Eternal Eden (31 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE HAYWARDS

It was around noon when we pulled off of Highway 101 to take the Three Capes Scenic Loop, which was a detour to several of the most beautiful areas along the coastline that were often bypassed by tourists eager to get to Tillamook to enjoy the infamous cheese factory’s ice cream (which didn’t really make any sense to me . . . who would go to a cheese factory looking for ice cream?), or anxious to get to Lincoln City and the monster-sized oceanfront casino.

At least this is what Patrick had prattled on about for the past thirty minutes, after he’d been gracious enough to pull over at a rest stop so I could be free of the confines of the ill-fated dress, and into something more me. I threw the dress and heels in the garbage can that looked like an oil drum; wishing I could set it ablaze and watch the crumpled ball of brocade burn.

We drove through the tourist area of Pacific City, and turned onto a residential street dotted and dashed with several beachfront cottages. Patrick slowed the Bronco as we came to a dead-end in the road. I was certain he’d gotten lost and would have to turn around to get back to the tourist district to find a place to stay for the night, but he turned into the cobblestone driveway of the last oceanfront cottage instead.

Patrick turned to face William, a devious smile covering his lips. “I’m going to let you explain this next part all on your own, Brother.” His eyebrows danced, and before William could punch his shoulder, Patrick was out the door in a flash and jogging up the walkway to the front door of the house.

I looked to William, my curiosity screaming. “What’s he talking about now? Are there
more
secrets I’m not aware of?”

He closed his eyes and squeezed a forceful breath through his teeth before he responded. “I do have something important to tell you, but I wasn’t trying to keep it from you—I was just looking for the right time to explain,” he said with strained words. “There’s been so many important topics to cover lately, and this wasn’t a top priority. I should have used the rest of the ride down here to prepare you . . .”

“It’s alright,” I said, after he looked to be searching for the right words. “You can tell me anything.”

His hand reached for my cheek, and his eyes looked determined. “Patrick is my brother, Bryn. Not through the bonds of Immortality, but my flesh and blood brother when we were Mortals. He was born two years after me in 1760, to our parents, Charles and Catherine Hayward.”

I concentrated on the breath I was pulling in slowly through my teeth, hoping this less conspicuous reaction would keep my mouth from dropping in shock.

He moved his hand from my cheek and grasped my hands, giving them a tight squeeze. “My name is William Hayward, I still carry my Mortal name, although I’ve gone by William Winters since infiltrating John’s Alliance of Inheritors. I should have told you when I had you alone that first night, but it didn’t enter my mind, and it was far too dangerous to mention within the walls of the Manor,” he finished, his eyes searching mine, as if looking for acceptance or understanding from me. He had both—he had whatever he needed from me. 

“Alright, well that wasn’t so bad, right?” I said with a light tone, knowing I’d get used to the idea in a few . . .
decades
. “So you’re related to that idiot.” My hand waved towards the cottage where Patrick had departed. “I can get used to that . . . since I don’t really have a choice.”  I laughed, and he joined in, but it wasn’t his usual musical, full laugh. He looked as if he was plagued by something else—some other secret.

“There’s more,” he said slowly.

I couldn’t control the grimace that betrayed my face this time.

Noticing it, he hurried. “It’s not awful, really. It’s just that”—he glanced at the cottage, where a spiral of smoke was twirling into the grey sky—“there’s more family waiting inside there, too—more flesh and blood family.”

 I tightened my hold around his hands, willing them to keep me centered. More family? More flesh and blood family from when he’d been Mortal? How many more? My mind got caught up in a numerous series of questions, none of which could be verbalized fast enough before another one raced to mind, vanquishing the prior.

All too familiar with my overly inquisitive mind and the frustrated, distressed look that accompanied this trend, he leaned forward and kissed my forehead, keeping his face close to mine after removing his lips. “How about we go in there and meet everyone, and then we’ll all do our best to answer your questions?” He pulled his face back to look into my eyes. “Does that sound alright?”

I nodded my head, at the same time I felt a brace of panic take hold. I wasn’t sure who would be waiting for me behind that door. Would they like me? How much did they know about William and me? What would William think of me after his family met me? Too many questions to consider and worry about.

Through some miracle, the man beside me cared for me in a way that was inconceivable given the glaring differences between us—it was like a lump of coal placed beside a diamond. How could I ever convince his family—who I already knew would be just as exquisite as he was—that I was worthy of their acceptance . . . that I was worthy of
him.

 
I couldn’t.

There was nothing special about me that would glimmer like the diamond sparkling beside me. This knowledge made my heart pound as if it was bruised. Each heartbeat throbbed with pain. I had to escape before it would explode.

