Chain Reaction 3.1.89: Fix It

A/N: Generation 4 is calling, but I still have some things I need to do. However, I feel confident in announcing the heirs:

Brent, of course, is Mike's kiddo. Brylee and John are both Jarvis and Lottie's babies. (They also have a sister Elle, but I can't come up with a story for her yet. She might go the way of Chloe. Poor Chloe.)

Naturally, others will play a role. For instance, I have some plans for Benjamin Love that coincide with Brent and John's, and I still don't know what will happen when Alaric has kids. (for we must have a Goth heir too, right?) :)

Is it weird that I'm announcing them while they're still toddlers? Maybe. But I know how these kiddos turn out, hehe. (and I couldn't help but post at least Brylee and John as teens on my tumblr)

Oh, and friendly reminder: Get ready for more of that "lovely" unreliable first person! Braydon is loaded with it!

More of the Dwight group at the beginning. Then we see what Braydon makes of what happened to Isabella.

And the similarities between the two halves are a complete coincidence. They were written at very different times, but when throwing in the Dwight storyline, this bit fit here, working with the title I already had.

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Marco

     It's Monday morning. I don't go in 'til ten, but I'm up at six. And if I still know Dwight, he is too. So I decide to call him. His office is downtown, and I'm hoping to arrange something.

 

     "Marco?" he asks as a way to answer the phone.

     I put a smile on my face. "Good morning. I figured you were up already."

     He yawns. "Yeah. I'm surprised you are, though." 

     I force out a laugh. "Yeah, well, I couldn't sleep. Listen, before you head in to the office today, do you mind meeting me downtown so that we could, um, talk?"

     He sighs. "What about?"

     "Well, I'd rather get to that face-to-face. Is that okay?" I know I sound desperate, and I hate how vulnerable that makes me because my whole adult life has been about avoiding those very things.

     There's a slight pause in which everything hangs in the balance. "Yeah. At the park. There's a bench in front of a fountain. Is seven too early for you to get there?"

      "Not if I leave right now." Thank plum I've already showered. "Okay. The fountain at the park. Got it. Thanks."

     "Sure. See you there." He hangs up.

     I sigh. Here goes nothing. I'm not sure I can even do this, but I miss him that badly.

     After throwing on a change of clothes, I dash out the door, my work clothes in the old clunker of a car I have.

     Nerves. It's just nerves. That's all it is. I want him to come home, to come back. If it takes admitting, out loud, how I feel, I'll do it.

     Even though I've never done this before.

     Hah! I can take on several thugs at once, but that adorable geek has me shaking in my boots. Well, sandals. 

 

     At least I get to sit down for this. "Hello," I tell him.

     "Hi," he replies.

     This is awkward. I hate that. But it's my fault. I intend to fix it, though.

     "So how was your weekend?" Plum, I suck at this.

     "It was... good. I went to that party I told you about."

     The party. The mystery party that I'm infinitely curious about like who did he go with? Where was it? How did he get invited to it? My imagination has tortured me since he told me. I'd, at first, started asking him those questions while chatting with him online, but I had to admit that if he wanted to go to a party without me, there was nothing I could do. "How did that go?" I ask instead of asking my other questions.

     "Well, I, uh, need to talk to you about something, but first I want to hear what it is that you wanted to tell me." His eyes tell me he already knows, but there's something else there too. Is it that he's giving up on me?

     "If you need to tell me something, I'm all ears." And I can procrastinate a tiny bit more. 

 

     "Dammit, Marco! You asked me out here." He wasn't going to fall for my procrastination attempt.

     "I know! Dwight, I'm trying. Honest." Oh, plum, I can't do this! What if he rejects me? What if whatever it is he has to tell me is something that totally counteracts what I have to say? 

      His face calms down. "But maybe I should be the one to go first."

      "What?" I don't know if I like what that implies. Maybe he's going to save me the trouble of finally telling him by him telling me... or maybe he's going to tell me something that will hurt me.
       "It has to do with the party.

 

      "It was at this guy's house, a mansion really, up in the mountains. He's a photographer."

      "Oh, sh*t. Please don't tell me it was Hugh Carter's place." His eyes look surprised I guessed it. "Oh maker. One of his parties?" I imagine my little Dwight, a sheep going straight into the lion's den.

