HICKEY Page 12

  And so it happened. We were married. We kissed and then ran out of that basement and onto the street, holding hands and laughing like two kids. Then we jumped into my truck and found a motel.

  “Bran!” Cecily squealed when I lifted her into my arms. “There’s no rule requiring you to carry me.”

  “Hush, I want to,” I said as I carried her into the room and kicked the door closed behind me.

  She was nervous. When I laid her out on the bed she trembled a little. I’d gotten married in a suit bought for an athletic banquet a year earlier and I removed the blazer and shirt. Cecily propped herself up on her elbows and watched me.

  “Let me do it,” she whispered, sliding off the bed when I started loosening my pants.

  There was nothing sexier on the fucking planet than the sight of Cecily kneeling in front of me in her white wedding dress as she pushed my pants down. My boxers were still on and my dick was pitching a hard tent but she paused and looked up at me, wide-eyed as an innocent angel.

  “Branson,” she said and I liked that she used my full name.

  “Come here.” I held out my hand and gently pulled her up.

  Cecily’s face was flushed and she was breathing hard but she let me turn her around so I could get the zipper of her dress down. The dress itself was sexy and hugged her curves but I wanted it out of the way so I could enjoy every sweet inch of her.

  I pushed her long hair aside and kissed each smooth shoulder before I slipped the thin straps of her dress down. Underneath all she had on was a strapless bra that barely contained her tits and a pair of plain white panties. It was all sweet, innocent and hot as hell at the same time.

  She flinched when I brought one hand around to her smooth belly but she relaxed quickly as I worked my fingers over her skin and she let out a breathy moan when I slid my hand lower.

  My boxers were history at this point and my dick was pressing against the small of her back. I couldn’t fucking wait to finally bury myself inside of her.

  “Tell me how much you want this,” I demanded even though I could feel it in the way she quivered as I teased her outside her panties. Every second I held back was pure torture but I wanted her to be good and ready before I pushed my way in. The more into it she was, the less chance it would hurt her.

  “I want you,” she gasped. “I’ve always wanted you, Bran.”

  “I want you every night until forever, Cecily.”

  “I love you,” she moaned and she was close, straining against my fingers. She couldn’t get any more ready than this.

  “Cess,” I whispered in her ear as I tugged her panties down. “I’m gonna make love to you now.”

  She was melting against me, willing to do anything. “Yes, Bran. Please.”

  I got her bra unhooked before I eased her down on the bed. If my dick could scream with impatience it would have but I thought fleetingly of the condoms in my pants before deciding I didn’t want them. Cecily was my wife. Nothing was coming between us tonight.

  She tensed and let out a sharp gasp at the first strong thrust. I kissed her softly and said sweet words until her body relaxed and she began to move her hips, matching the rhythm.

  There was a moment when I was moving inside of her and we locked eyes. Hers were full of so much trust and tenderness and more than anything on earth I wanted to give her every reason to look at me that way forever.

  “Cess, I’ll never love anyone the way I love you,” I promised her and then I came so fucking hard and long I thought I might end up inside out. I was still panting and gasping “Holy shit” when Cess wrapped her arms around me. I dropped soft kisses all over her chest before laying my head down. She sighed happily and ran her fingers through my sweaty hair.

  I never counted how many girls I’d messed around with in every way imaginable. The numbers weren’t as bad as the gossip had people believing. But they were high enough to make me a little ashamed. Anyway, they didn’t matter now. I was a different guy. Whoever that arrogant asshole was who believed he was a hero just because he could play football was gone. I didn’t need any of that shit. All I needed was this girl. As for Cecily, she had known disappointment in life too. But I’d make it all up to her.

  “What are you thinking?” Cecily asked me, her fingers lightly stroking my sweaty back.

  I reached for her hand, the one with the ring on it, and kissed it. “I was thinking that I’ll never be sorry I married you.”

  She kissed the top of my head. I raised my head and kissed her passionately until I was ready for round two.

  We found a local pizzeria that delivered and laughed at a Monty Python movie on television as we ate our wedding dinner in bed. Cess put her dress back on and then removed it again slowly, at my request. I couldn’t wait to try every dirty thing in the book with her but this was our wedding night and I’d just taken her virginity. A little restraint was called for.

  It was four a.m. when I shut off the bedside lamp and gathered Cecily into my arms.

  “I’m so happy, Bran,” she said, yawning and settling into my chest.

  “Me too,” I told her and it was completely true. I was truly happy. I couldn’t remember the last time I could say for sure that I was happy. Maybe I’d never been really happy until now.

  My last thought before I fell asleep that night with my young bride in my arms was that I was one lucky bastard to have the most important things in my life figured out at the age of eighteen. I thought it was too bad that not everyone was as damn lucky as me.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Branson

  It wasn’t too hard to track her down once Cecily mentioned she was in the valley but at first I hesitated over what to do with that information.

  Antha Patel might not have fond memories of me. Plus, since she and Cess were still as close as peas in a pod she had surely heard an earful about what a prick I was and still am. Best friends don’t tend to be real tolerant of heartbreakers.

