Cider House Fools, page 26
“I hope he knows this was about him. Having Bennett here now is just fortuitous timing.” My legs are heavy, my limbs belligerent. I need to go in the building and explain to my brother why I brought him here. My legs don’t want to work because I’m afraid. If Balthasar takes this the wrong way, the whole thing could backfire. I could lose my brother.
“I’ve been your best friend for our whole lives Smith, and I didn’t know you had this in you. I’m proud of you, man.” Whittaker sticks a hand out. Seeing the respect in my old friends eyes helps banish some of the nerves.
“Remember that if this goes south,” I answer, shaking his hand while trying to push down the panic and praying that by asking the universe to deliver both my brother and my girl is not far more than I deserve.
“What is this Smith?” Balthasar’s striding around the building, the bang of his boots echoing off the sub floor.
“I’ll tell you Balth, but I’m going to need you to promise to let me finish explaining before you blow up,” I hedge. I wipe the back of my hand over my forehead. The temperature is in the teens and I’m stress sweating. Balthasar hooks his thumbs in his pockets and waits.
“It’s a cider house,” I blurt. “A cider house and a restaurant and store. I wanted to finish it, but then I realized, you might want to do that yourself. I spent two years studying cider houses across the country to figure out what you would need. I’ve got enough property to put up another building to manufacture if you want to distribute or make your creamer and jams.”
He blinks, staring at me with his mouth hanging open. His brows are drawn together, and the color is draining out of his face. I can’t tell if he’s going to have a syncopal episode or blow up. Knowing Balthasar, a storm is brewing. I stumble in my effort to ward his temper off. “I built it for you, but I…I thought maybe Bennett could run the restaurant. Shit. I’m sorry Balthasar. I should have consulted you first. This was dick move. I meant it to be a, well, not a gift, an investment in your considerable talents but I realize…” I’m babbling, my stomach sick as I realize how far I’ve overstepped.
“Shut up,” Balthasar yells. He wipes furiously at his face. “Yes. Yes, I’ll go into the cider business with you brother.” His voice is thick as he launches himself at me. “Yes, I’ll convince our girl and Franklin to move home and run our restaurant,” he mumbles into my jacket as he pounds my back. Awkwardly I pat his back.
“I don’t know anything about restaurants or making or selling booze brother. This is all going to be you and Bennett,” I say, stepping back.
“And Franklin, and Whittaker. This is going to be a family enterprise. Is this my Christmas present?”
“This is every Christmas present for the rest of your life asshat,” I grab him around the neck and run my knuckles through his hair like I used to when we were kids. Seeing the absolute shock and joy on his face, seeing the hope and disbelief that his dreams might come true sprouts a tendril of hope that mine might too. It’s new and uncomfortable, but I don’t dislike the feeling. I steal a glance at Whittaker. His simple nod tells me I did good. And that, coming from my old best friend, means as much as my brother’s joy.
I spend the next couple hours figuring out how much more money we need to kit out the building for Balthasar to get it up and running. Plans have been tumbling out of him like a waterfall. He’s on his phone, ordering catalogs for everything from flooring to bottle labels to fermentation vats while muttering about mash and storage and menus.
When Whittaker mentions he’s been hired on to oversee the rest of the construction Balthasar tackles me again. He only lets me go when his phone rings. He answers it, says a few cryptic “yups and yeahs,” then shoves it back in his jacket pocket. “Let’s go, we have dinner at Gran’s.”
“I really need to get back to work,” I mutter, making excuses to refuse the invitation. There is nothing I want more than to sit at the table with Bennett and my brother and my best friend and have dinner like a family. So why can’t I make myself go?
“Are you kidding me? You just made this grand gesture, that anyone can see is not just about me but about getting our girl back and you can’t handle an invite to dinner? You’re going Smith.” His giddy joy fades as his frustration with me takes over. “You went to all this trouble, did all this work for what? Too push her away? I know you’d rather have her to yourself or not at all, but this is crunch time bro. You’ve got to decide. You want her or not? You want a family? We are unconventional, sure, but it is what it is. This is what you get. Don’t throw us out like yesterday’s trash because this is harder than you thought it would be.”
