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  Copyright 2017 M. Dauphin

  Cover design © 2017 Inked Imprints

  There was a time in my life I thought the only thing that mattered was if my eyebrows were waxed and my hair was freshly colored. There was a time when I would walk into a store and stare at the moms and their screaming kids like they were the plague, eye rolls and all when their child wouldn’t calm the hell down.

  And then?

  Then I had a baby.

  That day I thought my entire life was ending. I told myself I’d put him up for adoption so I could keep on with my plan of finishing college and getting that job at the veterinarian clinic I wanted so badly. I told myself I couldn’t love something that was about to ruin my plan. Especially since the entire reason I was pregnant in the first place was some drunken one night stand. I didn’t want a baby that reminded me of that mistake.

  It didn’t matter what I told myself, however.

  The minute I laid eyes on the beautiful baby boy I was a goner.

  At twenty two years old, I was a single mother.

  At twenty four years old I struggled with my son, forcing food down his throat when the chemo meds destroyed his body from the inside out.

  Then, at twenty-seven, I buried my son. My reason to breathe.

  Now, here I sit. On my brother’s couch, listening to his monthly lecture about ‘growing up.’

  It all started about six months after the funeral; when I lost my apartment. When Sam died, I simply lost every will to live that I had. I stopped going to work immediately, and after a while the paychecks from the clinic stopped being deposited. I lost my car to the bank and sat at my kitchen window, watching while they towed it away. When I did leave my apartment, it was only during nighttime when I didn’t have to face the bright sunshine of the daylight hours. Happy things angered me for the longest time. It wasn’t until I lost my apartment that I was forced to accept life without Sam. So my brother took me in, him and all his millions of dollars that is. He’s been supporting me ever since.

  I’ve tried multiple times to get back on my feet, but every time I think I’m ahead in life, I always lose that grasp and fall miserably back down to rock bottom.

  This time? This time I was laid off from the restaurant down the street for throwing a glass of wine on a paying customer who decided that my ass would make a good napkin for his rib sauce soaked hands.

  He deserved it. I have no regrets.

  “Lauren, you can’t spend the rest of your life angry at the world,” Chris says, pacing the room. He only uses my real name when he’s super angry. I guess he was banking on me getting my shit together more than I was.

  “I’m not angry at the world,” I quip, tucking my legs under me on the oversized Italian leather sofa. “I simply don’t care, Chris.” I force a grin at him and he shakes his head. He lets out a strangled chuckle and rakes his hands through his hair.

  “I need you to care, Lo. It’s been long enough. You have to get over this.”

  The knife permanently implanted in my cold, dead heart twists, and though I thought the pain was over, it never really is. I narrow my eyes at him and stand before walking over to meet him face to face.

  “You know nothing about what I went through, Chris. You weren’t there for me. At all. No one was, so don’t you dare tell me I need to just ‘get over it.’” I hiss, swallowing back tears. “You’ve never loved anything in your life but your job. I hope you never have to endure the pain of burying your own child. Ever.” I glare into his deep brown eyes and shake my head in disgust, then storm off towards my side of the condo.

  “I’m sorry Lo!” he yells. “Shit,” I hear him huff before a loud noise, probably him punching the wall, rings through the empty hallway.

  He’ll never understand, and not that I ever want him to either, but I have no will anymore. Yes, I’m almost thirty without a career. I could have one. I did for a short while, but I don’t have that drive anymore. It’s like I’m on auto-pilot but I like it that way. Wake up, do whatever I want, go to bed. Sometimes (if I have a job) I’ll go into work. If not, my days are spent in bed watching reruns of shows I’ve seen a million times. My brother disagrees with my way of life, but until I decide differently, this is the way it stays. I’d rather live this way than have to deal with feelings and emotions of any kind.

  I love my brother, and I know he’d do anything for me, but we’re different people. I no longer crave the life I used to. Hell, I used to love animals and have this daily craving to go to the clinic and help them. I loved it. Now, I see no point in it. Death happens. Always. Why just prolong the inevitable? Sure, sometimes I wish I had the drive I used to, but then I think back to how it all quickly fell apart and I forgo the mission of caring.

  It’s easier this way.

  I groan when the sun pierces my eyes from my open window and move to close the blinds immediately. I spend so much time inside nowadays that even the sunlight coming in through the windows bothers me. Some may say this is no way to live.

  Fuck them.

  A knock on my door makes me roll my eyes. He’s never able just to let shit go.

  “Lo, can you let me in please?” Chris’ voice sounds sincerely apologetic but I don’t buy it. Not this time. He’s always hounding me about getting over it and moving on. My baby died! I shouldn’t have to deal with it yet!

  “It’s unlocked,” I huff, laying down on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. The recessed lighting is even too bright for my eyes today. I’m trying to be numb to feelings anymore, but being told to get over my kid’s death really puts a damper on that plan.

  The door clicks open and his footsteps approach the bed.

