FOUR

'I have to get out of here.' Leah paced the narrow strip of bare floor between the twin bed and high polished dresser. The comforter, a quilt neatly sewn with blocks cut from T-shirts emblazoned with school names, sports teams and concerts, brushed her thigh as she passed. She went to the window to look out, and pressed her forehead to the frosted glass.

'Uh oh. Mama Bear too much to handle?' Kate sounded appropriately sympathetic.

If she only knew.

'No. Not at all. Caroline's been great.' Leah twisted to peer down to the driveway, ploughed clear' of the feet of snow covering the rest of the yard. 'But, Christ, Kate. . .'

'What?' Kate's voice went from sympathetic to concerned. 'What's going on?' 'His dad,' Leah said in a low voice, with a glance towards the open door. 'He's an asshole?'

'No. God, no.' Leah shook her head and twisted the iPhone in her palm, switching hands. She sat on the bed, for a moment, then got up almost at once, too twitchy to relax.

She'd come up here with an armful of sheets and towels, ostensibly to help Caroline with putting away the laundry. In reality, she'd needed a place to get away from Caroline's sunny, bright smile and constant stream of chatter, and the basement room she was sharing with Brandon wasn't going to work. Not after what she'd found when she was putting away a pile of his socks and shorts, freshly washed, dried and folded by Mama Dearest.

'Dude, you're totally freaking me out. Tell me they're not fattening you up for sacrifice or something, please!'

Leah laughed, grateful for her friend's drama. 'No. They've been great. All of them. His mom's really, really sweet, and his dad . . .' 'You. Are. Killing me. What?'

'He's hot,' Leah whispered, looking again out the window where Brandon and his father, both incredibly and stupidly bare-chested, even though it had to be below freezing outside, were playing a game of one-on-one basketball. 'Hmm.' Kate chuckled. 'Well, are you surprised?'

'He's seriously hot," Leah said. 'And not old. He's way too young to be a dad, Kate, to be my dad, anyway. Shit.'

'He hasn't hit on you, has he?' Kate sounded suspicious.

'No.'

Bill Long, in fact, probably had never hit on any woman since he'd met his wife. The love between them would have been sickly sweet if it hadn't been so unselfconscious. So sincere. And, Leah had to admit, enviable.

'Brandon's dad is what I imagine he'll be like at the same age,' Leah said quietly. She heard a muffled sound through the glass and watched her lover - fuck, her boyfriend - no point in denying that's what he was — and his dad wrestle over the basketball.

From downstairs she heard Scamp bark, followed by Caroline's murmur and the sound of the back door opening. In moments Scamp joined the men, dancing around their feet as they played. It was the perfect picture of domesticity. Of a family.

Of a future.

'It scares the hell out of me,' she said.

Kate was silent for a moment, i hear that. But you've dealt with worse, haven't you? What else is going on? C'mon, don't hold out on me. If you're freaking out enough to cut your trip short, something big must've happened. Band Boy didn't buy you a sweatshirt with kittens on it for Christmas, did he? Because I will so kick his ass for you.'

Leah laughed again, wishing the humour would chase away the nausea bubbling in the pit of her gut. 'God, no. They gave me gloves and a scarf. You know, something sort of neutral but appropriate. And bath stuff.'

'Spill it,' Kate demanded. 'I can hear the freak-out in your voice.'

Leah swallowed and sat on the bed again. Brandon's mother had made this quilt from shirts he'd worn as a kid. He'd lived in this house, slept in this room. His soccer trophies still decorated the shelves, his prom picture - so fucking cute, complete with the skinny tie and hair in his eyes, his date a punk-rock girl in a purple gown and Doc Martens - beside them. He had brought her here to share all of this, and she loved him for that.

'I love him, Kate.'

'Dude. Of course you do. Who could resist a guy like Brandon?'

That Kate hadn't called him Band Boy meant an awful lot, and half-forced away the tears of panic clogging Leah's throat. But only half. She swallowed again, hard, against the ball of emotion choking her.

'I was helping Caroline put away the laundry, and I found something." Leah closed her eyes.

'Something like secret porn-stash something? Or secret. . . uh oh. No way.' Kate, Leah's best friend since the eighth grade, had always been able to nearly read her mind. 'Secret little velvet box sort of something?'

Leah, grateful she hadn't had to say it aloud, nodded, though Kate couldn't see her. 'Yes.'

'Let me guess. Not a pair of earrings.'

'No.'

