Some Like It Hopeless (A Temporary Engagement) (5 page)

Cassandra parked in a pull-out near the top of Mulholland Drive and looked out over the city. The lights twinkled, the city sprawled before her. The freeways curving snakelike along the valley.

So many people. So much hurt and misery.

It was easy to remember, sitting here, that she was only one in seven billion. Insignificant, really. Her hurts, her misery. Insignificant.

She looked over at Brady, his hand still squeezing the door handle. He looked a little green, and Cassandra didn’t know if that was from her driving or from the winding road.

When he opened his eyes, she was still watching him. He swallowed and said, “You are not driving back.”

She smiled at him. “My plan was to distract you with a little hanky panky when we got up here but I can see that isn’t going to work. This car is too small.”

He cracked his window and took deep, gulping breaths. He said, “I thought we were going to go over the side a few times.”

“Didn’t you want to?”

He stopped breathing; he didn’t look at her. He didn’t have to because Cassandra already knew his answer.

He
did
want to go over the side. And he didn’t.

She knew how that felt.

She looked back toward the lights and just sat with him.

She said, “I don’t know why those who get what everyone deserves always feel guilty about it.”

“I deserve my guilt.”

“You do. You deserve your guilt for hurting those you love. You deserve it for taking their life from them.”

“But you think I should forgive myself anyway.”

Cassandra said, “Never.”

He turned to her, in shock, and Cassandra said, “You can’t undo it. You can’t make amends. You will never be forgiven. Some things just won’t ever be.”

“Then what the hell are we talking about?”

“You don’t deserve the guilt you feel for surviving. For living when they can’t. There’s no forgiveness, Brady. You’re never going to find it. But maybe you can find life again.”

He pushed his door open, jumping out of the car. He slammed his palm onto the hood of the car and shouted, “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Cassandra jumped, her heart thumping. Smooth move, ex-lax. Bring a man who can bench press a small elephant to a secluded area and piss him off.

She got out of the car slowly and faced him. She kept the car between them and said, “The man I love fell in love with someone else. And he feels guilty about it. Guilty, when he got something everyone deserves. To love, to be loved in return.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about Shane.”

“You’re alive, Brady. You deserve that. To live, to spend as much time as you get driving your fast car fast. To sleep in a bed.”

He jerked.

Cassandra shook her head. He’d woken up next to her twice now and both times he’d stared at the bed like it was a sleeping dragon. Like he couldn’t believe he’d
slept
on it.

She said, “You’re searching for forgiveness when it will never come. Maybe you should start looking for something else.”

“You mean like loving someone who can’t love me back? You’re right, that sounds better. I’ll start looking for that.”

She looked up and could almost make out a star if she squinted. “I can’t help who I love; you can’t help who you killed. We can still live.”

Brady stared at her, his stomach heaving.

No forgiveness, ever.

And he knew she was right. He would never forgive himself. He’d made peace with that.

But he didn’t deserve to live, either. Cassandra was wrong about that.

Didn’t deserve to find pleasure in simple things.

Couldn’t
sleep in a bed.

Except when he was sleeping next to Cassandra, apparently.

He didn’t know why except there was something so peaceful about her fatalistic view of the world. She saw how hard it was, how horrible. And then, somehow, moved past that.

He knew, without even asking, what her motto in life was.
Life’s a bitch. What’s next?

What’s next? Brady didn’t have a next.

His wife had been an angel. Not perfect, of course. They’d had their share of problems, most of them coming from him. But she’d been an angel. Forgiving him, loving him.

Without her, he was lost.

He didn’t yell at Cassandra again. “My wife was an angel. I don’t know why she was taken when I wasn’t. And I
don’t
deserve to live when she can’t.”

“Why did she marry you?”

He pinched his brows together. “What?”

Cassandra waved her hand in the air and rolled her eyes. “Anybody dies, all of a sudden they were a saint. I’m sorry she died. I’m sorry she left you here to suffer alone. And I’m sorry that you killed her. But I doubt that she was a saint or an angel because you aren’t. And no angel could handle you.”

