Page 48 of Branson's Promise

“Why can’t you tell us the truth, tell us who hurt you?” Branson asked and if my heart wasn’t already shattered, it would be breaking at the sound of pain in his voice.

“Because it makes me weak and a burden and you deserve better.” I’m a grown man getting beat up by his father. I’m weak, and feel ashamed that yet again I couldn’t stand up for myself.

“That’s all bullshit.” Noel gripped my cheeks again, cautiously, trying not to press on the bruising flesh. He turned my face so we were eye to eye. My throat tightened when Branson’s smaller, softer hand twined with mine and squeezed as though he was trying to pass some of his energy to me in a bid to wash away the defeat crushing me. I accepted the gesture, squeezing back. Branson's heart was big and pure and just maybe, he'd have the strength to hold me together, even if just for a little while.

“You are strong, Milo. Stronger than you give yourself credit for and stronger than whatever it is that is haunting you.” Noel wouldn’t break eye contact, speaking directly to my heart and making sure I heard every word. “And even if you weren’t, even if the weight of it all was too much for you to carry, we’d be strong for you. I would carry the weight of the world for the two of you. You’re not alone and whatever happened, whatever this all is, we are with you. There is nothing you can say about your past that will change that.”

The dam broke. Every sob and tear that I’d been holding back, every time I never cried over the cuts and bruises and the harmful words, all the grieving I never did for my mother, it all came crashing down on me. My knees gave in and I sank towards the floor, but just like he said he would, Noel caught me, pulling me into him and kissing the tears that littered my cheeks.

Branson’s warm body embraced me and he stroked my hair, all the while muttering words of praise and affection. “You’re perfect, Milo. So strong and perfect.” Their scents mixed together and I breathed them in.Warmth. Comfort. Home.

Without another word, they led me to bed, undressed me and themselves down to our boxers, then tucked me under the covers. Usually, Branson took the spot in the middle but knowing exactly how much I needed them, they flanked me on either side. Lying on my side, I faced Branson who peppered my face and neck with tender kisses, each one punctuated by a word -perfect, strong, amazing, wonderful, ours.

The fear that they'd leave me evaporated, the worry drowned out by their touches. They'd chosen me. Weak or pathetic, broken or useless. Whether what my father had said was true or not, they'd chosen me.

From behind, Noel held tightly, his arms and legs a welcome weight on top of me while he nuzzled the back of my neck.

Their warm bodies pressed to mine with barely an inch between us and for the first time all night, I breathed a breath that didn’t hurt.

Hours later I woke with a start and a tightness in my chest. My vision was blurry thanks to the thick hot tears that streamed down my face. Rubbing them away, I hissed when my hand pressed over the swelling I'd momentarily forgotten about.

Trying not to disturb the two sleeping bodies walling me in, I moved slowly, climbing out at the bottom of the bed. Once I was out of the room, my forehead leaning against the cool glass of the floor to ceiling window in the lounge, I let the sobs escape me again. I wondered how much longer I could cry, or if eventually I’d have nothing left in me.

For the first time since she died - fourteen years ago - I grieved my mother’s loss. All those years ago, instead of dealing with her death, I spent my childhood trying to avoid the monster that had replaced my father. He never spoke to me about her, henever even let me say goodbye properly. I don't even know what happened to her body.

All I know is that I was with her moments before she died and then I buried every feeling that time brought out. I existed in this state of fear and guilt for so long and no one ever said anything about it, because no one cared.

As the tears continued to stream down my face, I rubbed at the ache in my chest. All the grief and trauma over that day wasn't willing to stay buried any longer. Opening my heart to Branson and Noel had cracked something inside of me - that wall behind which I hid the pain of my mother’s death.

Turning my back to the window, I slid down pulling my knees up and burying my head. I wish I could have told her I was sorry, that I loved her. That I never meant to let her down. As grief racked me, my breath struggling to come out, a warm gentle embrace engulfed me.

“Shh, babe, I've got you.” Branson. And he did, he had me, holding me with all his strength. He knew what it was like to lose someone so close to you and yet he lived his life so differently. I'd spent years afraid, years losing myself in random men, and years hating myself for all of it.

“How,” I started, my voice cracking. “How did you do it? How did you move on when you lost your dad?”

Branson rested his head on my shoulder. “I didn't move on or get over it. His loss is still a pain I feel every day but I try to live the life he wanted for me. I feel closer to him that way. I'm not sure it ever gets easier, but rather it becomes a part of who you are. For me anyway.”

He moved then, reaching for my unharmed cheek and lifted it so he could see my face. “There's no one-size-fits-all version of grief, Milo. We all deal with it the best we can.”

I shook my head, “I don't think I ever dealt with her death. I was never given the chance.”

“Well, you can now, and I'll be here with you and so will Noel. And maybe, you could talk to someone professional about it?”

I nodded weakly. Maybe.

“What about Mia?” The thought of my sister and the pain etched on her face the last time I'd seen her had the ache inside me intensifying.

“Talk to her tomorrow, once you’ve both had a chance to sleep. She loves you, Milo. ” I was so grateful for Branson, with his soft words, big heart and the way he always knew what I needed.

A fresh wave of tears flowed but they left me feeling lighter, like letting them out had lifted some of the weight off of me. Not holding it in anymore, not carrying all that guilt and letting myself feel was cathartic. Branson stood, reached for my hand and pulled me up.

“Come back to bed and let us take care of you.” And they did, holding and kissing me long into the night, not letting go until the sun rose.

When I woke the next morning, I was surrounded by heat, a thin layer of sweat coated my back and neck and it took a moment for the night before to come flooding back to me. Burying my head in my pillow, I breathed in the scent of the men around me and tried to will my body back to sleep - the sooner I woke up, the sooner I would need to talk about what had happened and why. I knew they would respect my privacy if I asked but I also felt they deserved to know the truth. We were building something together and my past, as horrible as it was, was still a part of me, and I wanted to give myself to Branson and Noel fully.

Branson nuzzled his nose in my neck and I turned towards him, feeling Noel pull me against his warm, hard chest. With both their eyes still closed I had the courage to talk, to pour out every painful part of my history.

“When I was ten, my mom was pregnant with my brother.” Branson’s eyes shot open, mine, and I rubbed my hand over his eyelids hoping he would get the hint that I needed to say this without them watching me. Behind me, Noel kissed my neck but didn’t say a word and Branson closed his eyes and took my hand in his.

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