     "You know him?"

     "Oh f--k." I put my head in my hands. "Yes. Although I avoid him like the plague." How the plum did he get invited to one of Hugh's parties? I ask him.

     "Well, that's the thing. You see, Pedro invited me to go with him."
 

     I can barely breathe. "Pedro?" My heart sinks into my stomach. "You went with... Pedro?" 'Well, justice has been served,' my inner voice announces to me. Dwight went... to a party at Hugh's f--k palace... with the very man I hurt him with. And I completely believe it, too. And I have a feeling that it really was that Pedro invited him, not that Dwight was setting out to hurt me. Pedro wasn't kidding about Dwight being his type. But I'm hurt all the same. "How did that go?" I have to ask, my breathing very shallow.

 

     "Well, not that I'm the best judge of these things, but it looked like the guy knew how to throw a party. There were famous people and everything."

     "Of course. Dwight, Hugh Carter is one of those people who collects people, if you know what I mean."

     "I think I do."

     "Please tell me... Oh, plum." This is awful! Why Dwight, Hugh?

     Dwight watches me. "I got a tour and everything."

     I lose it.

     "Well, of course you did. That whole place is set up like a temple to the almighty f--k. There's all kinds of subliminal sh*t in there, smell included. And that dick Pedro put you right into his hands, didn't he? Well, let me guess, the tour conveniently ended in his bedroom, am I right?"

     At first, Dwight watches me and listens with his mouth open at my sudden intense mood shift. Then, as I end my tirade, a look comes over his eyes. I've pissed him off now.

      "It wasn't Hugh. It was Pedro. And Pedro didn't care that I was a virgin."

      Pow. It's like he shot me. Fatally. I even clutch my chest from the pain of it.

      Dwight's face rapidly falls.

 

      "Oh, crap. Marco. I didn't mean to say it like that. That's not how I wanted it to come out. I'm sorry."

      "I got... the message." I'm dying. I have to be. "But of course you would respond like that after the way I talked." Oh plum. This is actually worse than if it were Hugh. Because Hugh wouldn't try to hang on to him afterwards. Oh f--k, don't cry. 

      "Marco, no. I'm really sorry. Please. I don't know what I was thinking."

      If only I could take a full breath of air.

      His lower lip trembles. "Are you... going to tell me what you called me out here to tell me?"

      "I can't. I just can't, especially now."

      Tears escape his eyes. He whispers, "I'm sorry."

      "For what? You're free to do as you choose. It's not like we were..." I can't finish it. I at once want to grab him and say that it's okay, that there's nothing to forgive, that I was a jackass and pushed him away again and again as I fought with myself, that I deserve this. But at the same time, I want to run away, just run away from anything and everything that could cause me pain.

      I'm glad I never told him I love him.

      "Marco..."

      I straighten up from years of practice, using every ounce of skill at my command to fake my expression. "No, it's fine. I wish you all the best, Dwight." I get up and walk away.

     He'll be fine. I'll be fine. This is fine. It's fine. It's always better that no one gets close to me.

     I go to work early.

Braydon

     Isabella walks into my office on Monday with an unreadable expression on her face. It's her day off, and I'm surprised she's here. She'd barely spoken to me over the weekend. I was going to call her tonight, but now she's here.

     "I have... I have something I have to tell you." Her voice is cracking up.

     Her expression now is killing me. I reach out for her, but she lightly bats my hands away. "What is it?" Did she decide not to get a divorce after all? That would crush me, and the way she just batted me away makes me fly straight to that assumption.

     "I did something stupid." She starts holding her middle.

     "What? Just tell me." Did she mess up the books? Sometimes I think she cares a bit too much about being perfect with her work--and this is coming from her boss.

     She crosses in front of me, moving more into the room. "You're going to hate me."

     My hands ache for wanting to fix whatever it is.

     I hold her shoulders, grateful she doesn't push me away.

     "I've been trying all weekend to figure out how I'm going to tell you this, and I can't think of a good way. But this is eating me up. I wish I could just pretend it never happened. If only that would work."

     "What happened?" I wish I knew what else to do. What in plum could have gotten her so worked up?

