Page 34 of The Wrong Brother

My shoulders droop, the weight of the coming conversation already heavy on me. “Can we talk about this more comfortably?” He moves our glasses of wine to the coffee table, not letting go of the stupid, awful letter, and we sit on the couch. I don’t want to do this, at all, but he’s staring me down, not giving an inch, and I know he’s not going to let this go. “Look, they’re letters. Just some stupid letters that I receive sometimes. That’s all.”

He rolls his eyes at my explanation. “This shit is notjust letters, Catherine. It’s vile and hateful and cruel. And all completely untrue. You know that right?” I nod shakily. “Do you know who is sending them?” I nod again, biting my lip. It’s all I can do not to burst into tears. I hate confrontation as much as I hate thinking about the letters. “Let me take a wild guess: I’ve met the person sending them?” I’m not even able to complete the full nod before he’s pulling me across the couch and onto his lap. A stupid, unwanted tear slides along my nose until it’s joined by another and they wet the collar of his shirt. “Baby,” he speaks softly into my hair, “why do you keep them?”

I shrug my shoulders, unable to answer. Why do I keep them? I don’t re-read them but they’re all there, stacked neatly in a file folder, a cruel collection of all of my shortcomings, according to Pressley. He lets me stay like that cuddled against him for a while before standing up and setting me on my feet. He doesn’t even have to ask, I know what he wants. I lead the way to my bedroom, pulling the basket from the bottom of my bookshelf that contains all of my important paperwork. The folder is thick, full of the ugliest words scrawled out in feminine script on expensive paper.

“No more. These are gone.” He tilts my chin up gently with one finger. “I want you to tell me if you get another one, but don’t keep it, Cat. You don’t even have to open it. Throw that shit away. I don’t want that bitch having any more power over you.”

I get out a whispered ‘ok’and he takes the folder away while I go to the bathroom. The face looking back at me from the mirror has pink splotched skin and puffy eyes from crying. I splash my face with cold water a few times, blow my nose, and give myself a mental push to go back out to the living room. Rafferty is waiting for me. He doesn’t give me time to worry or feel self-conscious; his arms are wrapped around me as soon as I’m within reach. When he holds me I feel better—calmer, steadier, safe.

“We’re getting some serious mileage out of Hug Friends today,” I quip and his quiet chuckle vibrates in his chest, a low humming against my cheek. “I’m not complaining. I’ve needed it.”

“I’m sorry, Cat. I didn’t mean to ruin the date but reading what she said about you made me so angry.” His voice gets hard and his arms tighten ever so slightly while I’m feeling a little lift at the worddate. “I can’t stand the thought of someone hurting you and I can’t do anything about it this time,” he chokes on the last word before continuing on quickly, “I mean, I can’t do anything other than get rid of the letters. And I wish I could do more.”

I frown, trying to puzzle out what he was saying before he stopped himself, but the question drifts away as he claims my mouth. Is he willingly stepping over the line too, like the date that no one else saw? This can?t be merely because of our arrangement, can it? God, I hope not. I want the way this feels to be real. I want this to be because he wants to kiss me without any other qualifiers. His touch is light, like he’s being careful with me, but I’m tired of feeling fragile. I take control, deepening the kiss and he responds, his tongue stroking mine. I don’t know if it’s that Rafferty is an amazing kisser or if it’s the two of us together, but kissing him is so far superior to every other kiss I’ve ever had that they should no longer be categorized as kisses. I nip at his bottom lip and suck on it and he makes a sound low in his throat before sliding his hands over my ass and picking me up. I feel him, thick and hard, as he pulls me up his body and now I’m the one making sounds.

My fingers are tangled in his hair and his hands are squeezing my ass but he keeps the movement of his lips and tongue languid. It feels like I’m being tasted, sampled like one of those local delicacies we were talking about, and the more he does it the more I want to be devoured. Careful, rational Catherine is shouting from the back of my mind, reminding me I don’t know what this is and that I committed to it being temporary, but it’s surprisingly easy to ignore her. If I could, I’d already be straddling him on the couch so I could feel how hard he is against how wet I am. It’s been so fucking long and, quite frankly, it was never like this. I’m aching for more but Rafferty slows. He pulls back, kissing the tip of my nose.

