Page 28 of Branson's Promise

Being so wrapped up in my need to hide myself, I’d barely taken notice of what Noel had said. It was only in the early hours of the morning that his words seeped in and took hold. He’d said they wanted to talk. About us.

You, him and I.

As if there was some possibility that last night wasn’t a one off, them playing out some fantasy they shared. Was that possible? That there could be an us? Climbing into the back of the car, the first to do so, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, thinking over the events of the night. It has been the best, most intense, wholly unexpected experience of my life. When Noel had first kissed me, I was sure it was to shut me up, to let him win the argument we were locked in but I had kissed him back, because it felt right, exactly what my battered soul needed. Then the guilt had set in because, though they hadn’t officially said they were a couple, I thought they were and there I was kissing Branson’s boyfriend.

It was the look in Bran's eyes, the way they darkened a fraction and the husky way he’d told me to kiss Noel again that had me confused but also, incredibly aroused. I shut off any more rational thought and went with it. And thank fuck I did, because every moment with the two of them had been electric, incredible, beyond my fucking dreams.

Watching Noel and Branson was more beautiful than anything I had ever seen. They were two dancers, perfectly in sync with each other's bodies, one leading and the other following. Slow and sensual, but at the same time, rough, erotic. My body had thrummed with desire watching, until the moment I couldn’t hold back anymore. And then we were three mouths and bodies connected in a heated and passionate exchange.

Thinking back on it though, it wasn’t the sex that had my heart tripping over itself, it was the words Noel had used and the earnestness in his voice.

You’re magnificent, Milo.

No one had ever said anything like that to me before, and for as much as Noel rubbed me the wrong way, sincerity sparkled in his eyes when he'd looked at me and uttered those words.

But more than the sex, more than Noel’s honesty, what I kept coming back to, what had me tossing and turning all night was how they both made me feel - like I belonged. For those few hours, I wasn’t useless Milo, or Milo who ruined things, I was Milo who was wanted, needed. Even adored.

And fuck me, but that was confusing.

I was confident in my feelings for Branson, I had been sure of that for weeks now. Noel though, he was a conundrum. One I couldn’t solve stuck in a car with him, Branson, my sister and Raymond.

The truth was even if they wanted us to be together, and no matter how much I wanted that too, I wasn’t sure I could get over my hang ups about him. Noel would always be Noel. He was older than me, confident in who he was and his empire, and his wealth was a part of that. Noel Bennett was larger than life, and the last person in my life who had that sort of power had broken me.

You’re magnificent, Milo.I tattooed the words on my heart.

Maybe the risk would be worth it and maybe Mia was right and he was different. If I really thought about it, he hadn't actually done anything wrong - I had just been treating him like he had because I'd judged him from day one. Not all rich men were abusive assholes like my father. My logical mind knew that. Could my heart get on board with it too?

I looked at the two of them, now seated next to me, both smiling and joking with Mia, who had sat up front with Ray. Noel shifted his focus to me, his face a beacon of light, bright and open with a cocky half smile tipping up one side of his lips. My heart beat wildly in response.

Yes, maybe it could.

“After our chat on the beach yesterday, Milo, I think I'd like to get a tattoo,” Branson blurted out as we drove down the I-495 on our way back to the city. The car ride had been quiet until then, with only the sound of Imagine Dragons quietly playing over the radio and the odd grumble from Raymond about traffic and the poor driving skills of other motorists.

My interest was piqued, having thought about tattooing Branson’s beautiful skin so many times before. “Any idea what you’d like or where?”

He scrunched up his nose and pursed his lips before shaking his head. “Not entirely, but I’d love something in memory of my dad. He died when I was seventeen.” He paused for a moment, then shuffled forward and reached into his pocket, producing his wallet. From within the well-worn brown leather wallet, he pulled out some folded paper. It was worn and fraying in the corners and looked like it had been read hundreds of times before. He held it up, still folded, and showed it to me.

“He left me this letter before he died. It was sort of his hopes and wishes for my future mixed with his words of wisdom. One of the last things I said to him was a promise to live the life he’d always dreamed for me. He was my best friend.” Branson’s blue eyes, which usually sparkled like they contained a trove of tiny diamonds, were a dull grey, like the ocean on a stormy day. And his features turned down, the sadness of his loss - though years ago - still very much a part of him.

Branson’s words brought forward thoughts of my own father, who I couldn’t even call a dad, let alone a friend. And though I didn’t wish him dead, it struck me how cruel life could be. How unjust that fate could pick and choose who lived and died without a care for who was left behind.

Noel and I both placed a hand on his lap, offering a modicum of comfort. Branson continued, getting to the reason he was telling us about the letter. “I think I’d like some words from heretattooed on me. Even though I know this letter as well as I do my own name, it would be a great reminder.”

“That’s a really lovely idea,” Noel said and I nodded in agreement. “What are some of the things he loved, maybe you could add a little something along with the text?” he suggested.

Branson thought about it for a moment, slowly opening the letter and scanning through the contents before looking back up and catching Noel’s eye. “Me, my mum, his car and his rose garden.”

He turned so his upper body was facing me, then asked, “Could you sketch some ideas with me? And then maybe, I could book a slot at your studio. With you?” He raised a questioning brow and I stumbled to think what to say.

Of course, I wanted to do it. The thought of anyone else putting ink on him made my stomach curl and a growl form at the base of my throat. But I wasn’t the best out there and Branson deserved the best.

“Are you sure? I’m still relatively new and there are better artists at the studio.”

Branson shook his head vehemently. “Nope, you’re the perfect choice. I trust you.” And that was that, no argument about it. His hand rested over mine and he squeezed it, not pulling away when he turned to talk to Noel, who I noticed was now holding his hand on the seat between them.

We were about fifteen minutes outside of the city when Raymond asked Mia if she wanted to be dropped at home. Her eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror and I tensed, my muscles pulling tightly in my shoulders. If we drove her home, to the gates of my father’s house, they would have questions. I was about to answer when Mia turned to Ray with a smile.

“Actually, could you drop me at my friend, Florence? I need to collect my cat, and we have plans this evening.”

---