A Long Time Coming (Cane Brothers, #3)

by Meghan Quinn

“You know, I’ve never had a girl tell me that I possess the uncanny ability to dehydrate the nether regions of the female race with just my facial hair.”

“I know it’s my move.” “Really, because you’ve been sitting there catatonic for at least five minutes.”

“You know, it’s not polite to gloat.” “This coming from the girl who was dancing only a few minutes ago because she had a tremendous lead on me.” I slowly look up at him and, in a deadpan voice, say, “It will behoove you to know that I can dish it, but I can’t take it.”

“Thoughts on Mr. Turner’s mullet?” “Hot,” I answer. “So if I were to, let’s say . . . grow this hair out to be a mullet, what would your thoughts be on that?” “Pitiful, get your own look.”

“Same. No one seems to like spending countless hours poring over a game of Scrabble or knitting hats for cats.” “Hats for cats?” “Quite fetching. I sell them to old ladies who think dressing up their cats is fun.”

“Will you be my friend?” That smile of his I’ve grown to know tonight widens. “Are you asking me to start a . . . friendship with you?” “I believe I am. Is that weird? I mean, we barely know each other. I find your mustache absolutely repulsive, but our commonalities are endless at this point. The fact we can agree that the Winchester brothers being lovers is erotic is unprecedented. I believe that means we need to be friends.” He slowly nods. “I believe it’s imperative.”

“Will you two get the fuck down here and stop gabbing?” Huxley yells. “Dude, my balls just shriveled,” JP says, gripping my shoulder. “My penis totally just turtled.” I step to the side and push JP forward. “You first, you’re older. You’ve experienced more life than me.”

“Just get out there before he gets even madder.” I push at JP. “You know how he hates when we—in his terms—clown around.” “Quit clowning around,” Huxley yells. “See,” I whisper-shout. “Don’t push me,” JP says, leaning his weight into me, his back to my chest. “You’re going to make me tumble down the stairs.” “Oh, good idea. If you tumble down, then there’s a good chance you could get injured, and whatever he’s here for will be put on a momentary pause while we assess your injuries. That will give us some thinking time. And maybe if you’re willing to break a bone, that will grant us at least a few days.” “Oh yeah, let me just throw myself down the stairs.” “That’s the spirit,” I say while patting him on the back. “Close your eyes. It will be over in a second.” “Jesus Christ,” JP mutters before he makes his way down the stairs. I follow closely. “Oh, I see, going to fall closer to the ground. Smart.”

Reaching up to the wall, I rap my knuckle four times. Like clockwork, she knocks three. Four knocks for four letters in love. Three knocks for three letters in you.

I laughed because I thought it was a joke, but it wasn’t. Mother and Father are his parents. To me, they’re Mr. and Mrs. Beaver. Brian Manchester Beaver. Quite the name. If I decide to hyphenate his name, I would be Ophelia Fairweather-Fern-Beaver.

“What’s wrong with waiting a year?” I ask, respectively. “That will give us time to make sure everything is perfect.” “Brian’s niece will be far too tall to be the flower girl a year from now. You must think about the pictures, Ophelia.” Ah, yes, the pictures. Heaven forbid a tall flower girl show up and ruin everything.

I almost didn’t hear him from how far up his mother’s ass he is.

“You know, it doesn’t shock me that you came to my house rather than Huxley’s.” “After walking in on Huxley and Lottie fucking against a wall, I learned my lesson. Can’t get the vision of his clenched ass out of my head.” “Kelsey and I fuck against walls.” “I’m well aware. The only difference is if I walk in on you and Kelsey, you’ll just laugh about it. Huxley gives me the silent treatment for a week and then a lecture about privacy between a husband and wife.” “He still is rather uptight, isn’t he?” JP asks. “You would think after marrying Lottie, he might loosen up a touch, but he really can’t seem to let the stick out.” “At this point, the stick is a permanent resident.”

“Five weeks?” JP asks. “Jesus, that’s quick, although our wedding was quick too.” He smirks at Kelsey. “But that was to accommodate Kazoo’s schedule.” “Yes, planning a wedding around a pigeon has always been a dream of mine.”

Go be friends with Brian. Get to know him better. Clear the air . . . Yeah, Kelsey and Lottie can go to hell with their advice.