“Smith.” Whittaker calls my name, pulling my attention away from my brother.
“Yeah?” I answer, turning, hoping he doesn’t see how relieved I am to be pulled out of Balthasar’s line of fire.
“I know what’s going through your head. Those thoughts live in my head too. But I’m going to dinner. Because even though I don’t think she’s going to stay, she needs us.” Pain bleeds out of his icy, translucent eyes. He holds my gaze, forcing me to acknowledge that my fears aren’t unique. Once he’s satisfied with what he sees, he turns and lets himself out of the building.
“That was practically a fuckin’ speech,” Balthasar sounds impressed.
“It was,” I agree. The sound of my diesel truck roaring to life echoes through the empty building. Balthasar laughs. The lights shine through the garage door windows as Whittaker backs out hard and fishtails onto the road.
“Get in the truck asshole,” Balthasar tosses his keys in the air, laughing delightedly over Whittaker stealing my truck. “I’m going to dinner, so I guess you are too.”
Gran’s house smells amazing when we all tumble in. The table is set for six. Thick pork chops sizzle on the stove. Scalloped potatoes sizzle in a casserole dish and I can smell the tangy, creamy mizeria. Franklin’s at the stove scooping something over the pork chops like the professional he is. Bennett is nowhere to be seen. “There’s coffee in the pot and beer in the fridge. You know where to find the hard liquor. Dinner will be done in a few. These chops need to rest for ten minutes.”
“Where is Bennett?” I ask. Whittaker waits quietly for Franklin’s answer while he watches him work. Interesting.
“Honey! I’m home!” Balthasar hollers, walking over and kissing Franklin on the cheek with a smack. “This is fucking fantastic.” He pulls out a chair and plops down, picking up a fork and a knife. They stand at attention as he rests his fists on the table beside his plate. “Anyone not want this for the rest of their life? ‘Cuz I do.”
I pour a cup of coffee and lift it in thanks to Franklin. My mind is churning. I agree whole heartedly with my brother, but a part of me knows I’ll never fully be a part of their family. I can’t be a part of the relationship that Balthasar, Whittaker, and now Franklin can enjoy with each other. I love my brother and my best friend, but indulging in sexually activity with another man is not my cup of tea. My heart belongs strictly to Bennett. And now there is a fourth who shares their fluidity. I sip my coffee, closing my eyes and relishing the burn on my tongue. The happiness of the day fades as I contemplate the fact that there will be no escape for me. If Bennett stays and establishes a family that I can’t be a part of I could be more miserable than I am without her. I hang up my coat and remove my sweatshirt. The kitchen is hot. A trickle of sweat rolls down my back. I pull my sticky shirt away from my body.
“Smith stop it. I can see the gears in your head turning and it’s ugly. Get a beer and chill the fuck out. Franklin, where is our lovely lady? There is much to discuss.” Balthasar kicks a chair out from under the table.
Franklin shuts the burner off. “She’s in her room,” he answers. “She’s working on something. I asked her to help me cook dinner and she mumbled ‘get pizza’ and walked out.” Viciously, he stabs a porkchop and slaps it on a platter.
Balthasar smirks. “Did you do something to piss of our precious peony? Sounds like you got dismissed. Or did you do something to her that you think should have earned you her undivided attention? Is this pouting, Frankie baby? Did our girl piss you off?”
I’m surprised my brother isn’t incinerated by the time he’s done teasing Franklin. The bear of a chef is glaring so hard at him there is matching curls of smoke coming from Franklin’s ears and the wooden chair under Balthasar’s ass. “I didn’t piss her off. In fact, I ate her—”
Bennett chooses that exact moment to breeze through the archway into the kitchen. “You what Franklin?” she arches a brow and purses her lips, challenging him to finish his statement.
“—muffin. I ate her muf…crumb cake muffins.” The little bit of cheek Franklin has left about the cut of his beard flares red.
Balthasar laughs and bangs his fists on the table. “Come hither and sit that fine rump upon my lap woman. I have important things to tell you. But I know as soon as I do, you’re going to abandonme for my brother, so I want you locked down before I spill the beans.”