  My reasons to finally go bite the bullet and go see Antha had almost as much to do with her as with Cess. She deserved an apology.

  The bakery Antha owned with her husband was smack in the middle of the old section of Scottsdale, among a quaint strip of storefronts with deliberate, rustic charm that still managed to look moneyed. I decided to blow off my morning philosophy class and make an unannounced visit.

  Antha might very well sternly order me right out of her place but I didn’t think so. She’d never struck me as the dramatic type and I wasn’t there to cause trouble. I just wanted to talk.

  When I first walked through the door of Sweet Sun Bakery I was slapped with the warm perfume of cinnamon and sugar. The display counter up front was stocked with a variety of sweet breads and Antha herself was standing behind the counter, laughing as she handed over a paper bag to an old man with a cane.

  “See you tomorrow, Mr. Orosco,” she called as the old guy shuffled away. He squinted up at me when I held the door open for him.

  “Thank you, sir,” he rasped and I noticed he was wearing a black baseball cap with the US Army emblem.

  “You’re welcome, soldier,” I said and offered a friendly salute.

  When the old man was gone I slipped back through the doorway and saw Antha staring at me. She didn’t look angry or even surprised. As I approached the counter I thought it might be possible she didn’t recognize me but when she sighed and said, “Well, as I live and breathe, here comes Branson Hickey,” I put that idea to rest.

  “Nice to see you, Antha,” I answered, sounding stiff and overly formal. We’d gone to school together for years but how many times had I had an actual conversation with Cecily’s best friend? Two or three? Hell, it might not have been that many.

  Antha’s black hair was pulled back and her wide brown eyes watched me curiously. She looked pretty much the same as she did in high school, only now she had an air of confidence that had been missing when she was the constant recipient of her classmates’ cruelty. There was nothing about her that should have s
ingled her out for such treatment, but small minds rarely needed a reason to let their terrible sides surface. They picked easy targets and they kept aiming.

  Cess had never faltered in her loyalties though. I think now that I started to really notice Cecily Barnett when she stuck by her friend with her head up and ignored all the garbage swirling in their midst. That kind of courage was rare and I knew it even then.

  Antha punched in my order of coffee and a blueberry scone. I paid with cash, tossed the change in the tip jar and sat down at one of the small tables. A few of the other tables were quietly occupied and no other customers had come in after me. A man wearing a yellow polo shirt that said Sweet Sun Bakery walked up to the counter after cleaning off a nearby table. Antha spoke to him quietly and I wondered if he was her husband since Cess had mentioned they owned the bakery together. The man turned and gave me a rather sharp look before nodding. He continued to watch me with suspicion while Antha walked my way with two cups of coffee and a scone.

  She set it all down on the table and sat daintily in the chair directly across from me.

  “I guessed cream and sugar,” she said.

  “You guessed right.” I took a sip of coffee.

  Antha didn’t smile. “I can’t help you, Bran.”

  I set the coffee cup down. “I wouldn’t ask you to.”

  She cocked her head. “Isn’t that why you’re here? To talk about Cecily?”

  “A conversation doesn’t equal a plea for help.”

  “Fair enough,” she said, shrugging. She sipped her coffee and watched me over the rim of her cup. “I rooted for you guys, you know. I was all Team Bran when Cecily first told me you were together. I wanted you to live happily ever after.”

  I sighed. “Well, it didn’t work out that way.”

  “I know.” Her expression darkened. “She cried for months. Months, Bran. I don’t think she’d mind if you knew that. You should know how much she was hurting. I love Cecily like a sister. So of course I have to hate you at least a little bit.”

  “I’m not here to hurt her, Antha.”

  She seemed unimpressed. “Cecily told me about your big revelation the other day, how you’ve supposedly been in love with her all these years and you’ll never stop. Do you think this is some kind of sentimental story where you get to just swoop down into the life of the girl you nearly destroyed – one of the most incredible people I know, by the way – and act like you have every right to be there?” She shook her head as if disgusted. “You have some kind of nerve, Bran. You always did. You’re still the arrogant idol of Hickeyille who thinks he holds the whole world in his hands.”

  I waited a moment for that to sink in. “I suppose you’ve been wanting to deliver that speech for a while.”

  She smiled, briefly. “It’s gone through some revisions over the past seven years.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  I held her eye. “I haven’t always been proud of myself, but I might not be as terrible as you think.”

  Antha thought about that. “I hope that’s true,” she said and I had to give her a lot of credit. She was obviously loyal but there was also a regal sense of fairness about her. She managed to be that way spite of the unfair way she’d been treated for years, or maybe because of it. Which reminded me I had something else to say to Antha.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry for what you went through in school. I remember how you were treated. Back then it didn’t occur to me to put a stop to it.”

  She frowned. “It was the girls anyway. They liked being mean. You couldn’t have done anything to stop them.”

  We both know that wasn’t true, that the girls she was talking about would probably have licked the gymnasium floor if I’d asked them to.

  “No,” I said. “I could have done more.”

  She looked at me. “Maybe.”

  “I am sorry.”