“She couldn’t handle me. But she loved me anyway.”

Cassandra squeezed her lips together, smiling at him. “That’s nice. That must have been very nice.”

It had been.

“And even if my wife hadn’t been an angel, my son
was
.”

“How old was he?”

Brady paused, swallowing the lump in his throat before saying, “Four.”

He cleared his throat. “He was four, and he loved garbage trucks and swimming in the pool and getting thrown up into the air.”

A car drove up the hill, slowing as if to turn in, then speeding off again. Probably teenagers, looking for someplace deserted. To have some fun, drink some pilfered beer. To live.

Brady watched the taillights disappear and said, “I thought that as my nephews got older that it would hurt more. To see what he could have been. But it doesn’t work that way; he’ll always be four.”

When he looked at Cassandra, there were tears in her eyes, and he rounded the car. “Do you really think someone like me deserves life?”

She nodded, the tears still swimming, and she sniffed.

He kissed her. Not as punishment, not as a distraction. He kissed her because he wanted to. He kissed her because she wasn’t an angel. She’d never forgive him like his wife had. Never look at him when he was Brady like she looked at him when he was Shane.

But she could handle him. She could handle what he’d done. She could handle what he’d always be.

He said softly, “What’s next?”

She jumped, wrapping her legs around his waist, and he caught her.

She said, “I’m going to drive down this hill and see if I can make you toss your cookies. Then we’ll go back to my place and you’ll fall asleep in my bed and wake up wondering what the hell just happened.”

He huffed. That was exactly what he felt like when he woke up. “And then?”

“What are you looking for, Brady?”

She’d said he was looking for forgiveness. But that wasn’t it. He hadn’t really thought he was looking for anything. But now, he thought he might like a little bit of peace.

He didn’t deserve it. He never would. But maybe he could have it anyway.

He said, “When you get tired of pretending I’m Shane. What then?”

“You mean when you get tired of driving all over for a little rest and relaxation when all you have to do is go down to your bar.”

“I don’t mind driving all over when I’m the one behind the wheel. It’s you who will never be driving my car again.”

He rested her against the car, her legs tight around his waist, his hands circling her thighs. He stroked his thumbs up the inside of her jeans.

She shivered. “Then we’ll say goodbye. And you’ll find some other drunk girl to take up to your penthouse. And I’ll find someone else who has a fast car and doesn’t mind if I call him Shane.”

He moved his hips between her thighs, a slight pulse that rocked her and the car. “I don’t mind when you call me Shane. How important is a fast car?”

She cocked her head. “I’m thinking.”

He pulsed again. “Are you?”

Her hands curled and her lashes fluttered closed. She murmured, “I’m thinking about thinking.”

“I’m thinking about how I’m going to get your pants off.”

“I’m thinking about leaving all the thinking to you; you seem to have it covered.”

“Good.” He popped the button on her jeans.

She opened her eyes a crack. “If you’re going to do all the thinking, you’ll have to tell me what’s next.”

He slid his hands under her bottom and boosted her up his chest. A small shriek flew from her mouth and her hands grabbed at his hair. He sat her on the roof of the car and rested his hand on her chest.

He said, “Here’s what’s next.”

Brady pushed at Cassandra until she let go of his hair and lay back on her elbows. He pulled her zipper down and yanked at her jeans.

She said, “Okay. I could like this.”

She looked over to where the hill dropped off and the city spread out below them. “Maybe.”

He climbed onto the car, leaning over her. She flung her arms out wide, grabbing at the car. “Is this roof going to hold the both of us?”

He said, “I don’t like it.”

“Yeah. I’m heading in that direction,” she said and he snorted.

“I don’t like Sundays and Wednesdays. I want every night. For as long as this thing lasts, I want every night.”

“That would be flattering if you didn’t want every night so you can be comatose for seven hours.”

He was already addicted to sleeping next to her. To sleeping.

He’d been yawning since Sunday.

He hadn’t slept in six years; only taking an hour here, an hour there.

One night of sleep and he couldn’t function anymore.