“We have things to tell you too,” Bennett glances at Franklin as she talks, and the look that passes between them wipes the smile off Balthasar’s face. The mood in the kitchen gets ominous quickly.
Whittaker clears his throat and pulls his cap off his head. He steps up to Bennett and slides a hand around the back of her neck, leaning in to kiss her. He takes his time, biting her bottom lip, stroking the inside of her mouth with his tongue, all the while rubbing her neck with one hand and pulling her waist in with the other. When he breaks the kiss, she’s breathless and there are stars in her eyes. Whittaker leans his forehead against hers, taking a moment for just the two of them, even surrounded by the rest of us. “We better get on with it. Lots of things to discuss lead to lots of things to do.” He pulls out a chair for her and takes her hand, leading her to it while keeping his eyes locked on hers. It’s romantic as hell and she loves it. I can practically hear her squelch as she slips into the chair.
She tears her eyes from Whittaker. They land on me. She searches my face. I want to yank her up from the chair and put stars in her eyes like Whittaker did, but the room feels too crowded. I willing to be vulnerable for Bennett, but I don’t know if I’m willing to go there with an audience. She reaches over and plucks one of my hands off my thighs. She holds it between us, her thumb rubbing the back as she murmurs, “How was your day?”
I’ve always hated that question. It’s a mannerism. A polite requirement between housemates. In my experience, no one really cares what the response is, they’re just concerned with looking like they do. I intend to brush her off, but the response that comes out is honest. I want her to care. “It was one of the scariest, and most rewarding days I’ve ever had.”
She squeezes my hand, leaning over to whisper. “I had a scary day too. Maybe you could kiss me and have dinner with us, and then I can add rewarding to my list.” She leans on the table, her hair cascading to the down her arm and pooling on cloth. Like a metaphorically curtain, her soft, blond tresses block out the other three and create a space for just her and I to be.
When I lean down to kiss her, I haven’t a thought about who sees me do it.
Chapter twenty-four
December 5 Monday Dinner
Bennett
Whittaker slides into the chair at the head of the table. Franklin sits to Balthasar’s left, and Smith and I sit across from them. Casually, Whittaker drops a hand on my thigh after my kiss with Smith. His touch bolsters the courage I need to get through explaining what happened in the barn today. I don’t want to deal with the testosterone that’s going to explode in Gran’s kitchen when I’m through. Whittaker will be the only one who keeps his mouth shut until I finish telling my story. I’m grateful to be sitting next Whittaker Schultz.
Everyone sits down and starts passing platters and bowls. We dig in, eating peacefully, as knifes scrape across plates and groans of appreciation make Franklin smile. I start to relax as hot food fills my belly. Whittaker’s big hand continues to knead my thigh. Smith intermittently reaches under the table and caresses the other. Not in a sexual way, but as if he’s making sure I’m still here. I’m happy, until Franklin clears his throat and announces without preamble, “Weston showed up this morning. He roughed up Bennett in a horse stall and threatened her. We have to do something about him.”
Balthasar and Smith exchange glances. They know something I don’t. “What?” I demand, stabbing my knife across the table in Balthasar’s direction.
Balthasar sighs. “He was here two days ago. With a used ring. To propose to you. When we laughed him out of the house, he said something that indicates he might be trying to buy property around here.”
I scoff. “Empty threats. He doesn’t have any money. He can’t buy shit without daddy’s help, and I highly doubt Mr. Holbrook wants to dump a bunch of money into Michigan farmland. Sorry guys, but none of our farms are hauling in money by the bushel.”
Smith sets his silverware down. “Bennett, do you know who Halston Holbrook is?”
I squint at Smith, wondering if horns are going to sprout of his head next. Who is this guy sitting next to me? Why is Smith being hesitant? Why is he being the kind of hesitant that says he knows things that are going to piss me off? “What do you mean do I know him? And why are you talking about him like you know him?”
