Page 21 of Branson's Promise

“Where did you find that?” My father asked, pointing to the purple cardigan I had wrapped around me. I looked down at the well worn fabric, wondering why his voice was so hoarse, why his lips were stretched into a thin, tight line.

“I found it in the closet in one of the guest rooms. It was mom’s, I can remember her wearing it here.” I ran my hand over the sleeve, picturing my mother’s smile as she walked down the beach, her feet kicking up sand as she did, the sleeves of her cardigan pulled up so she could reach down and run her hands through the water.

“Take it off, right now!” Father yelled and I startled, taking a step back as tears burned behind my eyes. I missed her and this small scrap of fabric made me feel a little closer to her. It had been two years since she’d died, and the moment of her death was what my father now referred to as my biggest mistake. I’d been the only one home with mom when she’d cried out that the baby was coming but that something was wrong. It was too early for my brother to arrive; we were meant to head back to the city before he came. Mom had collapsed to the floor, blood pooling around her and I’d panicked. I ran to the neighbours, but they were not in, so I tried the others further over. It never occurred to me to call 911, though I had been taught that was what I should do in an emergency. But I was ten and scared and didn’t think. My father says my lack of thinking killed my mother and brother. Useless, he'd called me. I carried that blame, etched into me as solid and integral as my bones.

“I don’t want to. I like it. It reminds me of her.” Tears blurred my vision, and I wrapped my arms around my waist, gripping the cardigan tightly. Father stepped forward, grabbed at the hem and tried to rip it from me.

“I said, take it off.” Anger flashed in his eyes but I held firm, buoyed on by the thought of my mother in it, by the thought of having this one thing of hers that I could hold close.

“No!” I shrieked, knowing that disrespecting him was a very bad idea.

My father seethed, his nostrils flaring, and I flinched as he reared his hand back and landed it across my cheek. Pain,like none I had ever felt before shot through me. It was both physical and emotional - a complete shock that this man who was meant to love and protect me would lay a hand on me. I stumbled backwards, hitting my leg on the glass coffee table behind me, but managed to regain my balance. He hit me again, his eyes dark and unseeing, a monster in place of my father, and this time, I fell backwards, smashing through the glass table top. Pain radiated through my back, my skin burned and tears fell like rain down my cheeks, landing in salty drops on my lips. Beneath me, I could feel a liquid seeping through mom’s beautiful cardigan.

“Fuck!” Now look at what you’ve done, Milo!” he yelled. But I couldn’t respond as a sob lodged in my throat and my heart started to beat rapidly - too fast, too loud - and I gasped, trying to breathe past the pain and the shame. Past the defeat and the sadness.

“Milo, hey, Milo, are you okay?” A soft hand rubbed against my cheek, as another grabbed my hand. With my eyes squeezed shut against the tormenting memory, I took in a deep breath, releasing an ache in my lungs that I was all too familiar with. I came back to the present, opening my eyes slowly, waiting for the blackness around the edges of my vision to pass. I’d panicked, holding my breath until my head spun and they'd all witnessed it. Mia, Branson and Noel. In front of me, his grey blue eyes shimmering with concern, stood Branson, his hand rubbing gently at my cheek, wiping at the traitorous tears that refused to stop falling.

Next to me Mia squeezed my hand. She’d always been my comfort and I found myself overwhelmed with gratitude now. I would never leave her side, if I didn’t have to. She was all I had left in this big, scary world.

Clearing my throat, I took a step back, pulling my face away from Branson’s touch. I was painfully aware that his hand on myskin was one of the most beautiful things I had ever experienced. No one had touched me with so much concern or affection before and it hurt because his touch wasn’t mine to covet.

“I’m fine. Sorry, um.” I looked around and found Noel standing quietly behind me. For once he didn’t wear a smug look or his usually devilish smirk. His features were softer, his eyes a swirl of grey and blue matching that of the churning sea outside, and he worried his lip between his teeth. “I suddenly don’t feel very well, do you mind showing me where I’ll be sleeping. Please?”

Noel nodded, “Sure, let me show you and why don’t you,” he looked at Branson, “and Mia go lay out some snacks around the hot tub?” Mia kissed me on the cheek and I squeezed her hand before dropping it to follow Noel out of the room.