  “I’m sorry, Lo,” he whispers, sitting on the bed next to me.

  “You suck, Chris.” I whisper the words because anything else will make the emotions come up I’d rather not have.

  “I’m just worried about you.”

  “So you tell me the one thing I don’t need to hear.” I let out a hard chuckle and scoot back to sit up.

  “I’m not good with this shit, Lo. You know this.”

  “Yea,” I chuckle harshly. “Trust me. I know.”

  He huffs and stands up, walking over to the window.

  “I think you should take the job I offered.” He spins to watch my reaction, which I feel I’m doing a good job of masking. “It’s steady pay, not stressful, work stays at work and you can set your own hours.”

  “Thank you, Chris. I appreciate it. But I’m not working for you.”

  He takes a breath and shoves his hands in his pockets. Pockets that probably cost more than I have in my bank account right now. It’s amazing how different our lives turned out. We shared the same mom so we lived together most of our lives, but his dad was well off and my biological
dad was nowhere to be found. He had things handed to him. I’ve always had to work for them. Not saying I don’t like handouts, because living here rent-free for the time being is pretty snazzy. I’m just saying he seemed to have it easier because of the money.

  “You wouldn’t be working for me,” he all but growls. “You’d be under Brian.”

  “Ooo I’ve always liked Brian.” I grin and flick my eyebrows up, stretching my legs out.

  “Not like that- fuck, Lo!”

  I let out a laugh and paste on a smile for him.

  “I know, big bro, but I’m really okay. I have a few leads for something that will be good for me. Promise.” I lie. Standing from the bed, I walk over and wrap my arms around him as he hugs me back.

  “You promise?”

  “What?” I pull back and grin at him. “You don’t like me living here already? It hasn’t been that long. I didn’t think you’d tire of me yet.” I’m giving him a hard time, but I honestly know it’s about time for me to get out of here. I just need to be able to care again… and I don’t care about caring or not.

  Jesus I’m fucked up.

  “You know I love having you here. I just don’t want you to ruin your life.” He’s trying, but he’s too late.

  No one in my family wanted to help when I had a kid. No one wanted to help when he was sick. I was the black sheep but I was determined… and look how far that’s gotten me.

  I roll my eyes and walk back to the bed. “Trust me, it was ruined earlier this year, Chris.” I plop down and pull the covers back up to my chin. “I’m taking a nap if you’re finished with me.” I roll over, away from his gaze, and close my eyes. It takes him a moment to move, but when he does I can hear his hesitation. He knows I’m closed off to the world. He’ll never understand, and he’ll never stop trying to turn me into someone else. Listening for his footsteps, I wait until the door is closed to will myself to sleep.

  The consistent buzzing of my phone wakes me from my dream. A dream of a better life I obviously never had a chance of. A dream of hot men, no money worries, and all the brilliant food in the world without gaining a pound.

  Ha! That shit only happens in romance books.

  “What? Shit, hang on…” I mutter into the phone as I try to unplug it without throwing shit off my nightstand.

  “Lauren?”

  “Bex?” I glance at the clock. Three forty in the afternoon. “What’s up, woman? Why aren’t you at work?”

  “I am, listen I can’t get a hold of your brother,” she says quietly. “Hang on, Lo. Don’t hang up,” she mutters, then the phone goes on hold and I’m left with annoying hold music.

  Bex is my brother’s ex-girlfriend, but she and I have stayed in contact since their break up. Their love story is one for the ages, but she finally got tired of his games and left him right around the time I got pregnant. She wanted more and he had nothing else to give her apparently. Typical bullshit that reminds me why I’m still single. Shit’s easier this way. You could say she’s been the only ‘friend’ there for me through everything. She has her own demons, though, so we rarely get to hang out anymore.

  “Hey you still there?”

  “Yep. Not going anywhere,” I mutter, sitting up in bed.

  “So anyway.” She huffs. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of your brother but he’s not answering my calls.”

  “Big surprise,” I murmur, biting a fingernail.

  I should really stop this.

  Meh. Whatever.

  “Yea, for real. Grow the hell up, Chris.” I can hear her rolling her eyes, she’s that annoyed by him and chuckle to myself.

  “I’m kinda of busy, Bex. What’d you need? I can relay it to him.” Glancing down at my pinky nail, I sigh at its horrible state and move on to the next.

  “Please, you’re probably still in bed,” she scoffs.

  “Like I said. Busy.”

  “Lo, can you please just get up and get him for me?”

  “Fine,” I groan, crawling out of bed. “Only because I love you, woman.”

  “Thank you.” Her tone is hushed so it’s hard to tell if it’s something bad or just that she misses him. Either way, who am I to stand in the way of true love?

  Oh they have it alright. They’re both just too stubborn for their own goods.

  I find my brother in his office, big fucking surprise, and hand him the phone.

  “For you,” I say smiling. He narrows his eyes and takes the phone hesitantly.

