Page 35 of Broken Brothers

“Now, here’s the deal,” she said, disappearing under the covers. “You sit back, relax, and enjoy, OK?”

“I suppose I cou—”

I didn’t even get to finish before her lips had wrapped around my dick. I knew when not to press my luck.

I closed my eyes, leaned my head back, and thanked heavens that I finally had the perfect gal and the perfect situation.

14

THREE YEARS AGO

“You’re sure you don’t want to marry her?”

I sat outside the doorway to Morgan’s room. This was risky, but I was also way too old to get in trouble if I got caught. Winter break of our first semester at Columbia had just ended and we’d returned to the Hunt Manor in Connecticut. As soon as we’d gotten home, things returned to normal—I felt ostracized, or at least ignored, while Morgan became the darling of the family.

But there was another point of contention that had come up, one that Mr. Hunt had tried to be subtle about but, failing to recognize the gossip skills of teenagers, had failed to keep quiet. He had wanted Morgan to date and marry the daughter of one of his interested business partners, the better to facilitate a deal that would double the wealth of the Hunt family, if not more. I had known which daughter he was talking about—a woman named Felicia—and she was gorgeous, fierce, and stunning.

But moving away to a new school had done something for both Morgan and I.

It had shown us the kind of draw we had for women, to the point that we sometimes just flat out refused to go out to partybecause of how many girls we had coming our way. The idea of marrying someone seemed laughable and impossible. Even if Mr. Hunt had promised something beyond the family company to Morgan, there was just no way it was going to happen.

“Yes, Dad, I’m sure.”

There were many more reasons that this arranged marriage would not work. Felicia was fierce, but not in an extroverted, in your face manner. Instead, she was more on the quiet side, like an alligator—she spent most of her time in the calm of the waters, but when she had to strike, she would do so without inhibition. Morgan, on the other hand, had become like his father—brash, cocky, and a little bit too shameless. I couldn’t hate too much, as I shared those characteristics with him, but still.

She also was much more worldly than Morgan, which was a strange thing to say considering how much Morgan had traveled. The reality was, though, Morgan would rather have spent the rest of his life in New York City and worked on a business than travel, while Felicia constantly talked about opening a non-profit in Africa or Asia. The two wanted very different lifestyles.

They only shared coming from billionaire families and that they were both attractive. Other than that, though, they had nothing.

“Well, then, son, whoever you do wind up with, you had better make sure they bring a good name to the Hunt family,” Mr. Hunt said. “We take this name very seriously, and we are very careful about what we do with it.”

“I’m aware, Dad.”

The two went back and forth. I looked up at one point and was surprised to see Mrs. Hunt, of all things, sobbing in the hallway. Having heard what I needed to, I went forward and putmy hand on her shoulder. Without saying a word, Mrs. Hunt embraced me as tears began to fall freely.

“Is everything OK?” I asked, knowing the answer was no… but not really knowing why.

“I just don’t want Morgan to do something he doesn’t want to do,” Mrs. Hunt said, wiping away tears. “Edwin is pushing so hard for him to marry her, but…”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Mrs. Hunt,” I said, squeezing her tight.

Mrs. Hunt pulled back, kissed me on the forehead, and gave a long sigh.

“No marriage every facilitated by a Hunt has ever ended well or in happiness,” she said. “None.”

The way she emphasized the word… the way she said Hunt so strongly…

Oh God. Oh no.

“You understand now, dear,” she said.

I did. It all made sense now. Whenever Mrs. Hunt would just randomly zone out, going into a zombie-like trance, it wasn’t because she was sick. It was because she was wondering what an alternative life would look like, one in which she got to spend more time with a man, perhaps closer to her age, who loved her. She was trapped in a marriage filled with money but lacking in support, excitement, or love.

Suddenly, the idea of romance, already weak for me because of my past dating encounters, seemed even weaker. If the only parents I had ever known had a relationship so bad that the mother would tell me about it… what did that say for the rest of them?

“I guess love isn’t so easy, huh,” I said, sighing.

But Mrs. Hunt tightened her grip on my shoulders, looking at me closely.