     "I don't know how to tell you," she whines.

     "Um, start at the beginning?"

     She folds in half, crying more. I can't stand it!

     "Isabella, sit down. Whatever it is, it can't be as bad as all that." I lead her over to the little sofa thing I have.

     "No, it might just be," she replies, and I debate if I should sit in front of her or next to her. She takes a deep breath. "I guess the beginning would be when Kade came by the house." Sh*t. It IS that she's not getting a divorce after all. She then proceeds to tell me about how he didn't think she'd want a divorce and how he wanted to spend the weekend with Ben. Her biggest shock sounds like that Ben acted excited to spend time with his father. Then she mentions how she'd flown into a panic, calling her lawyer because she worried this meant that Kade would try to fight for custody after all.

      So she's still getting the divorce, I think, scratching that possibility off my list.

     "Well, then he came by," she says, talking about her lawyer.

     What did he do? I internally growl. I decide to crouch in front of her, wanting to read her face.

     Next, I hear about him inviting her over to his place. The bastard got her drunk, and I see where this is going now. "He even tricked me into drinking more wine when I'd asked for water!"

     "Isabella, stop," I say gently. I don't want to hear it. All I can think is how it's my fault. I'm the one who pushed her to hurry up and get a lawyer. I'm the one who stubbornly (to her way of thinking anyway) refuses to start anything with her. Yes, I still stand by my reasons, but I should've known her well enough to consider she'd possibly try elsewhere. She's used to getting what she wants when she wants it. Looks like she got it, and I hate the man even though I've never met him.

     I tug on her chin, wanting to look into her eyes.

     There's so much regret in them. "I didn't sleep with him." Thank the Maker. 

     I reach up and run my fingers through her hair. What the plum am I going to do? Isabella truly is used to getting what she wants. I strangely love that about her because it also means she's a very determined, driven person. But what happens if that drive brings her into a bad situation? From what I've learned, that's how she wound up with Kade in the first place. Speaking of Kade, now she suspects he'll try for custody, meaning he cannot be allowed to play the 'unfit mother' card, meaning I cannot brand her lips like I desperately want to do right now.

     Her eyes say it. She's used to getting what she wants, and I'm the one she wants.

     Oh, plum it all.

     Okay, fine. A kiss. Just one.

     Her fingers thread themselves in my hair, pulling on my resolve. After I pull back from the one kiss, she leans forward and kisses me. Weren't we discussing something? Oh, f--k, I should know better than to kiss her. She runs the tip of her tongue across my lower lip, and I lose it.

     There's entirely too much clothing in the way, but I'll get to that in a minute. Right now, I'm enjoying just rubbing up on her. Oh, sh*t, I need more, so I press her against me, pulling her to the very edge of the small sofa. I hear myself moaning as my hands travel over her, her softness blending perfectly with my hard ferocity. Dammit! We're still not close enough! I want inside her, and my body acts determined to break through every layer of clothing and do just that.

     I'll just rip her shorts off. That'll work.

     I find the waistband in the back, and my hands work together to tear the fabric from itself. The ripping sound makes her gasp.

     And I wake up.

     I break away, and she scoots back. I'm panting, and I still have the desire to rip open her shirt right down the middle of the front. I grab her shirt's hem. Or up. 

     "Don't do it," she tells me sweetly.

     Dammit, Braydon! I fight against the pull of woohoo-charged oblivion bliss. The smart thing to do would be to get some distance, but that's also the last thing I want.

     Trying to distract my brain, I go back to what she said earlier. "Then what happened if you didn't sleep together?"

      The fingers going through my hair stop. "He, um... Um, he..."

      "Maker, Isabella! Tell me!" Before I start losing my mind again. 

      "He... Well, I guess you could say..." Her voice shakes, and my hands wrap around her, landing on her ass as I intend to pull her towards me again. She speaks very quietly now. "He ate me?" I stop. "I was probably the most drunk I've ever been in my life. I have no idea how wine does that to me."

     "And he exploited that," I finish. Bastard. Anyone who needs any kind of mind-altering anything to get what he wants from a woman is a predatory slime ball not worthy of rubbing dog crap all over his face.

