How much?"

I asked, though part of me already knew the answer would be devastating.

"Fifty thousand. Maybe more with interest."

The words came out in a rush, like he was afraid that saying them slower would make them more real.

"I thought... I thought if I could get Gemma to the altar, maybe I could figure something out. Access to her accounts, or at least buy myself some time. But they came after me before I could."

The casual way he talked about exploiting someone who'd trusted him made my vision go red around the edges. I took a step closer, using my slight height advantage to loom over him the way I had when we were kids and he'd done something particularly stupid.

"Fifty thousand dollars,"

I repeated, my voice deadly quiet.

"And your solution was to con an innocent woman into marriage."

"She's not innocent,"

Jake said, desperation making him cruel.

"She's a businesswoman. She knows how these things work."

"No,"

I said, my voice cutting through his justifications like a blade.

"She's a woman who deserves to be loved for who she is, not what she can provide. She's brilliant and passionate and generous, and she trusted you with her heart. That's not something you exploit—that's something you protect."

Jake stared at me, something like recognition flickering in his eyes.

"You're fucking her."

"I'm in love with her,"

I corrected, letting the words hang between us like a challenge.

“Then why the fuck were you kissing my best friend?”

I shrugged, a confident smirk tilting the corners of my mouth.

"I’m in love with him, too. What I have with him? It’s what an actual relationship looks like, Jake. Not whatever twisted arrangement you were planning."

For a moment, we stood in silence, the weight of years of disappointment and enabling stretching between us. I could see him calculating, trying to figure out if there was an angle he could work, some way to turn this situation to his advantage. The realization that he was still scheming, even now, made my decision easier.

I reached for my wallet, pulling out my spare apartment key and three hundred dollars in cash.

"Here's what's going to happen,"

I said, pressing both into his hands.

"You're going to take this money and get a hotel room for tonight. Tomorrow, you're going to fly to Philadelphia and move into my condo. I’ll cover the association fees for now, but eventually you’re going to have to cover that. Then get a fucking job and start paying those assholes back. Everything you owe."

Jake's eyes widened, his fingers closing around the key and cash with desperate gratitude.

"Brian, I can't—"

"You can, and you will,"

I said firmly.

"But there are conditions. You get a job—a real job, not some get-rich-quick scheme. You pay your debts honestly, even if it takes years. And you stay the hell away from Gemma and anyone else you might be tempted to use."

"What about you?"

he asked, his voice small.

"Where will you live?"

I glanced over toward the luggage area, where I could see Enzo and Gemma waiting for me with matching expressions of concern and love. The sight of them together—my chosen family, my future—made my chest tight with emotion.

"I'll figure it out,"

I said, turning back to Jake.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but something in my expression must have convinced him that this was the best deal he was going to get. He pocketed the cash and key, his shoulders straightening slightly as some of the desperate panic left his features.

"Thank you,"

he said quietly, and for a moment he sounded like the brother I'd grown up with instead of the stranger he'd become.

"I know I don't deserve this."

"No," I agreed.

"you don't. But Mom will be heartbroken if something happens to you. Don't make me regret this, Jake."

He nodded, then turned and walked away without looking back. I watched him disappear into the crowd, feeling a complex mix of relief and sadness. The brother I'd known was gone, had been gone for years. But maybe, with enough time and distance, he could become someone worth knowing again.

As I turned, I saw that Enzo and Gemma were standing much closer than I’d expected. They’d heard everything.

And Gemma's face was pale as Mediterranean marble, her green eyes wide with the kind of shock that comes from having your entire reality rewritten in real time. She stood frozen, her elegant posture rigid with the effort of processing what she'd obviously overheard. Enzo's hand rested protectively on her shoulder, but his dark eyes were fixed on me with a mixture of concern and something that looked dangerously like pride.

“You love us?”

she whispered.

Not where I’d expected her to go with that. And I felt instantly bashful, scratching the back of my head as I looked anywhere but at them.

“Um, yeah. And sorry about Jake—”

“Whatever. Fuck him,”

she said, a grin spreading across her face.

“You love us.”

“I didn’t mean to say that yet,”

I muttered.

“But you do!”

Enzo cheered.

“Which is good, because we love you back.”

Gemma smacked his shoulder.

“I didn’t say it yet!”

“Oh, sorry. I love you back. Gemma, on the other hand, has feelings that are—”

“Also love,”

she interrupted, beaming.

“For both of you.”

Instead of continuing their idiotic banter, I kissed her. Not the passionate, hungry kisses we'd shared in private, but something tender and claiming. My lips moved against hers with gentle insistence, pouring everything I couldn't say into that single point of contact. I felt her melt into me, her hands fisting in my shirt as she kissed me back with desperate need.

When we finally broke apart, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"Don’t worry about Jake. I never loved him. He never loved me,"

she whispered.

“I didn’t even know what love meant until I met you and Enzo.”

Enzo's arm slipped around both of us, creating a protective circle in the middle of the bustling airport.

"Come on, my loves,"

he said, his voice gentle but firm.

"Let's get out of here. You both look like you're about to collapse from stress."

The drive to Gemma's apartment was a blur of traffic and quiet conversation. She'd hired a sleek BMW limousine, and the three of us cuddled in the back while the driver navigated the busy roads.