Part 4 (2/2)

”You did me a favor by asking me to marry you because my stupid a.s.s was too chicken s.h.i.+t and stupid to realize a good thing when I had it. I owe you a favor. I'm going to do this. I'm going to make good with your sister.”

Hannah's apartment was on the fourth floor. There was also something honorable in what he was doing, he kept telling himself. He traced back to his past romances. There was no pageantry in those relations.h.i.+ps. He produced films, busted his a.s.s raising money, dealing with the normal pre-production woes, and between projects, he'd hook up with an actress or a fellow producer. A few easy going dates. s.e.x. And then something better would come along for both parties, and that'd be it.

I'm going to show her who I am. Brandy will have no choice but to like you. She'll treat you like a brother. She might grow to kind of like me, maybe.

His nerves of steel melted once he stood outside the apartment door. His hand was arched over the door to knock, but he paused. His wrist had locked. Stage fright was setting in. He had seen beyond the gates within the coliseum, and he realized his sword and s.h.i.+eld was nothing compared to the lioness who waited inside the apartment ready to devour him for his past sins.

Brock finally knocked on the door and waited for a reply. The air around him suddenly picked up speed. It whistled through the nearby trees, warning him to run for his life, duck and cover, don't turn back, that it wasn't too late to save himself. Hannah would understand if he decided to renege on his decision to have this talk with Brandy.

If you can't do this, what makes you think you can save Angel?

That convinced him to knock again, this time speaking up, ”Are you in there, Brandy? Hannah said you wanted us to have a talk.”

He waited a full ten seconds. It was enough time for the wind to calm and dissipate. He barely heard through the door, ”It's open.”

Brock edged open the door. Once he had one foot inside, he was seized by the wrist and yanked forward into the apartment. The door slammed closed behind him. He landed on his hands and knees, thrown so hard. He was confused, afraid somebody else was in the apartment besides Brandy. Before he knew what had happened, he was seeing stars. A lamp had been smashed over the back of his head. The porcelain pieces rained down his face and back. Before he could blink the stars out of his eyes, Brock was lifted back up by the collar of his s.h.i.+rt, hoisted by a strong force. A left hook later, his jaw clocked, the motion of flesh, an arm, a fist, a pivoting fighter, it all blurred into senseless motion.

Brock was a helpless idiot in the face of the pummeling of a lifetime. He wasn't prepared for the swift upper cut to the stomach that hurled him up against the wall, his back absorbing the pain, the contents of his stomach threatening to lurch up his esophagus and out of his mouth. He did his best to beg for mercy when a red Puma shoe attached to a foot struck home between his legs, forcing back down the words. The spike of nausea creeping up his belly, he melted onto the ground, wincing, wheezing, and moaning softly to bemoan the pain in his b.a.l.l.s. He was closer to vomiting now with the sensation of his b.a.l.l.s being crushed repeating in dizzying pangs. He squeezed his eyes shut and tears crept free.

After five minutes of being spread out on the carpet, the agony of his b.a.l.l.s reduced itself to a low broil. Gaining his sense of sight back, Brock studied the room antic.i.p.ating a new attack. He spotted Brandy standing above him. She wore an a.s.s-kicking outfit, one with much flexibility, namely a pair of sweatpants, sports bra, and her black hair styled into a ponytail. Her expression was one exempt of apology, of a woman who had taken martial arts cla.s.ses after being raped and facing off with her previous aggressor. Her menacing face challenged him to get up, to take her on, to fight back and give her a new reason to kick his a.s.s some more.

Her voice was gravel. ”Get up, you a.s.shole. Are you going to take it? You going to take it from me, you f.u.c.king washed up a.s.shole?”

Brock leaned his back up against the wall. He could've charged at her, barreled into her chest, but that wasn't who he was. He wished no harm upon her despite the fact a warm bullet of blood was crawling down his face. There was an open gash at his scalp.

Brock was still afraid to say the wrong thing.

”You can't have my sister, you d.i.c.khead.” She spat in his direction. ”They say once a junkie, always a junkie. That won't be my sister because she won't be with you. You'll stay a junkie, and Hannah will find some rich, kind, big d.i.c.ked man to live happily ever after with. She'll forget about you in good time. Maybe no time at all.”

Still furious, nostrils flaring, lips sneering so hard he could see a centimeter line of her teeth, Brandy bent over him, slapping him hard on the face, then yanking back his hair. ”Don't you want a shot at me? You're not going to fight me? You a p.u.s.s.y? You a chicken s.h.i.+t? Tell me what you are, because you're certainly not a man.”

Brock did his best to absorb the pain of her blows. ”I don't want to fight.”

He was socked in the gut twice.

