Several feel away, Brice lit a match. Laughing, he taunted his brother, waving the match back and forth. Desperately Bruiser shouted a warning to his twin but the words jammed in his throat and strangled him.
Brice grinned and flipped him off. Bruiser fought like a son of a bitch to get to Bry, only he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, rendered helpless by the muddy fog.
A flash of light.
A deafening boom.
An ear-splitting scream that never ended, a scream that lived in Bruiser’s nightmares and sat on the edge of his conscious mind, ever present.
The world exploded, catapulting Brice across the patio, arms and legs flailing. Bruiser broke through the fog, ripped off his shirt, and beat at the blaze engulfing his brother. His twin stared up at him, his mouth twisted in a silent scream as his face melted down to bone and charcoaled sinew. Chaos reigned as Brice’s screams melded with Bruiser’s and the screams of sirens and neighbors.
The fire sizzled out.
Brice’s face rebuilt itself until Bruiser stared into the hollow eyes of Elliot holding a pistol in his small hand.
As if in a trance, Elliot lifted the pistol to his head and pulled the trigger while Bruiser watched in helpless horror. Bits of brain matter and blood splattered Bruiser’s face and clothes. Elliot slumped to the ground, morphing back into Brice, the side of his head blown off and his blood quickly pooling on the concrete. Watching Bruiser with lifeless eyes, Brice sat up, lifted the gun, and aimed it at his twin. Bruiser froze and waited for the end.
“Bruiser! Bruiser! Bruiser!” Mac’s voice penetrated the smothering fear and cut through the bad horror flick cycling through his mind. Only it hadn’t been a horror flick, and the people involved weren’t actors. They were real. The scene had been real.
At least part of it.
Bruiser shot up in bed, chest heaving and body shaking like a rookie quarterback on his first play in the pros. A cold sweat streamed down his face, drenching his hair.
He blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes. Finally, he focused on Mac, alarm splashed on her face.
Mac wrapped him in her arms, and damn, he needed her comfort, needed her warmth, just needed her. He held on, breathing in her scent, burying his face in her tousled hair, taking comfort from her nearness.
When his shaking subsided and his heart rate returned to near normal, he drew back, a little sheepish and a lot embarrassed, feeling open and vulnerable.
“Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. You were having a nightmare.”
Her concern touched him more deeply than he cared to admit. Rarely had anyone expressed concern over his demons. He’d lived with them for so very long that he just assumed that was the way life was, for him at least.
Bruiser ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, happens once in a while.”
“Is it the same dream every time?” Mac, on her knees beside him, rubbed his shoulders in deep, comforting circles.
“Variations of the same dream.” Bruiser relaxed against the headboard and closed his eyes.
Mac slid her naked body across his. She stroked his cheek as she stared into his eyes. God, he could lose himself in those brown eyes. He had lost himself more than once and wanted to again. “Do you want to talk about it?”
No one ever asked him that question. To talk about it meant he’d have to reveal the tragedy and shame he’d lived with since he’d been a kid. He shook his head. “It’s nothing. I’ll live.”
“It was something. You were sweating, tossing around, definitely upset.”
“I’ll cope.”
“Brice is your twin brother.”
Bruiser nodded. “How did you know?”
“You were shouting his name. Were you dreaming about his death? Bruiser, what happened to Brice? Why do you carry guilt around like a life sentence?”
Because it was a life sentence for murder. That’s how he saw it.
Bruiser gently pushed her off him and stood. “I need to get going.” He escaped before Mac could ask any more questions.
* * * * *
That Thursday, Mac rubbed her sweaty palms on her skirt and glanced at the time on her cell phone. She’d been waiting for more than a half hour so far. Vince was still in his interview, which didn’t bode well for Mac.
Mac hated wearing a business suit. She couldn’t imagine how men endured not just a suit but a constricting tie every day at work. And the shoes—her feet hurt like hell.
She flipped through another magazine without reading it or noticing the pictures until she came across an underwear ad featuring an almost-naked Bruiser and a gorgeous female model with equally minimal clothes. The woman stood behind him, her arms around his waist and her hands under the waistband of his briefs. Bruiser’s head was half-turned to look behind him while the model leaned into him. Their lips were only an inch apart. The woman was beyond beautiful, as beautiful as Bruiser. Mac could never compete physically with a woman like that, even if she wanted to. Mac was more interested in competing for his heart, but she was competing with a ghost.
He refused to open up to her, to trust her with his pain, and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Instead, he withdrew and made himself scarce. She suspected he’d run all his life from those particular demons, and he’d keep running until he worked up the courage to confront them.
The door to Veronica’s office opened. Vince came out laughing and chatting with Veronica. He spotted Mac, smirked at her, and nodded at Veronica.
“Thanks so much for your time. Learning from your wisdom is invaluable to me.”
Mac resisted the urge to gag as Veronica smiled broadly. Mac didn’t get it. The guy was a tool. Veronica, a smart, savvy businesswoman, should be able to figure that out.
Veronica turned from Vince to Mac, and her smile faded into a first-class scowl, not exactly a so-happy-to-see-you expression.