  “Yes?” He answers with such authority; always in business mode.

  He listens intently, and shortly his face falls and eyes go wide.

  I know that face.

  That’s the face of loss.

  Even my brother can’t hide that.

  “What’d she want?” I practically screech, trying to hold back the anxiety I’m feeling.

  “Uh,” he mutters, handing me the phone back and standing up. He starts to pace and I give him a moment to accept the news he just got before prying even more. While he freaks out silently, I sit in his oversized office chair and wait. My mind keeps racing through every scenario that he could have gotten while he paces the room, hands on his head.

  Then he pauses and looks over at me.

  “Brandon d-” He clears his throat and looks over at me with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen on my brother. “Brandon died.”

  My eyes fly open and the air is knocked out of me.

  I was expecting something sad... like maybe a dog dying or a job lost or some old person finally meeting their end… but Brandon?

  Brandon. Chris’ oldest friend. They grew up together. They went to Ivy League together. Brandon had a wife and kids and was really making something with his life.

  “He’s dead?” I whisper, starting to feel that familiar pang of loss in my chest.

  I was never super close to him, but he was like a brother to my older brother for the longest time.

  I can still remember their many parties they would hold at the house when our mom would leave for the weekend on one of her many trips. I can still remember his bright smile each time he saw me. For the longest time I had the biggest crush on him, but that’s what younger sisters are supposed to do to their older brother’s friends right? The Voss brothers had amazing genes and neither was about to let anything in life slow him down. I don’t know what happened to Brandon’s older brother, he was never really in the picture from what I remember and I heard after high school he split and left the family. Frank was his name… or John? Something typical I think.

  Brandon plowed through school like it was a second thought. He opened his own company and has worked his ass off to make it the largest in the state.

  Petroleum Engineering. A fancy fucking way to say ‘how to get oil safely and efficiently out of the ground.’ The man was a genius and I know my brother looked up to him.

  He was a force to be reckoned with in the business, buying land, developing new strategies to better serve the people around the drill sites. And now he’s gone. Fast as that.

  “Yea.” My brother huffs and glances over at me with glistening eyes. “Holy shit, Lo.” He shakes his head, more than likely unsure what to do with the emotions inside him. I mean, he is Christopher Manners. He’s not one to ever show emotions.

  He moves to me as soon as I stand and his arms go around me.

  “He’s fucking gone,” his muffled voice rumbles through me.

  “I know,” I whisper. Nothing that I say right now will help him so I hold him until he pulls away and runs his hands through his hair.

  “What happened?” I ask, following him to the kitchen. I watch as he pours a short glass full of whiskey and downs it, then slides the bottle to me and I do the same.

  “Bex said she thought it was a heart attack but they don’t know for sure yet.”

  “A heart attack!” I down my own glass and slide the bottle back to Chris. Damn this shit’s strong. “Who has a heart attack at thirty years old?”

  “Fuck
,” Chris huffs, taking another double shot. “Shit.”

  We sit in silence for the longest time, taking turns downing the gold liquid. I’m not sure why I’m drinking like this with him, other than I know the feeling of loss all too well. I feel for his wife. She now has to explain to their kids that daddy isn’t coming home again. I can’t imagine how a mother could do that.

  Chris’ phone buzzes in his pocket and he slides it out and stares at the screen before sliding it back in his pocket. I watch his jaw tick before be pours another glass and throws it back.

  “The funeral’s on Friday,” he mutters, his fingers tracing the top rim of the glass.

  I silently nod and don’t take my eyes off the bottle we’ve almost finished.

  “You’re coming with me, right?” He looks over at me, his glossy eyes a product of the alcohol he’s consumed tonight.

  I grit my teeth and smile at him, not answering his question. If I had it my way I wouldn’t go with him, no. I’d rather not walk into a funeral home again. Not this soon after Sam and not under such sad circumstances.

  Brandon was never meant to go this early. He was healthy and fit and active. He and my brother still had monthly hiking trips in the mountains. This shouldn’t have happened. It could very well have been my brother who died and not him. Hell, if anything my brother works twice as hard as Brandon did. Who’s to say he’s not next?

  “You’re the best, Lo. I love you,” he stumbles over his words and I nod silently. Shit, how am I going to get out of this one?

  “You’re a lightweight, bro,” I mumble.

  “You’re a lightweird!” he cackles.

  “Oookay,” I say, stretching my limbs and taking away the almost empty bottle of whiskey. “Bedtime.”

  He doesn’t put up a fight when I walk him to bed, practically carrying his heavy frame because the alcohol has really done a number on his ability to walk tonight.

  “I don’t drink much,” he says as his head hits the pillow.

  “Ya, I can fucking tell.” I grunt, trying to pull his legs onto the bed. I pull off his shoes and stare at him. “You’re sleeping in your clothes. I’m not stripping this hot mess of expensive ass suit off you.”