”You've apologized a lot in your life, Brock, but do you ever mean it? Am I supposed to be impressed that you've cleaned up? Because I'm not. You have a bad day, and instantly, you're back in rehab or stealing from my sister for drug cash.”

Brandy wrenched back his hair again, twisting it back so hard he heard a crunch. Brandy's face gave a little, hearing the sound, as if she too were pained by the noise. ”You can't have my sister.”

”I love Hannah,” Brock managed through thin gasps of breath. He was reeling from the attack, knowing he'd be suffering long after this was over with a nice collection of bruises and aches. ”And you have every right to be mad at me and concerned for your sister. My only argument,” he stopped, fearing another punch when she clenched her fists at her sides, ”is that I've been sober two years. I've got a steady job. I have a sister I want to save from drug addiction. I can't be forgiven, but I can correct my mistakes and hope for the best from the people I've affected.”

Brandy stepped back from him and turned her head down at him, frowning hard. He had thrown her for a loop. She was turning the events over in her head, shocked at herself that she'd shattered a lamp. There was spots of blood on the carpet and half his face was wet with blood. The cuts on the vascular parts of the body always bled like crazy, he thought, touching around the wound across his forehead.

She paced back and forth in front of him as he stood in place, observing his a.s.sault. ”I'll be honest, Brock, I thought I had you pinned down as an abusive son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h. I a.s.sumed the worst of you in every department.”

”I've earned it.”

”Every man I've known to take a beating like that, from a man or a woman, especially s...o...b..'s like you, always fight back. They hit women, no problem. And you took it. You just took it.”

Brock wiped the blood off his lips when the warm trail crossed over them. ”I love Hannah. We're going to be family.”

It was a dumb response, but considering the circ.u.mstances, it was the best he could muster.

Brandy confessed, ”I had a plan all worked out. I'd beat the s.h.i.+t out of you. You'd take a shot at me, and then I'd tell Hannah you hit me, and she'd never forgive you. You wouldn't marry her, end of story. But you,” as if blaming him, ”you didn't do anything. You just let me hit you like a stupid idiot.”

She was horrified at the damage she'd inflicted upon Brock. Her plan had not only failed, she had channeled too much anger into him, leaving him a b.l.o.o.d.y mess. Suffering from that realization, Brandy frantically called out to her sister outside.

Brock rested in the back seat of Hannah's car as the sister's went at each other's throats.

”You said you were going to act like a Dad and ask him questions. Like his life expectations, why he loved me, why he was a better person now, not going Chuck Norris on his a.s.s! What has gotten into you?”

”Hannah, I don't know what came over me. I-I-I thought I'd give him a punch, and then he'd fight back, and then-”

”Then he'd hit you, and I'd have to turn him away, right? You realize how manipulative that is?”

”He's no good.”

”You think he's no good, but you don't know him like I do.”

”I don't have to know him. I see his a.s.s on TV, I saw what you were like after his parties. You weren't a sister anymore, and you weren't a person either. Brock was the one who allowed it. He fed you those f.u.c.king drugs.”

”I made the choice. I kept coming to his parties, but we both went to rehab. And if you're thinking like that, you're saying the way Brock was, I was too, and I changed, right? Why can't he change?”

”But it's different.”

”It's not different. I was as bad off as he was in rehab. I was clawing the walls, s.h.i.+tting and puking from my withdrawals. You beat the p.i.s.s out of Brock. Jesus, Sis, look at him. He's b.l.o.o.d.y.”

Brock tried to add levity to the conversation. ”She tore me a new one.”

They didn't hear him.

”He's all b.l.o.o.d.y, Brandy, G.o.d-d.a.m.n it, and you're still defending yourself. Berate him, say he's a big a.s.shole, but think about what you did. You kicked the s.h.i.+t out of him. Don't you feel stupid he didn't fight back? The fact you wanted him to hit you disturbs me. Brock's trying harder than you are. He knows you don't like him, but he still wants you to like him.”

Brock spoke up. ”Wait, you two, just hold on. Brandy, can we start over? From scratch. I'll make you a deal. You write up a contract. Have a notary sign it. If I ever relapse, I lose Hannah. I'll sign it. I swear to you.”

The deal caused them both to go quiet.

”Hannah means that much to me. No drugs. Ever. Two years, I've made it with your sister. We're the perfect team. We love each other. You only know the bad parts of me, Brandy. Give me a chance. I'll keep trying no matter how many times you kick my a.s.s.”

Brandy mulled it over. She wasn't impressed with Brock, but his offer stuck true in her mind. ”Okay, Brock, you've got a deal. You stay sober, or I kick your a.s.s to the curb.”

”Can I add one stipulation to the contract?”

Brandy's eyes were coal black. She waited for his request.

”Please don't kick me in the b.a.l.l.s like that again. They're still lodged in my throat as we speak.”

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