Page 49 of Branson's Promise

“I don’t remember when the baby was due but I knew it wasn’t too long to go. Everyone was so excited and dad took us to the house in the Hampton’s saying we should go before the baby comes. On one of the days we were there, Dad and Mia were out of the house - Mia was with the nanny - and I was home alone with mom. We had been having fun together in the kitchen, trying to bake a cake, when she felt a sharp pain in her belly. Everything happened so fast, and she bent over and there was blood and she was crying and I panicked.” I could feel the all too familiar sensation washing over me but they both sensed it and squeezed me tighter, grounding me to their bodies and the bed.

“I tried to get help but I couldn’t find anyone and I didn’t think to call 9-1-1, even though I had been taught to do that in emergencies. I made the wrong choice and by the time the ambulance arrived, it was too late. When dad got home, I told him I tried to help, that I went to the neighbours but all he cared about was that I hadn’t called emergency services immediately. That I had wasted precious time by not thinking.” A lonesome tear escaped and rolled down my cheek as my mind wandered back to that day, to the way my father had changed in a heartbeat.

“He hated me after that. He blamed me for her death, for taking away the love of his life. He said I robbed Mia of her mother because I was stupid, and useless. He was never the same again and he acted like I was his biggest regret.” Gentle lips touched my neck as I continued pouring out my heart.

“At first his abuse was verbal, then he started withholding money from me, refusing to pay for things I needed. Or, if he was willing to hand over the money, it would usually come with a verbal berating of some form to the point I was often too scared to ask. He started bringing different women home, spending money on cars and lavish holidays I was never invited to. He promised Mia things but never delivered on them and I was there to pick up the pieces everytime he failed her. Eventually that wasn’t enough for him and if I irritated him or he felt disrespected, he’d hit me or lock me alone for days with only a bottle of water.”

Noel’s body tensed and his breathing picked up, hot against my naked shoulder. Branson’s eyes opened, tears welling on the edges before he closed them again then brought his hand up to rest on my cheek.

“I tried to be a good son and to be a good brother but he blamed me and he made sure I knew that every chance he got, he couldn’t let it go and things only got worse as time went on.” With tears streaming down my face, I told them about the time he’d pushed me through a glass table and the time he’d broken my arm. Then I moved on to the later years and how his words had cut deeper than the glass and how he was never violent to Mia but how he still had control over her and her future.

When I was finally done, my eyes and throat burned and the silence in the room was heavy. Slowly, Branson opened his eyes then leaned in and placed a gentle kiss to my lips.

“Your father was wrong about you, Milo,” he murmured quietly. “You’re strong and you’re important and you’re one of the best people I know. I’m glad you’re in my life, I hate what you went through, I hate that you spent so many years feeling like his words defined you. I’m glad though that you walked through my door that day because you belong here with us, and we’ll never let anyone hurt you like that again.”

Noel reached his hand over me and pulled Branson closer, squashing me between the two of them so that I could barely breathe but I didn’t care, because I felt his words as they slid into my heart - I belonged with them. That was a safety I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Chapter 25

Noel

When I was younger - around twelve or so - we had this dog. The way I remember it, he was my shadow, following me around wherever I went. He slept on my bed, sat with me when I watched television and spent hours with me playing ball in the park opposite our house. I loved him. He was my best friend and so, when on one of those trips to the park, the local bully kicked him, a feeling I had never experienced before engulfed me - burning hot anger. I remember clenching my jaw so hard it ached, but I didn’t react, not right then anyway. Instead, I went home and told my parents what had happened,and they called his parents and spoke to them. Then I went to school and started a rumour about him cheating in a test. He spent so many hours in the principal's office after that I felt vindicated. I know now that wasn’t the best way to handle a bully but, at twelve, I didn’t know better.

After Milo told us everything, from how his mother had died to the way his father had blamed him and spent the rest of his childhood punishing him for it, a spark of that feeling surfaced again. He told us about the abuse and the scars on his back, how his father was now controlling Mia and how he’d spent the last six years working back to back jobs just so he could afford to get away. I was awed by his strength and so proud of him, but at the same time, that spark had grown and I was angry. An anger so powerful I could taste it, maybe something even stronger than that - rage, indignation? Whatever the word was for that feeling you experienced when someone you loved was hurt.

