AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Sephie: I had an emergency that couldn’t wait. The center is in trouble and if I don’t fix that soon, you’ll be out of here and . . . well, I don’t know what will happen to you. No one will be looking after you the way my people do.
Brahms: What’s going on with the center? Come over, we can try to solve it together.
Sephie: Can I skip today? I’m applying for some loans.
Brahms: I thought the money problems were fixed, what else is happening?
Sephie: One of the mortgages for the house has a horrible rate, and it’s not assumable—that means I can’t take it over. I’m trying to refinance it, but the banks want me to include the first loan. With the current rates, I wouldn’t be able to afford the payment.
Brahms: We’ll take care of it, now, can you come upstairs?
Sephie: It’s not ten.
Brahms: What else do you have to do?
Avoid you before I do something very, very stupid, I don’t text those words, of course.
There are many things I would love to do, like go upstairs, kneel in front of him, and press my hand to his length until it’s hard like granite. I want to pull out his cock and caress the velvety skin with my hands just before I put it in my mouth, and . . . seeing him tonight will be a terrible idea.
Sephie: It’s been a long day, Brahms, I need to rest.
Brahms: Five minutes, just give me five minutes. Please, do it for . . . I feel too lonely tonight.
I check the rooms before heading to the other side of the house and taking the elevator. When I arrive, Brahms is on the balcony looking lonely. My heart hurts for the guy I used to know. His family should be here, checking on him.
“Where’s Roger?” I ask as I join him.
“Excuse me?” A flicker of confusion crosses his face.
“Your dad hasn’t come to visit,” I point out the obvious.
He’s not a fan of mine, so I wouldn’t ask, but I assumed he would’ve forgiven his son. Isn’t that what parents are supposed to do? Despite all your sins, they should love you.
Sighing, he shakes his head. “He’ll never be here. Not after the plane crash. He’s disappointed in me and my choices.” Brahms says the last bit imitating his dad’s accent.
“Nice English accent. I think you sound more British than your father.” I chuckle.
It pains me to learn that they’re not as close as they used to be. Roger never confirmed it, but Brahms was his favorite, even when he mocked him—a lot.
The corners of his mouth twitch upward, but it’s a tight, restrained smile. “Probably. According to my grandparents my mother corrupted him—they never liked her. Grandma Poppy pushed him to marry a British woman after Mom died.”
Since I don’t have much to add to his grandparents I ask, “Were you in another plane crash?”
His face turns impassive, eyes like steel. “No, just the one.”
“But things were fine with you two back then. Your father came to visit often while you were recovering. He—” I pause as the memory of those two years play like an old movie. Roger did visit, but he never acknowledged Brahms. It was more to check on my parents and me.
He used to tell me how proud he was of my accomplishments but never said a word to his son. Why didn’t I notice that?
“That’s nine years,” I mumble, more to myself. “He adored you.”
“The last time I saw him was after the most recent accident. I’m still not sure why he visited me when he can’t stand me. To quote him, ‘You’re a fucking disappointment. Your mom would be ashamed of you. Thankfully, you didn’t kill anyone this time.’” And though he sounds like Roger, those words squeeze my heart.
“So, everyone is angry with you?”
He shakes his head, his brown hair falling into his eyes. “Only my father. My brothers are busy. Joplin is on tour somewhere. Sibelius is probably working—someone has to watch over the Ehrenberg fortune.” A bitter edge creeps into his voice. “Ellington is a couple of hours away if I need him. And Bartók . . .” He shrugs. “Who the fuck knows? He’s off making music somewhere.”
“Mom never forgave me,” I mumble, not sure if it’s so he doesn’t feel like he’s the only one who disappointed his parents.