Breaker: But Brian asked, and I felt obligated to say yes. Who knows, maybe this girl will be the love of my life. Lia: Birdy and Breaker, it does have a nice ring to it. Breaker: We clearly would need to name all of our children with B names. Lia: Bertha, Bernard, and Barabbas . . . Auntie Lia is coming for those snuggles. Breaker: Watch out, Barabbas is still wetting his pants when you squeeze him too hard. Lia: I thought Birdy took him to the pediatrician to see what the squeeze pee was all about. Breaker: Weak urethra, just going to have to give him time. Squeeze gently. Lia: Barabbas is getting a head pat. Bertha and Bernard will be squeezed. Breaker: Don’t you DARE treat Barabbas differently. He’s human like the rest of us. Lia: You’re right . . . you’re right, that was wrong of me. I’ll just squeeze gently and wear old shoes. Breaker: Now there’s a good aunt.

Breaker: Your concern for me feels so genuine. Thank you. Lia: Anytime. So do you know what you’re going to wear? Breaker: Can we not do this, please? Lia: Umm, great suggestion, but no. Brian setting you up with Birdy is probably one of the best things to ever happen to me. Breaker: More than your engagement? Lia: Don’t tell Brian . . . but maybe. Breaker: I always knew you were a different breed, but this really proves it. I’m going to bed.

“Yeah, we’re going on a hike next weekend. I’m going to teach her about birds. Who knows, maybe she’ll become a fanatic like me.” “What’s with the Cane brothers and their birds?” “Hey, JP likes pigeons because he feels guilty about them not being loved, but he couldn’t care less about other feathered friends.” “Please, for the love of God, don’t call them feathered friends.” “Well, if I don’t try to put myself out there and date, they very much might be my only friends, and although the solitude of being the crazy bird man sounds charming, I don’t think I’m ready for that title just yet.” “I can see it, your poncho, a bucket hat. A cane.” “Please . . . please don’t envision that.”

“Problem diverted. Father Joseph will take care of it.” “What does that mean?” I ask. “Best not ask questions, Ophelia. You’ve already done enough with your lack of faith.” Isn’t she precious?

“What’s that smell? Is that my hair? Breaker, help—” Splash. Water douses me, soaking me to my bone while putting the fire out at the same time. I glance up to see Breaker holding a very large metal bowl, his chest heaving, horror in his eyes. “Is it . . . is it out?” He swallows hard and nods. “Yeah, it’s out.” I lay flat on the ground, wet and horrified, as I let out a deep breath. “Where did you get the water?” He glances down at the empty bowl and winces. “Uh . . . I believe I just blessed you hard with holy water.” I shake my head. “Baptism by fire just took on a whole new meaning,” I say as I hear The Beave mumbling some sort of prayer in the background. I swallow hard. “Consider me converted.”

“Everything okay?” “Yes, quite good. Thank you.” I let out a deep breath, and as Breaker takes a seat, I say, “Funny how paper is made, right? I watched this documentary—” Breaker pops right back up from his seat and says, “Lia, another word.” Reluctantly, I follow him back to the corner, where I whisper, “What did I do now?” “How about we try this,” he says, with one hand on my shoulder. “You don’t talk at all.”

“Do you happen to have anything that isn’t as fancy?” “Excuse me?” The Beave asks. “What do you mean not so fancy?” Do I answer? I was told to be quiet. Would Huxley answer? Or would he just stare? I think he would just stare. So that’s what I do. I stare at her. “Ophelia, I asked you a question.” I know, but I’m supposed to just stare, so . . . that’s what I do, as sweat creeps up my neck, because this staring thing is hard. The Beave must pick up on what I’m doing because she folds her hands in front of her and stares back. Oh God! It’s a stare off. Breaker did not prepare me for this.

Why did he choose this moment to go to the bathroom? He had a chance when we went back to the apartment to change. This is poor peeing management on his end, leaving me here like this, all alone with a teaspoon of confidence in what I’m doing. And boy, is she good. Really fucking good. Those beady eyes stare back at me. She recognizes it’s a showdown, and if I know this woman like I think I do, she won’t back down. Huxley might be the king of not talking, but man, oh man, it looks like The Beave can run a master class on it. Just look at the way her eyes remain steady. Not a twitch. Not a fidget.