I wanted to tear down his father, burn his fucking world to the ground for what he’d done to Milo. I suggested he press charges but he was too fearful of what would happen to Mia. He asked us to drop the matter, assuring us he wouldn’t go near him again, so we did but it still played on my mind. His father was a bully and he didn’t deserve to get away with it.

Understandably, we were worried about Mia’s safety but Milo assured us his father was manipulative but had never hurt Mia before - not physically anyway. Branson had messaged her that night and, though she wasn’t ready to talk, she confirmed she was safe and that her father had actually left on a work trip for a few days. I’d booked a suite at a hotel near her anyway, and sent over the details in the event she wanted to get away.

A call from the reception desk had Milo jumping up from the sofa where he had been lying with his head on Branson’s lap. It was seven in the evening and we had yet to order any dinner,Milo having been too anxious to eat. Mia had messaged earlier in the day and asked if she could come over to talk.

Moments later, Milo opened the door to Mia. She wore a frown, but it was the small smile playing on her face that had my shoulders relaxing, instantly believing that everything was going to be fine between them.

“Hey, big brother.” She pushed onto her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, and he responded by pulling her tightly into a hug. Emotion built in my throat and I turned away, catching Branson’s shining eyes.

“Mia,” he said quietly, his face tucked against her brown hair.

“Hi Mia,” I said, standing from my spot on the overstuffed armchair. “We’ll give you two some space to talk.” I moved to reach for Branson’s hand, to drag him up and out of the suite, but Milo stopped me.

“Please stay,” he pleaded, and I looked at Mia who nodded in agreement then back to Milo who was chewing on his bottom lip, his foot tapping nervously on the carpeted floor.

“Of course.” I took the seat next to Branson, taking his hand in mine, while Mia and Milo sat facing each other on opposite armchairs.

An awkward silence had the tension in the room building and my eyes darted between the siblings, waiting for someone to say something. It was Mia who broke the silence and though she was smiling, her words were serious.

“Our dad was wrong, Milo. Not just in what he believed but in everything he said about you. You’re the best brother I could ever have wished for and I don’t blame you for anything that happened when we were kids.”

I watched as Milo’s throat bobbed rapidly, his hands moving restlessly against his knee. I wanted to pull him into my lap, to hold him while he listened to the words he needed to hear.

“Dad never told me exactly what happened to mom, but when he blamed you, I had questions that he refused to answer. I called Aunt Jane and asked her everything that happened that day since I was too young to remember it myself.”

“What did she say?” Milo’s voice was quiet and hesitant, as though he believed their aunt would say exactly the same as his father had.

“She said that mom and our brother died due to a complication with the pregnancy. She'd spoken to mom a few days before - while we were in the Hamptons - and mom mentioned a really bad headache, but told Jane she’d been over doing it since we'd arrived on holiday and was just going to try and stay out of the sun for a bit. There was no way any of us could have known that her blood pressure was dangerously high or that it would affect them the way it did.”

Tears slid down Milo’s cheeks and he pulled his feet onto the chair, hugging his legs to his chest. His breathing was rapid as he rested his head on his knees, his shoulders shaking from a combination of his sobs and the deep breaths he was trying to take. Branson slid off the sofa and stood behind him, wrapping his arms around Milo’s shoulders and kissing his cheek. Seeing the hurt in Milo's eyes when he’d told us his story had brought out an even more doting Branson - if that was possible.

“It’s not your fault, Milo. You need to believe that.” Mia’s own cheeks were streaked with tears, her words punctuated by hiccups. She stood, moving closer to her brother, then pulled him up and into her arms. “I’m sorry,” she cried. “I’m sorry I never chased after you or stood up for you. I’m sorry I didn’t know what dad did to you or the truth so I could have told you all of this a long time ago.”

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