Page 39 of Broken Brothers

Well, then again, for all the golf he plays…

“Say what you just said again,” she said. “I need to know what I heard.”

I gulped, and I did. I repeated everything—how they were getting screwed, that I loved her, and that business took a back seat to love.

“You mean everything you say?” she said.

“Unconditionally.”

There was a half-second pause before she jumped on me and began kissing me. What started as a fiery, animalistic tackle, though, quickly became… almost painfully emotional.

We kissed like we would never kiss after that night. We stayed in each other’s arms, refusing to ever drift out of eye contact. I had had some intensely passionate sex before and some wild sex with Layla, but this…

It was very different. It was almost too much to handle, but for Layla, I swore to take it.

Her eyes never left mine. Sex almost became an afterthought—what we experienced felt like a spiritual connection, the kind where two minds become one. I could see the pain in Layla’s eyes, the trouble of heavy burden, and everything that followed.She could see my hesitation in love, and how much courage it had taken me to admit what I had. She saw the grief I had gone through, and I could see her heartbreak.

Finishing felt less like a physical reward than an emotional one. As corny as it sounds, I got choked up when I looked into my eyes after finishing. I kissed her gently, like I wanted nothing bad to ever happen to her, and that’s because I really didn’t. Even at the risk of my own career, I never wanted her to get hurt.

When she lay beside me, she did something expected in the moment but unexpected just twenty minutes before.

She began to cry.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

I knew she wasn’t OK. What we had just experienced went far beyond words and feelings. To say “I’m OK” was a lie, because even if nothing business-related had popped up tonight, what we had just went through would disturb and unsettle even the calmest of souls.

“I don’t wanna… I can’t talk about it right now.”

She sniffled some and I pulled her in even closer.

“Just… promise me that what you said is real.”

“Of course,” I said, wondering how it could not be.

“No, I mean it, Chance,” she said. “Promise me that you love me, no matter what.”

I had no idea why she was asking that question, and it left me a bit uncomfortable that she had to ask it. But I wouldn’t have said those words if they were anything but unconditional. And nothing meant unconditional quite like “no matter what.”

“I promise, Layla Taylor,” I said, kissing her on the forehead. “I love you.”

16

TWO YEARS AGO

Christmas had come for us once more, and as was custom, the Hunts would get to go to a gala and an expensive auction with all of their other rich friends in the Connecticut and the New York area.

And, as was custom, because I wasn’t a real Hunt, I didn’t get to go.

My status as an adopted son, as opposed to Morgan, a real son, rarely manifested itself in real life. The emotional and mental scars were real, and I would never quite move past it, but being excluded practically rarely unfolded in such an obvious manner. The yearly Christmas gala, however, was one such example.

“Trust me, Chance,” Morgan said as he put on his dress socks. “You have it good. Do you think I want to go to this ridiculous event? I’m just going to shake hands, hear people tell me I’m growing into a fine young man, smile, and then wish I was back at Columbia doing shots at a party.”

“Don’t be a shithead, Morgan,” I said with a wave of my hand… although I actually didn’t mind not going. It felt toostuffy and ridiculous for my own personal tastes. “You never know which of these people will someday be your boss.”

“Uhh, now you don’t need to be ridiculous, my future boss is on the other side of this place getting ready with Mom,” he said with an eye roll. “You really think the old man would let me go anywhere else?”

“Probably not,” I said. “Good thing I have that flexibility.”