'Well... I'd tell you I was surprised, but that would make me a liar,' Kate said. 'But were you surprised?'

She hadn't been, exactly. They'd talked about marriage, in that roundabout, vague way that included the future, as in someday we'll name our first kid after Marlon Brando' sort of talk. But it had always seemed so far away. Six months hadn't been such a very long time, not when Leah considered the rest of her life. Yet coming here, seeing Brandon's parents, his brothers and his entire family, Leah had no doubt that Brandon had been thinking about it.

'I was,' she admitted. 'Not by the idea he might be thinking about it. But by the ring? Yes. Hell, yes. Shit, Kate. Shitdamnpissfucktits.'

The curse, a favourite since high school, leaked out under her breath and she rubbed at the sudden pain in the centre of her forehead. Downstairs, the door opened. The dog barked. She heard the low, familiar rumble of male laughter and Caroline's fond scolding.

'He hasn't asked you yet, though, right? I mean, you just came across the ring. He hasn't actually gone down . . .' Kate giggled. On one knee, I mean.'

'I'm glad you can make crude sexual innuendos.'

'Sorry.' Kate didn't sound the least bit sorry, but she did sound sympathetic when she spoke again. 'If it's any consolation to you, I'm about ready to wring Pickles' neck for being a total douchetwat.'

Leah, guilty at not having even asked her friend how that was going, snorted lightly. 'Ah, good old Pickles. She figure out how to open a jar yet?'

Are you kidding me? She'll be lucky to have a hand left to open anything with if she doesn't keep them off Dix.' 'But to answer your question, no. He hasn't asked. God. I don't want him to. I need time to figure this out. . .' Leah trailed off as Brandon called her name from downstairs. 'Kate. I need to get out of here, seriously. I just. . .'

'So get out of there,' Kate said. 'To tell you the truth, I think I might need to get the hell out of here, myself. How's Vegas sound?'

'Are you serious?'

'Would I lie to you about Vegas?'

Brandon called her name again. Leah stood. 'Yes. I mean no, you wouldn't lie. Yes. Let's go.'

There were details to be discussed, tickets to book. A hotel room to reserve. But for now, this minute, just knowing they were really going to do it lifted Leah's spirits. The knowledge of escape made everything else seem bearable. Well.

Maybe not another plate of Caroline's homemade broccoli and processed cheese casserole, or another BeDazzled baseball cap. She disconnected the call and thumbed the controls on her phone to bring up the airline website. In moments she'd checked out the flights. One left tonight, just after eleven. She sent Kate a quick text message to let her know. Then she went downstairs.

'There you are.' Caroline beamed as Leah came down the back stairs into the cosy, homey kitchen where Brandon and his dad were digging into the huge plate of chocolate cake Caroline must've just finished icing. 'I thought maybe you decided to take a little nap up there.'

'Oh, no ... I was just looking at all of Brandon's memorabilia.' That wasn't an outright lie. She had looked.

Caroline chuckled and poured Brandon a glass of milk, which he took without a second glance from her. 'Nobody would blame you if you took a little nap, Leah. I know you can't be getting much of a good night's sleep.'

Leah, who'd been easing towards the lure of chocolate cake, looked up. Oh, no. Oh, gross. Caroline didn't mean what Leah thought she meant, did she? Brandons mom did not just reference their sex life . . . did she?

'I keep telling Caroline we need a better bed down there for guests, rather than that old pull-out. Or heck, finally get rid of all Bingo's junk up there and make that room a real guest room. Now that it looks like we'll need it,' Bill said with a grin that locked Leah's smile tight to her mouth, frozen. 'But then again, I guess you kids might like your privacy, huh?'

Oh, God, no. No. Not him too.

'Dad,' Brandon said, and Leah was sure he was going to tell his parents to lay off the innuendo. 'Pass more cake.'

Her appetite for it had fled, which surely meant the Apocalypse was coming. But, faced with the three smiling faces, she found herself unable to tell them she was leaving. Cowardice tasted a helluva lot worse than gooey chocolate cake, but she couldn't have forced herself to eat even a bite.

'You know what?' she said faintly. 'I am tired. I hope you don't mind if I really do take a nap.'

'Of course not. You go right ahead. But don't sleep too long,' Caroline said. "We'll be having dinner soon.'

Dinner. Leah's hands went automatically to her belly, still full from lunch. The Longs ate constantly. 'Great.'

'And don't forget the Monopoly tournament later,' Bill added, snagging another piece of cake for himself. 'It's my turn to kick all of your butts.'