     I hear tears in her voice again. "Braydon, please don't hate me. I tried to stop him at first--until I didn't."

     I wilt. Then I lift my head. Her face shows just how wretched she feels, and my heart breaks for her. "Come here." We adjust our positions, and I pull her into my lap. She likes that, acting like that makes her think I'm not as mad as she fears.

     Me mad? Not at her. Yes, I suppose I'm mad that she let herself get that way, but I'm more mad at the jackass for pushing her further.

     "Just one question," I tell her. "Why did you let it go so far? It's not like he was funneling the stuff down your throat." Oops. That sounded more crass than I wanted.

      Her shoulders slump. "Well, I was upset at Kade and wanting Adrien to fix it. And, I kept thinking 'finally, here is someone who wants to date me, someone who wants to kiss me.' I'm not saying that was the right way to think, but it's what I was thinking." She pauses as if an idea suddenly occurred to her. "I'm not saying it's your fault. It's not." She looks at me, reading my expression on how I do think I'm partly to blame. "Oh my Maker, Braydon. That's not what I said!"

      "Shh. Okay." I still don't agree. I sigh. "Don't you know I want to date you? Can't you see how badly I do want to kiss you?" I pull her more into me and put my face into her neck, breathing in. 

      "Well, sometimes I start to wonder. I've never been the most patient person."

      I chuckle. Yeah. I can totally see that. "Then we've got to figure out what we can do for now." Because obviously, completely holding off does nothing but set her off.

      I change our positions again, and she suddenly grips me as if in fear.

     "I'm going to fall off!" she quietly exclaims.

     I chuckle again. "I won't let you." To further prove my point, I wrap my leg around her. "I'll just have to hold you closer." I miraculously manage to lightly kiss her and keep it at that.

     "You're not mad at me?"

     "Hm," I debate my answer. "To say I wasn't would be lying. I guess I am, but not as badly as you're probably thinking. I am a little mad at how you can't be patient." A quick fantasy of how I could teach that unwittingly pops into my stupid brain. Dammit. "But at the same time, it's part of what makes you you."

     "I'm sorry, Braydon."

     "Fire him."

     "What? But then I might have to start over."

     "I don't care. Fire the bastard." I hold her even closer. If the jackass touches her again, I'll rearrange his face.

     "Okay," she whispers.

     Of course, her firing this Adrien prick doesn't solve what the plum I'm going to do. I resolved not to touch her until she's divorced, and that didn't work so well. However, when I do touch her or anything along those lines, I easily lose control. Too many fantasies want to suddenly play themselves out all the at the same time. The last thing she needs is to be accused of being an unfit mother. Plum, Ben means so much to her; it would kill her to lose him.

     Another thing I've noticed about Isabella is how she has the capacity to be self-reliant, self-sufficient, but she always acts like she would rather lean on someone else. I don't know if she's afraid or simply lacks the self esteem to try. I want her to try, even if it means I have to stand on the sidelines for a while longer.

     "I need someone to love ME," echoes in my memory, that thing she said the night she'd left Kade.

     I love you. I could go down the thought path of wondering why she said she needs it, why she feels she must lean on someone else, but I still have to figure out what to do now. "What do you want, Isabella?" That's a good place to start.

     She pauses for a moment before answering. "I want to be divorced from that man who's never loved me. I want to be loved. By you. I realized that way too late Friday evening."

     "And I do love you. You know that." She'd better. I don't expect her to be at the same place I am yet; I don't expect her to love me back. I hope she does, and if I judge her actions, even taking into account what happened Friday night, I can guess she's on her way there. Hopefully, I'm not just being a blind sap.

     "But sometimes all I see is you pushing me away. Logically, I understand, but my heart doesn't think logically. And so I get hurt, overreact, and do stupid stuff."

     "So we can't keep going like before."

     "Were we 'going' at all?"

     "I thought we were. I've had my eyes on the future."

     "But that's just it, Braydon. I need it now. I'm hurting. I'm scared." She pauses as if in thought. "I'm really, really scared. I've never been alone."

     I gently kiss her forehead. "You're not alone. You have your family: your mom, your siblings, your son. And you have me. I'm in your corner. You're fine. You can do this. You have all of us, but you are also a strong person."