Cassandra said, “Maybe it’s not me. Maybe any woman in your bed would do.”

He shook his head. He’d had other women.

It was her.

She said, “Just how many sluts have you taken upstairs lately?”

He ran a finger along her arm. “Only one.”

She murmured, “I feel like I should get mad, but I’m leaving a butt print on the roof of your car. Sounds slutty to me, too.”

Brady slid his zipper down and Cassandra said, “I swear, I hate men. I’m here breezing in the wind and all you have to do is pull down your zipper.”

“There are women who hate men. You’re not one of them.”

He flicked her nipple with his thumb, making it pucker, and she said, “Oh, I’m starting to hate you.”

Her head tipped off the edge of the roof, her throat open and exposed.

She muttered, “I hope to God I set the parking brake,” and Brady licked her neck.

He looked past her, down the hill, and he whispered, “Don’t you want to?”

She peeled one hand off the car to grab at him. “Only sometimes. And not today.”

He lifted her butt, sliding into her. Her breath rushed out and Brady thought he didn’t really want to today, either.

He said, “You’ll move into the penthouse.”

She squeezed her legs tight around him, trapping him. “What?”

“I’m tired of driving all over the place for a good night’s sleep when all I have to do is move you in.”

She blinked.

He stretched out on top of her and said, “Pool privileges are included.”

“You want me to drive out there every night?”

He nodded. “I want you to move in.”

“It’s in Brentwood!”

He circled his hips, cutting off her protest and making her loosen her thighs enough for him to maneuver.

When she could breathe again, she said, “It’s an extra hour of driving, both ways. I don’t have two hours a day to give you, Brady.”

Brady.

He paused, sad for a moment that he wasn’t Shane anymore, then deciding it might be okay to be Brady again. He had to be Brady again.

He said, “Twice a week is not enough. Not nearly enough.”

“Are we still talking about sleeping?”

“No.”

She smirked. “Then who says it’s only twice a week?”

He bit her jaw gently. “Only me.”

She wiggled against him. “Why? Give me one good reason.”

He thrust. “I’ve given you one good reason, over and over again.”

She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back.

He said, “Only me. Or Shane.”

Cassandra’s eyes popped back open and she raised her eyebrows.

He said, “I don’t think he’s going to switch teams. Just thought I could give you something in return for the long drive you’re going to be doing from now on.”

“You don’t think he’s going to switch teams? You haven’t even met him.”

“You seem pretty sure you’ll never have him. But just in case he changes his mind, I give you my blessing. But only him.”

She laughed, shaking against him and jiggling his balls. She said, “In case he changes his mind?”

She laughed again and again until Brady pulled out. He propped his cheek on his fist and waited.

When she’d snickered her last, he said, “Done?”

She pulled him closer. “No.”

She waited until he was comfortable again, until it was hard to think, hard to negotiate, to say, “I’m not going to move in with you. We’ll just have to make Sundays and Wednesdays work.”

He stopped.

She circled her hips. “No need to punish me.”

He said, “I’m just waiting for another car full of teenagers to drive up. With their phones. Their camera phones.”

She groaned, sliding her hand into his pants and digging her nails into his butt.

Brady said, “You can take my car. That’ll make the drive a little more fun.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Your car?”

He didn’t wait. He moved. Long and slow and deep, and then quick and shallow. And long and slow again.

He stopped, breathing hard and pushing the finish back.

He said, “You can drive my car when I’m not in it.”

Cassandra said, “Ohhhhhhh, yes!”

Brady said his own, “Ohhhhhhh, yes,” and collapsed on top of her.

His blood cooled, his heart slowed. And when they’d both stopped breathing fast, Cassandra murmured, “Now that the excitement has faded, I’m realizing that this is extremely uncomfortable.”

Brady pushed himself off her, climbing off the car and noting that his knees weren’t too happy with him.

He grabbed her jeans, shaking them out and throwing them up to her. She scooted to the edge of the roof and he helped her down.

She pulled her jeans up and said, “Well, cross that off the list. Don’t need to do it again.”