Brandon snorted. Big talk, old man. But we'll see.' Leah fled.

It wasn't that she didn't like board games, or cake, or even dinner for fuck's sake . . . she did. And she liked Brandon's family. She really did. But it was all so foreign to her, this constant living in each other's pockets, the fond inside jokes, the casual acceptance of her as one of them. More than just acceptance, the full-on immersion of Leah into their family, as if she'd always been a part of it.

Leah couldn't remember when she figured out that she hadn't exactly been considered a bundle of joy, but she felt like she'd always known. Not that her parents didn't care for her, or protect her. Not that they didn't love her. But they were older when she was born, not a miracle baby but a mistake created by false menopause and too much wine. Her parents were as old as some of her friends' grandparents by the time she was in high school. They'd always loved her, and she loved them, but there was no denying that when she'd gone off to college and her parents had finally started to do all the travelling her childhood had prevented that Leah's parents much preferred not having to be responsible for her any longer. Her father always sounded faintly surprised when she called to check up on how they were doing, or to fill them in on her life. Her mother never forgot Leah's birthday but always sent the same gift - a card and a gift certificate to the bookstore. An appropriate and often-times generous gift because of the amount, but not very personal. In their eighties now, Leah's parents were still in good health and still travelling. This Christmas they'd gone to spend the week with friends in London. The one before they'd gone on a cruise. Leah hadn't spent a holiday with her family in at least five years, and the last had been when her parents stopped at her house in Harrisburg for one night on their way to New York City, where they were flying out of JFK to go to Scotland. She loved her parents, but they weren't anything like close.

In the basement she pressed her face into the stack of fabric-softener-scented clothes and shut her eyes, taking deep breaths. The ring in its velvet box wasn't big enough to make a lump beneath the pile in the drawer, but she felt it anyway like it was sharp and poked her in the eye.

It was more than the differences in their families. It was the differences in him. The Brandon at home and the one here. They hadn't talked about downplaying the way things were between them, though she'd wondered what his parents might think if they knew how much time he spent on his knees for her. Seeing his father with his mother, though, she understood they might not have found it as strange as some. On the surface, they couldn't have been more different, Bill the sole provider and head of the house, Caroline a stay-home mother who baked cookies and made all their Halloween costumes from scratch. Yet watching Bill with her, the adoration in his eyes, the way he treated her like a queen, Leah understood a lot of where Brandon had learnt how to serve her.

Nevertheless, he was different here. The laundry for example. At home he'd have washed, dried and folded the clothes. He'd have put them away, taking the time to tuck her panties into the drawer and hang her blouses and skirts on hangers in coordinated rows in her closet. He did it that way because she'd told him it pleased her to have everything done just so, and because it pleased him to do what she wanted. It worked out well for both of them, and she couldn't count how many times she'd come home from work to the scent of dinner in the oven and gone upstairs to run her fingers along the row of clothes, then turned to find him in the doorway with that eminently fuckable grin on his face.

How many times had he gone to his knees for her right there, his big hands sliding up her skirt, finding the bare spots above her stockings? She shivered now, thinking of it. Of the warmth of his breath gusting over her skin when he eased her panties down and worshipped her with his mouth, making her come while she sank her fingers into the thick, dark lushness of his hair.

Her cunt pulsed at the memory. Her breath quickened. And somehow, when she turned to see him in the doorway behind her, Leah wasn't surprised.

'My mom sent me down here to make sure you were all right.' Brandon closed the door behind him.

Then, with the smile he knew never failed to get her wet, he moved towards her. His hand slid down her side to anchor at her hip. His other pulled her close, his mouth finding the sensitive flesh of her neck. Leah's nipples tightened and she bit back the low moan his touch urged from her.

There wasn't anything she wanted more than to push him back on the bed, straddle him, yank his cock free and ride it. She always wanted that with him. Every day she thought maybe the passion would fade, that he would begin to annoy her. And every day she woke up wanting him just as much as she ever had. Fuck, no. Wanting him more.

But this time, when his hand moved beneath her skirt to stroke her, Leah handcuffed his wrist with her fingers. He stopped at once, familiar with her need to be in control. His cock pushed against her through the front of his sweatpants. She could smell him, sweat from the game mingled with the cologne she'd chosen for him, and she had to swallow against another low moan. He looked at her, his head tilted. His smile faded; she could only guess from the look on her face.

'Leah?'

'I'm sorry,' she said, very carefully not saying his name even though it wanted to tumble off her tongue. 'But I have to leave.'