“How about we finish our wine while we convene our first official friends’ book club? I’ve been dying to know what you thought of Douglas Adams and eager to tell you how much I now love Amy Harmon.”

Fuuuuuck. I want to pout. But he’s so genuine and sweet and, horniness aside, the thought of talking books with him over a glass of wine sounds perfect.

“I’d love that.” We sit down and he keeps shifting as if he can’t get comfortable. “Everything ok?”

“No, Cat, everything is not ok,” he says with a sheepish grin. “I’m so fucking hard I can barely think and until I can stop imagining all of the things I want to be doing to you right now, sitting is going to be uncomfortable.”

Heat rises over my cheeks and my stomach dips deliciously. Rafferty wants me.Me. “You know, I could,” I start but he interrupts me, reaching over and squeezing my hand.

“Don’t tempt me.” There’s so much raw emotion in his eyes, a vulnerability that burrows into my heart. “I just,” he sighs, “I wanted tonight to be real.”

I squeeze his hand back. If he doesn’t want this to devolve into something merely physical, then I can honor that. How Rafferty feels is far more important than how horny I am. This is exactly why I stayed away to begin with: he’s so much more than his body and he deserves to be treated that way. I’ll put him first, enjoy this time together, and have a date with my box of toys before I go to sleep. If the kissing is real, and he says he wanted tonight to be real, it can?t be entirely unrealistic to think the rest could become real too. I can hope. I can be patient. Leaning back against the arm of the couch so I can face him, I sip my wine with an ease that I hope disguises my own physical discomfort.

“Ok, Rafferty, let’s talk about how much you love Amy Harmon. Spare no details.”

20

rafferty

11 years ago

Practice was rough today. The water was choppy, rhythms were off, and Coach was in a shitty mood. This is my second year paddling. I grew more than a few inches over the summer and Coach is excited about my reach but he was all over me today about my strength. I need to bulk up. I can do it but I don’t want to think about it right now. I’m too tired. I’m not sure where I’m going to find more time in my day for weightlifting. Too tired. Worry later.

I’m dragging my body up the steps to our front lanai when I spy a pair of long, tanned legs stretched out. I perk up immediately, knowing who those legs belong to. I’ve pictured them, and the rest of Catherine, during many a shower jerk off session. My eyes are making their way from her slender ankles up what I can only imagine is soft skin when I hear sniffles.Shit! I’m thinking dirty thoughts and she’s up there crying! Way to be an asshole.

“Catherine?” Her big blue eyes blink up at me, tears pooling on her lashes.

“Oh,” she exhales softly, rubbing at her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Rafferty. I was hiding up here. I didn’t know anyone was around.”

I sit down next to her, my leg pressing against her leg. My feet now hit a full step lower than hers.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her. She smells really nice. It’s making it hard to focus.

“It’s nothing. Just some guys at school.”

I clench my teeth, suddenly furious. “Someone was messing with you?” The steel in my voice surprises me. Another tear slips down her cheek, feeding the fire in my belly. She barely nods. I put my arm around her, running my fingers along the outside of her arm.Shit, her skin is so soft and she smells like pua kenikeni blossoms.

“Makani overheard me complaining to the teacher about the fact that Kahuku High School doesn’t have a math club. I’d like more opportunities to challenge myself and the competitions sound fun. He’s been making fun of me all week, cracking jokes about the lu’ulu’u haole.” I growl low in my throat. I don’t mean to. It comes out all on its own.

“You’re not boring, Catherine, and he’s a jerk for calling you that or a haole. There’s nothing wrong with liking math, you should be proud of who you are.” She sniffles again, wiping her cheek with her fingers.

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