     Tears escape her eyes. "I don't want to be. Please don't push me away again." She knew exactly where I was going with that.

     I sigh. F--k! How is this going to work? Every time I let myself get too close, I start to lose it. If I weren't so utterly focused on what the plum I was going to do, I'd be all over her. I don't have any appointments today. I have tons of free time. And I don't need to be thinking about what I could do with that free time. 

     "Isabella, if I don't hold you at arm's length, I can't control myself."

     "You're doing fine now. I like this."

     I let my hand travel down to her ass. Then I squeeze it hard, almost enough to hurt. I whisper, "I can barely stand it." Dayum, her ass feels great. I start massaging her, the rip in her shorts taunting me.

     "Braydon, focus."

     "Oh, I'm very focused on your ass right now. I want to bite it." Plum, did I just say that aloud? My traitorous fingers find the edge of the rip, and I tug.

     "You owe me a pair of shorts, by the way."

     "I don't have a problem with that." Just to prove it, I rip them more.

     "Are you wanting to lose control right now?" she asks as my hand moves into the ripped shorts.

     My hand stops. "Sh*t," I whine then bury my face in her neck. I pull my hand back out of her ruined shorts. "I don't think I can do this." Then I wrap my arms and legs around her like a child would his favorite blanket. I need to let go of her, but I can't bring myself to do it, not if she's not asking me to.

     She lays her head on my chest. "If it weren't for me knowing that you want the opposite, I'd say just lose it. I love it when you kiss me like that."

     "Oh, I want to do more than just kiss you." I stick my tongue in her ear.

     "Ew!" She tries to move away but can barely budge from how I'm holding her. I can't help but laugh quietly. She huffs. "Anyway, I know that." She pauses. "And again, I don't particularly want to stop you, but I also don't want you getting mad at yourself and then ignoring me." My hand dips into her shorts again. She's wearing lace panties. I bet I could easily remove them. She gives me a knowing look, wiggles one of her arms free, and reaches back to stop my hand. "Don't you dare. I like these." Where she'd had my hand in her grasp, I switch it around on her and trap hers behind her back.

      "Plum, Braydon." She struggles, not realizing how provocatively that makes her move against me. "ANYway, what we need to do is figure out how far you can go and not lose it."

    "I don't know. Right now, I'm having fun playing the game of 'how much will Isabella let me do?'" With her one hand trapped underneath her and the other behind her back, she can't stop me from licking her up her neck and face.

     "Oh, this won't work." Oh baby, keep wiggling like that. Maybe if I wedge everything correctly, I can rip her shirt off with my teeth.

     "What won't?" I ask just for fun. I'm so happy right now! I have the woman of my dreams in my arms, and even though it's nothing near what my wilder fantasies can create, I'm having a blast.

     "The title of that 'game' means that I have to be the one to stop you." She wiggles again. "And obviously, I can't."

     "Sure you can. All you have to do is ask me to." I lean down and pull her earlobe into my mouth, playing with the earring with my tongue. That really makes her squirm.

     "Stop," she gasps.

     I do, and I look down at her and smile. This could work.

     "Please release my hand." She's testing me. I do, of course.

     She's panting, resting her hand on my chest. "I don't think I can be relied upon to stop you."

     I grin. "Sure you can." My hand moves to her front, cupping her fantastic breast. Oh, that's nice. My thumb caresses her, back and forth.

     She can barely speak. "Not if you're... constantly bombarding my senses like this."

     Loads of fun. "Oh, this? I'm just playing with you." Trust me, you'll know when I get to the 'bombarding' point. 

     "Braydon, I'm trying to have a conversation."

     "And I'm starting to realize that this will work. Think about it: I'm not ignoring you or whatever you thought I was doing, and I can trust you not to let me take it too far." My hand leaves its spot but quickly returns, under her shirt this time.

     "I don't think you can."

     "Yes, I can. Because I know you don't want me to get mad at myself."

     "But what if I want you?"

     My hand pauses. "You have to understand that will have to wait. Please, Isabella. Don't let me go too far."

     "But... it's torture."

     I smile again and start playing with her once more. "Torture can be fun, remember?"