Up the stairs and down one of the cream carpeted halls we walked. “Do you want to talk about it?” Noel asked in a quiet voice, so unlike the cocky man I thought him to be. There was no playfulness to his tone, only a delicate offering of empathy.

I shook my head at the same time I replied, “No, I’d rather not.”

Noel pushed open a door to a large bedroom housing a king-sized bed overlooking the ocean. A balcony stood to one side and luscious green pot plants were lined up along it. The room was minimalist in creams and greys with the odd ode to the beach here and there.

“I understand. But Milo, sometimes those demons we keep trapped in our minds are more dangerous locked in those cages than they are out in the open.” With that, Noel walked out of the room.

Not for the first time, I wondered if letting those demons out would set me free or if it would only make more people hate me. Mia never learned the truth of our mother’s passing - she had been too young and out with the nanny at the time. I wasn’t sosure that she wouldn’t hate me the same way my father did if she knew how badly I'd messed up.

Chapter 11

Branson

Spend time outdoors. See the world. Take your friends or go alone and make new ones, but don't stop exploring.

Running my toes through the fine white sand of the beach outside Noel’s sprawling beach house, I took a deep breath, inhaling the warm, salty air that swept off the ocean. This was exactly what I needed. A break from the busy life I led in New York. From the nine to five that was slowly draining my soul,from the crowds of people bustling by but never paying any attention to anyone but themselves and to the crushing reality that this move to the US had not been everything I had hoped it would be.

When I’d been approached about a transfer to the New York office, I was thrilled. I was a damn good accountant and the opportunity had sounded perfect on paper but the reality was that it was a big pile of shit disguised as gold. I was struggling to understand the US tax system - things were so different from the UK. Why my boss thought this was a good idea is a mystery. But I still had four months left on the contract before I could request a transfer back to London or before I could just quit and do something new. I’m a numbers person so the role fit and I loved it at first but I don’t think being stuck behind a desk for forty plus hours a week was what I meant when I promised my dad I would live a life full of adventures and it certainly wasn’t making me happy.

Letting out a deep sigh, I flopped backwards onto the warm sand, shielding my eyes from the sun. Moments later, I was brushing sand from the side of my face as Mia dived to the ground next to me, sprinkling me with the fine grains as she did. “This place is amazing. I forgot how beautiful it is.”

Turning towards her, my head held up on one elbow, I took in her pretty features - so much like her brothers. Dark lashes, brown eyes tinted with gold in the sunlight and dimples in each cheek. She wore a white sundress and a red blush on her cheeks and nose, a sign we had probably been out here far too long.

“You’ve been here before?” I asked, curious about her and Milo’s past, but with no intention to pry, rather simply making conversation. Mia pursed her lips and a moment of silence passed between us before she answered.

“Our father brought us a few times when we were younger, but it’s been a while.”

I nodded, waiting for her to offer up more but when she rolled onto her stomach, her head resting on her folded arms and closed her eyes, I gathered the conversation was over. So, I was surprised when in a quiet voice, she added, “Milo doesn’t like to talk about our past or our father. He wasn’t always so closed off but…” her words faded and then, “Please don’t mention I said anything. He may open up to you one day.” I nodded at her. It was his story to tell when and if he ever wanted to share it.

I recalled back to the night before, when I’d watched Milo’s face pale, his chest heaving unsteadily for air as a panic attack set in. I knew what it was, having witnessed the same sort of reaction in August before. My gut clenched seeing him distraught, everything in me wanted to soothe and comfort him. He had eventually come out of his room, picked at the salad and steaks we’d prepared for dinner, but then excused himself again soon after. Mia had watched Milo retreat back into the house, her lips downturned, her expression pensive.

When Noel had first mentioned this weekend away and had suggested we invite Milo, it had presented as the perfect opportunity to speak to him about the little seed that Noel had planted. We'd discussed it again, and though he hadn’t said it outright, I could tell he was smitten with Milo though he was still convinced the guy hated him. I couldn’t lie, there did seem to be a fiery tension brewing between them, but you know what they say about the line between love and hate? With the way the weekend had started though, it didn’t seem like that conversation was going to happen.

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