  Antha looked off into the distance and then smiled. “I always had Cecily though. When we were in eighth grade a group of cheerleaders said I shaved a mustache every day and they started calling me ‘Mantha’. It was stupid, but when you’re a fourteen-year-old girl it seems like the end of the world. Cecily used her artistic talents to draw a cartoon of the ringleader with the body of a pig.”

  “And then she made a bunch of copies and stuck them in all the boys’ bathrooms at school,” I added. I’d actually forgotten all about that incident until just now. I’d never realized Cecily was behind that dose of revenge.

  Antha chuckled. “We were both guilty of that part.”

  “Did you get in trouble?”

  “No. No one figured out it was us. It was fun watching Kayla Watts lose her mind over the whole thing though.”

  Antha’s words kind of trailed off at the end. She looked angry now. I knew why. The name that had accidentally entered the conversation reminded her of something. This wasn’t the right time to make some long overdue confessions though.

  Antha stood up and smoothed her hands over her red and white striped apron. “You haven’t eaten your scone,” she said. “You should at least try it before you go. It’s my husband’s recipe and very good, I promise.”

  Then she picked up her coffee cup and walked back to her place behind the counter. Her husband was still eyeing me skeptically. I thought about walking up and introducing myself but chances were he’d heard a few unpleasant things about me so it might be better to keep my distance.

  Antha was right about the scone. It was pretty damn tasty.

  As I drove to work I heard my phone buzzing but usually I tried not to be a dick about my phone while I was navigating traffic so I ignored it.

  When I got to the golf resort I saw the caller had been my stepmother, Nell. She’d left a message. Ever since a depressing visit last October when my dad told me he didn’t want me visiting him in Hickeyville anymore, Nell had been my only connection to him. I called her every few weeks to check up on things and the news usually wasn’t great. My dad had been sinking into depression and poor health for a while. When his car dealership finally went under it made things worse. Nell swore they had enough in savings to keep them afloat for a while but I thought the best option would be for them to get what they could for the house and get out of Hickeyville. Eric Hickey didn’t like hearing that though.

  All of a sudden I was terrified that Nell’s phone call meant something had happened to my father. My heart pounded while I listened to her message.

  “Hi Bran, it’s Nell. Look, I didn’t want to scare you but I’m here in the hospital with your dad. Now, he’ll be fine but the diabetes caused so much nerve damage in his right leg that it has to be amputated at the knee. You can call me anytime. I’ll be here.”

  I listened to the message twice more, my mind spinning. I could easily miss a few classes. And even though I was scheduled to work I was sure I could ask for a few favors and switch some shifts around. My father would tell me not to come. Nell might say the same thing. So I didn’t give them a chance to argue. I booked a flight to Cleveland and then called my stepmother.

  “Hey, Nell. I’ll be in town on Friday, whether anyone wants me there or not.” I cleared my throat and sighed. “Now, tell me, how’s he doing?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Cecily

  Several days after the disastrous diner encounter I was still fretting about screaming something gross right in Bran’s face and then storming out.

  Not that he didn’t deserve it. He did.

  Maybe if I’d stuck around he would have conjured heartfelt words of denial that he never even bothered with seven years ago. It wouldn’t have done any good though. Bran had to understand that it was far too late for apologies.

  Then when I was on my way home from an international business lecture, Antha called with the news that Bran had shown up at her bakery.

  “Do you want me to tell you about it?” she asked. I heard the soft babbling of her baby boy in the background.

  “I don’t know,” I sighed and parked
myself on the nearest bench. “Did you have an opportunity to hit him with a blunt object?”

  She laughed. “No blunt objects were handy. I did tell him off though. Rather effectively.”

  “Well, I’m sure he’ll recover from that,” I grumbled.

  Antha was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know. He seemed kind of…humble. Mature. He said that he knew how much I’d been bullied and he apologized for never stepping in and putting a stop to it.” She paused. “I could tell that was just a secondary topic. What he really wanted to talk about was you.”

  I toyed with the zipper of my laptop bag. “And how did that go?”

  “I didn’t have anything to tell him,” she said firmly. “I’m on your side here. Always on your side.”

  “I know.” And I did know. Antha was the only one who was ever unequivocally on my side. Even my mother hadn’t been supportive when I left Bran and fled Hickeyville and its ghosts. She had a different life now, married to an actuary in Palm Beach, Florida. We spoke maybe once every two months.

  Antha murmured something to her husband. It sounded like she was passing the baby to him. A door closed on her end. “Cecily? Do you think you’ll ever tell him the truth?”

  Truth. Such a short, benign word and yet such a complicated concept.

  The truth was Bran and I were once young and in love.

  The truth was we were not even slightly ready for marriage.

  The truth was Bran had given me no choice but to leave him.

  The truth was that I’d never forgiven either of us for telling each other the worst of lies.

  “No,” I said. “It wouldn’t really matter at this point.”

  “Maybe not,” Antha said. “But when I was watching him today I was thinking. For all these years Branson Hickey had never evolved in my mind from that arrogant teenager. But it didn’t take long for me realize that he’s not the same guy. He’s not the same at all. I guess none of us are the same as we were at age eighteen.”

  “Now that is the truth,” I sighed.