This week’s #FicPromptFriday is a look toward the future.
6/24/16 – Crush
“Can you fix it, or not?”
Cal pushed his black-framed glasses up into his hair, further ruining the finger-combed blonde mess, and sent his older brother a flat look. “I can fix anything.”
Remy suppressed a sigh. “Right. Well-established. But I asked if you could fix this.”
Cal considered the bracelet again. “You made this?”
He had. He’d cut the leather from an old pair of chaps, braided it, tied it to the little piece of hammered copper. The clasp had broken, and he could take it to a jeweler and get another, but he’d thought he’d let his mechanically inclined brother take a look at it first, spare himself a few bucks. But that was a decision he was regretting by the second, as he watched Cal, with his ridiculous shoulders and biceps, and total lack of self-consciousness, lean over his comically small work table.
“Yeah,” Remy said. “I did.”
Cal looked up again, considering. “Not for yourself, it’s too small.”
“Millie? But her birthday was last week. Is it for Mom? Mom would like it.”
“No. Look, just–”
Cal’s brown eyes widened. “Oh. Ohhh. You made it for Lucy, didn’t you?”
The trick, in these situations, was to keep a straight face and deny, deny, deny. You had to not wince, and not smile, and not start spontaneously sweating. You definitely didn’t rake your hands through your hair like some kind of guilty, lovestruck idiot.
But of course, Remy did all of those things, being said lovestruck idiot. “Um…”
“Oh, man.” Cal’s grin was huge and delighted and kind. He was a blonde Mercy without all the terrifying bits. “You’re in love with Lucy.”
“Am not, shut up,” Remy growled.
“Dude. You are totally in love with Lucy McCall, and her old man is going to kill you. And we’ll never find your body.”
But of course, the big idiot was right. Despite a lack of any cunning or tact, Cal had a way of seeing straight through people. Remy thought he’d been careful, and he had, damn it, but he’d forgotten about his brother’s uncanny sixth sense ability to read situations.
Remy said, “Yeah, it’s for Lucy,” in a tired, defeated voice.
Cal beamed. “I think it’s sweet.”
“I think you need to keep your damn mouth shut, because I need to go to Confession before I give this to her, and then die a horrible death.”
Still smiling, Cal sat back in his chair, arms folded. “Does she know you love her?”
“Oh no. We’re not having this conversation.”
But he was pretty sure she did. At least, he hoped so, in a way that made him feel gangly, stupid, young, and clumsy, and nothing like his six-four, brick wall, competent, sharpshooter self. Female company had never been hard to come by, but Lucy…there’d only ever been one of her. With her shining dark hair, and her mother’s big green eyes, full of gentleness and soft-spoken secrets. He’d finally figured out he was a goner when they were eighteen. And he’d realized, in the years following, that he cared too much to make a casual move. He hadn’t wanted to touch her until he was self-sufficient and securely patched into the club; he hadn’t wanted Michael to have a single reason to reject him out of hand.
Except for the whole being-Mercy’s-kid and a good-for-nothing biker thing.
Cal’s smile softened. “Aw, come on. Michael doesn’t have any reason to object to you guys. You know that.” And there was the perceptiveness again.
Remy exhaled, long and slow through his nostrils, trying to breathe out some of his nervousness. “Either way, guess I’m about to find out.”
Cal nodded, pleased. “Gimme ten minutes to work on this, and then we’ll go.”
“You’re not invited,” Remy said, but couldn’t hold back a small smile of his own.
“Well, someone has to drive you to the hospital.”