15 Minutes (Time for Love 4)

“Hey!” she yelled, trying to cover her head with her arms to keep the light out.

“Get up,” I shouted, pushing her shoulders.

“What the hell?” Abigail asked angrily as she pushed herself up on to her forearms and glared at me. “What are you doing?”

“I came by to see you,” I said calmly, as if I hadn’t just been acting immaturely.

“Well, you’ve seen me … now go away,” Abigail threw herself back onto the bed and tried to burrow her face into the sheets.

“Why did you tell Brock to come to my yoga class?” I asked softly as I sat down on the bed next to her.

Abigail turned her head and looked up at me curiously, “Brendan’s hot brother? He showed?”

I nodded and she flashed a huge grin at me.

“Awesome.”

“You’ve never done something like that with another guys,” I prodded. “So why him?”

Abigail stretched gracefully, then came up to sit cross-legged on the bed, brushing her fingers through her short hair as she shrugged, “For one, he’s hot. And you could use a little hot. Two, he seemed really interested, and you’ve been moping around since Scott, so I thought … what could it hurt.” She peered at me through her long lashes as she stifled a yawn. “You mad?”

“No,” I responded with a small smile. “He is hot, and nice. And, he’s given me a job.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m going to decorate his offices at work,” I said shyly.

“That’s great!” Abigail responded with a grin, then leaned over to shove me with her shoulder. “I thought he was just looking to get laid.”

I laughed with her, but didn’t respond, then I stood and said, ”I’ll let you get back to bed, but we really need to meet up for dinner sometime soon.”

“Sounds good,” she replied, and as I turned out the light, I smiled as she snuggled back into the bed, pulling her comforter tightly around her.

My smile quickly faded when I shut the door and found my mother sitting across the room, glaring at me.

“Heard that snooty guy of yours called of the wedding,” she said cruelly with a smirk. “Looks like you got what was coming to you … Always actin’ so much better than everyone else.”

I choked back tears and embarrassment as her words hit me like daggers. She’d always known how to hurt me the most. I tried not to let her see the effect of her words, and held my head high as I made my way to the front door, suddenly needing to get out of here as quickly as possible.

“Vicky,” my mother called when I had my hand on the doorknob, and even though I knew I should just walk out, I could never ignore my mother. That had always been one of my downfalls. “Once you realize that men are good for nothing but cock and heartache, you’ll be much happier.”

I flinched at her crass words, but turned to meet her violet gaze with my own, and asked, “Like you are, Mother?” Then I turned and shut the door softly behind me.

I took another deep breath, trying to cleanse my soul of the hatefulness that always seemed to be rooted in that house. One good thing about seeing my mother again today was that she reminded me of what I never wanted to become. A lonely, angry, and miserable woman, who’d been chewed up and spit out by love. I needed to think of her every time I felt Brock getting too close, and remind myself that I kept a fortress around my heart for a very good reason.

Chapter 9 – Brock

“Thanks for helping out, Bren,” I said to my youngest brother as he put the finishing touches on some sort of mini BLT sandwiches, Buffalo Chicken Dip, and little cups of whiskey bread pudding.

“No prob,” he said softly without looking up. He was in his second year of culinary school, and when I’d mentioned poker night, he’d jumped at the chance to cook for a group, even if it was just snacks and stuff. I’d still picked up the pizza and some beer, since he’d had school today, and had stayed up late last night writing lyrics.

As the originator, and lead singer of Whiskey Heat, Brendan took the music a lot more seriously than Brady and I did. We played because we loved the feeling that came from making music together. It seemed to bring us even closer than we already were, which was saying a lot. But for Brendan, music was life. He lived and breathed it. He even looked the part, with his long hair, skinny jeans, and the occasional use of makeup and nail polish. I didn’t always understand my brother, but I loved him more than I could ever express.

I left him to do his thing, stopping in the living room to put on Pandora Radio, before going to set up the table. Once I cleared all of the mail, magazines, and change off of the table and shoved it all into a drawer, I grabbed a beer and put on a game, deciding to relax until the guys showed up.

“W’sup?” Brady called in greeting as he let himself into the house. I tipped my beer to him in response, then turned my eyes back to the game. A few moments later, he eased himself into the recliner next to mine, a beer in one hand and a mini BLT sandwich in the other.

We were both shouting at the TV when my doorbell chimed. I rose to answer it, one eye still on the TV, and grunted in greeting to TJ, who stood grinning on my stoop with a twelve-pack of beer. I left the door open and indicated he should follow, then swore when I returned to the living room to see a commercial on TV.