I’m a party of one, heading straight into the fiery pits of hell as I attempt to hold steady. But I’m wilting. I can feel it. There’s too much silence. It’s killing me. I’m going to break. I’m going to snap. I’m going to . . . “Paper was invented by the Chinese back in 100 BC,” I blurt, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. “And now, one single pine tree can create over eighty thousand sheets of paper. Can you believe that? Wow, what a dedication to the journey of paper, which is of course, quite the tale in and of itself, but I won’t bore you with that other than to say that paper really can transport us from world to world, and sure, some people might say it’s the author who is transporting us, the words are just on the paper, but you can’t print words without paper. Although I guess you can read electronically, ehh . . . either way, I think paper is a journey, and don’t you think we should appreciate that journey? I mean, look at this piece of paper,” I say as I pick up a thick cardstock. “Where do you think it came from? What part of the world did this traverse? For all we know, this used to be part of a tree that once housed a sloth or maybe a gibbon. And to know that it...

I glance up at Breaker. “Thank you for everything today, despite you leaving to pee at the worst time ever.” “I’ve already noted that I’m to pee before I ever leave you alone with The Beave again.”

“Well, your mom made me try on her wedding veil because she wanted to see me walk down the aisle wearing it. I was wearing those shoes you got me that are a touch too big, and long story short, I slipped out of them when walking, tumbled into a lit candle, and it rolled off the holder and right onto the veil. It caught on fire, and the only reason I still have hair at this point is because Breaker doused me in holy water.”

“I’m sorry,” she says as she straightens up, just in time for the bee to hit her in the ear. “Mother of God!” Lia screams as she flails her arm out to the side, unfortunately striking The Beave right in the boob. Plop. And together, we all watch in horror as the fragile woman flails her arms up in the air, a croak falling off the tip of her tongue as she teeters backward. There’s no stopping the inevitable. We all see it happening. She’s headed right for the stacks of hydrangeas. And with a crash, a groan, and a tumble, the nursery falls silent as The Beave sinks into the table of flowers. Buckets of water fall everywhere. Hydrangea branches snap. And a wince felt around the world appears on all of our faces. “Get me out of here at once,” The Beave says. I rush to her side and help her out, only to quickly go to Lia’s side for protection because the inner depths of hell are about to part, and I’m pretty sure if I don’t hold on tight enough, Lia is going to be sucked in.

“Huh.” I scratch the side of my jaw and grab our lemonade. “You know, you might be right.” “I know I am.” “Don’t be humble or anything.”

I need people to hang out with. I need activities. I need something other than sitting at home by myself, wearing a Batman Band-Aid over my nipple because I thought it was funny.

“I think there’s going to be a huge fucking issue soon if we don’t stop talking about this and get down to business.” “Yeah, okay . . . sorry.” I chew on my thumbnail. “Real quick though, what are your thoughts on Kylo and Rey? Is it weird I’m considering dating someone who doesn’t believe in the love affair as I do?” “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“I’ll tell you what’s going on.” He looks me in the eyes. “You’re in love with your best friend, and you just finally realized it.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I say as I look up at Banner. “Fuck, I think I like her.” Banner shakes his head. “Nah, man. You love her. End of discussion.”

Ha. Spend the night here with me? That seems like an absolute disaster waiting to happen. I’m barely hanging on by a thread, and the cure to all of that is a temptation I can’t consume. What could I possibly say that would communicate I’m pretty sure I love you and therefore you can’t be here? There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. So . . . “Of course,” I squeak out. “Yeah, you know, because you’ve done that before. You’ve stayed the night, so that shouldn’t be weird.”

When we graduated and our beds got bigger, we’d just share a bed and fall asleep facing each other. The next morning, we’d order donuts, drink coffee, and play dominoes. But this feels different. My body feels itchy with her around. My mind feels like mush, like I can’t conjure up the right thing to say. So this should be fun. *thumbs up*

“Are you okay?” she asks with an inquisitive look. “Great. Real great.” I fist-pump the air. “Sleepover. Huzzah.” Huzzah? Jesus Christ, Breaker. Why don’t you just go stick your head in a microwave after that?

Mark my words, when I slip into that bed, there will be no—and I mean NO—romantic thoughts of my best friend. Platonic. That’s what we’re going for. All the platonic-ness one can muster. Is that even a word? Doesn’t matter. That’s what’s happening. Because if anything, I’m a Cane, and Canes are born with the crafty ability to hold strong, to not buckle, and to rely on their mental fortitude to get them through any situation. There. Pep talk complete.