“I do know him. I worked for him. For years. The majority of his business is oversea contracts. He does millions, if not billions of dollars of business with the United States and other foreign governments. Lots of special forces guys work for him after they retire from service. I was one of them.”
“What are you saying? I’m in danger from him because I don’t want to marry his abusive son?” Whittaker’s hand is still kneading and rubbing my thigh, but it isn’t diminishing the disgust that floods my system whenever Weston’s name is spoken out loud. If Weston apparated in front of me right now I’d have both of his eyeballs speared onto the tines of my fork before he could open his mouth to scream.
Smith knows I’m mad as hell. “I’m saying, with your permission Bennett, I will put in a call and see if I can’t nip this thing in the bud.”
“You would do that for me? Why?” I ask incredulously. The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them. My cheeks flame red. It’s not like I need him to tell me twice, but I’m flabbergasted he would use a favor with a man like Halston Holbrook.
“It’s probably safer for me in the long run to place the call then deal with the fallout after I beat him to a pulp.” Smith stands, pushing back his chair. “Franklin, thank you, but I need to get—”
“Sit your ass down, we aren’t done.” Balthasar glares at his brother. “Don’t you ruin this for me, or for yourself. Sit down Smith!” Reluctantly, Smith drops back down in his seat and scooches back up to the table.
I jump out of my chair. “Who wants pie?” I squawk, picking up my plate and the bowl of cucumbers. Tears prick at my eyes. My arms are as heavy as my heart. Smith isn’t protecting me because he wants me to be his. That phone call isn’t going to be made Weston is messing with Smith’s girl. It’s because he doesn’t want any trouble with a powerful former employer.
I get it. I just can’t sit here and be all nicey nicey normal and polite while my heart breaks. I carry the food around the table and pull out the garbage can to scrape my plate into.
Thump. “What the fuck!” Smith hisses. I lean between him and Balthasar and pick up their plates. Whittaker gets up and stacks a couple of plates, bringing them over to me. He sets them in the sink and then starts scraping. So quietly I can barely hear him he says, “Don’t go down that road. He’s already there. You can’t go together, or this won’t work.”
I stack the scraped plates into the other side of the sink and reach up to grab pie plates out of the cupboard, tossing Whittaker an incredulous look. What the fuck is Whittaker getting on about? He shakes his head and sighs. Then he grabs me by the wrist and drags me around the table, completely ignoring my screeching.
The bathroom door slams shut so hard the sign that says “Be a sweetie and wipe the seatie” above the toilet rattles. I rub my wrist and aim my hurt glare at Whittaker. “You can’t drag me around like that, you neanderthal!”
He doesn’t answer me because he’s too busy kissing me. This one isn’t soft and romantic like earlier. This kiss consumes me. He grabs the waistline of my sweatshirt and T-shirt in one and peels it over my head. He reaches around me and unclasps my bra, his mouth travelling over my breasts, sucking and nipping as he pushes my leggings down in one swoop. And then he flips me around and presses me into the vanity. “This is happening so damn fast, but, it’s inevitable.” He kneels, his hands wrapping around my thighs to part my legs. “Franklin was a nice surprise. I like him, Ben.” His hands slide up, coming to rest in the juncture where thigh meets butt cheek. He pushes me up, spreading my legs. His long tongue drags through my slit one time before he buries his face in my cunt. Air rushes over my throbbing clit as he sucks in a deep inhale. “Fuck I’ve missed this pussy so hard it haunts my dreams. He licks me aggressively, before standing and undoing his pants. “You’re going to have to work for Smith. He isn’t into sharing, and I get that.” He slides two fingers in my dripping cunt and continues to speak as if I’m not moaning and rubbing my wet pussy against him like an animal in heat. “Now you’ve added Franklin into the equation and Smith thinks there is no place for him,”
I stop rubbing and turn. “That’s not true,” I whisper fervently. My longing for Smith crests like a high tide, washing through me, over me. “I will always love Smith. He was my first love. He owns me in a way no one else can.” Whittaker scissors and curls his fingers in a pattern I’ve never felt before. My legs are trembling, my nipples aching as they battle the cold vanity. “Whittaker, please, I want…I want…”