She scoots backward. Uh, what is she doing? Then some more. Excuse me, you’re getting kind of close. Her ass bumps into my leg. Warning! Warning! She’s way too close. “Whatcha got going on there?” I ask her, my body stiff as a board. “Can you hold me, Breaker?” Absolutely. Not. Has she lost her goddamn mind? Hold her? In the same bed? Like . . . she wants us to *gulp* spoon or something. What the hell has gotten into her, and why now? Why, on the day that I realize I love this girl? Is this some sick joke that I’m unaware of? Some prank that I’m caught up in? If so, it’s not fucking funny. No way on God’s green earth am I about to spoon Lia. “Please, Breaker. I could really use the comfort.” Well . . . fuck . . . me.

“It’s not like it matters. I’m not cheating on him. You’re my best friend, my family, the only person who can truly make me feel at peace. If you were a girl, I’d ask you to do the same.” “You would?” I ask. “Of course. I used to spoon with my mom all the time.” Ah, so she sees me as a motherly figure. I can’t hear that enough.

I don’t have to debate it too long because she lowers my arm around her stomach and scoots in closer so her body is plastered against mine. Right up against me. Back to chest. Butt to . . . *gulp* crotch. Sweet Jesus, man . . . do not get a goddamn boner. Penis, do you hear me? This is not a moment to defy me. Be a good fucking listener. Think of flaccid things. FLACCID. Flaccid, floppy, dangly, pendulous . . . limp. There you go.

I squeeze my eyes shut and conjure up images of JP and his dirty pigeon friend. What’s its name? Cocoon? Carl? “Clementine?” I accidentally say out loud. “What?” Lia whispers. “Uh, Clementine,” I repeat, for God knows what reason. “Like the fruit?” “Sure,” I answer. “Why are you saying that?” “Can’t think of JP’s pigeon friend.” “Kazoo?” “Ohhhhh, right.” I smile to myself. “Kazoo.” “Why are you thinking about JP and Kazoo?” So I don’t get a boner. Because your ass is pressed right up against my pelvis, and if I even move a little, I know the friction will be enough to give me a semi. “He was talking about him earlier today, and I couldn’t think of his name.” “Oh . . . well, it’s Kazoo.” “Yup, logged that away.”

Change her clothes? Into what? She’s barely wearing anything as it is. My mind floats to her in lingerie, walking toward me, sexy as shit with her tits . . . NO! Kazoo, think of Kazoo and the way JP blows kisses at the damn thing. Revolting.

“Fuck, if you were my fiancée, my wife, I’d never let you leave the bedroom. Your voice would be hoarse from every fucking orgasm I gave you.”

“I, uh . . . came to the conclusion that I have feelings for Lia.” There’s silence. And then, “I fucking told you he was going to figure it out in a week,” JP says. “Spending that much time with a girl you’re harboring feelings for while she attempts to plan a wedding with another man, yeah, that will give you a swift kick to the scrotum.” “Can we not play the I-told-you-so game?” I ask. “But we did,” Huxley says. “We told you this would happen.” “Okay, great, wonderful, you two are modern-day matchmakers. Congratulations. Now, can we please move on?” “Glad you can be big enough to acknowledge that,”

“Where are you getting your evidence from? Movies and TV shows?” “Of course, where else?”

“Be everything Brian is not,” JP says. “Without crossing the line, obviously, you can’t go fuck her and be like, see, I fuck you, and Brian doesn’t.”

“Yeah, that too. Okay, Birdy is here for our hike. Got to go.” “Be gentle with her,” JP says. “No, I thought I would kick dirt at her and tell her to get lost.” “Not recommended,”

Letting my mind wander, my mind process, ruminating on my true thoughts and feelings. First and foremost, I love her. I let that sink in. I let myself sit in my feelings and understand them. Lia is the most precious person in my life. She’s my ride or die. She means everything to me. She’s my girl.

“But more importantly, how do you feel?” “Well, after your reaction, I feel really sexy.” “You should.” “I’m just excited to see what Brian has to say.” Ah, yes, we’re all waiting on bated breath for Brian’s reaction. Did you hear the sarcasm in that?

“I’m sure you got the gist of that conversation,” she says. “But he didn’t like my hair. Said it was a mistake.” Yup, murder is in his future.

“He thinks his mom is going to be really mad.” Who the fuck cares? Is he still attached by his umbilical cord, or what?