 I heaved the car door open and was out faster than my Immortal legs had carried me yet. The hurt in William’s eyes had me fighting against my better judgment to lunge back into the tortuous confines, and have him hold me for the rest of eternity, not caring if my bruised heart would burst. A milli-second before I threw caution to the wind and found my way back into his arms, he stepped out of the car with his arms raised.

“I’m sorry, Bryn.” His voice was tight with concern. “I know how much this is to take in, and I’m pushing too much onto you.” He focused on the ground, where he began toeing at the earth between two stones in the driveway. “I’ve had more than two hundred years to discover what it is I want.” He glanced up at me and smiled shyly. “That
something
being you. I sometimes let myself forget that you are so very new to this Immortal life and may not be ready to commit to the first man you meet—”

“Are you serious?” I interrupted, knowing I sounded more bewildered than someone that’d just been told they’d won the lottery.

He certainly looked as if he was serious, though. The reasoning behind this was incomprehensible, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to convince him in a bout of rhetoric—he was much smarter and more articulate than me. I thought of something he’d used to convince me of his feelings, and decided to see if it would work as well on him as it had on me.

I marched over to him, still flabbergasted, but intent upon my mission at hand. “Feel this,” I ordered, grabbing his hand in mine and tugging it to my chest, where I positioned it over my heart. Where it throbbed with a different kind of pain now—the kind derived from the knowledge that he’d actually doubted my feelings for him.

There was color rising in his face, and his eyes darted to the side; probably due to the location where I held his hand. With my other hand, I raised it to his face and encouraged his tilted head back to me until his eyes looked into mine. “I’ve lived every beat
loving
you, since I first met you.”

Recognition started to appear in his eyes, but it was not assured. How could he not have known it had been all over the moment he entered my life? How I’d never felt so on fire before in my life. How I’d known immediately that I
loved
him, and not just loved him, but loved him with every single fiber of my existence—both as a Mortal, and now, as an Immortal. It was the kind of love that never gave you a moment’s doubt. The kind of love that you knew, if you were not allowed to be with the object of it, you would choose to be with no one at all. The kind of love that would make everything you’d ever done, or would do, pale horridly in comparison. It was beyond comprehension, and far beyond words.

I felt like the wickedest of creatures as I realized he was genuinely unsure of my feelings for him. That he’d been tortured not knowing I would give anything for him. I would give my life—not only just in turn for his life—but even just for his happiness.

I wanted to scream contemptuous things at myself for torturing him so, but that could wait until later. There was something else that required my immediate attention at the moment.

“William,” I whispered, “I’ve loved you from the first day I met you, as I will the rest of my existence.”

It was more freeing verbalizing my feelings than I’d imagined it could be, and while I could’ve gone into many other in-depth descriptions of my love for him, I didn’t need to. I saw when I laid those simple words out, the anxiety of him not knowing melted from his face, and the emotion that took its place was breath-taking. It was the most beautiful thing I’d seen.

Minutes later, after our eyes had been unable to move from one another’s, he closed his eyes and exhaled the longest breath I’d ever heard. He leaned his forehead against mine, and I allowed his hand to leave the place where he’d felt just a handful of the beats whose sole purpose was worshipping him.

“You know my feelings for you go beyond reason. I love you so much more than can ever be held in feeble words, but maybe . . .” He sighed again, and looked as if he was recalling something pleasant. He pulled his forehead back from mine and grasped my face between his. His eyes were still brimming with his happiness. “I love you, Bryn Dawson. I am yours, and yours alone, to the very end.”

He was right. The spoken words held more power than I could have imagined, and I felt my joy paint its bold colors across my face.

The sun had moved a noticeable distance in the sky before we were able to force our eyes from one another again. William sighed reluctantly when his eyes left mine, regret apparent in them. Reaching into the Bronco he pulled our bags out with one hand and reached for mine with his other. He turned towards the pathway leading to the front door.

“Shall we?” he asked. My smile was answer enough for him. “That was a good line, it seems as if I’ve heard it somewhere before . . .” he said, eyeing the location where I’d held his hand to me.

I smiled, remembering. “It was, wasn’t it? It was the best thing I could think of to get it through your thick head that I don’t need two hundred years to realize I’ve never wanted anything more.”

A clearing of a throat in front of us broke our smitten gazes. “You guys can ogle at one another inside here too . . . in case you want a change in scenery.”

I didn’t have to turn my eyes from William to identify who was speaking. His teasing tone would have been identifiable standing in the center of the New York Stock Exchange.

I wasn’t sure how long Patrick had been waiting for us, and hoped it hadn’t been since he’d first hopped out of the car. His uncomfortable expression and reddened face was telling that he’d probably been privy to more than William or I would have liked.

“All ready to meet the Haywards, Bryn?” Patrick asked, as we stepped through the doorway.

I nodded my head. “As ready as I’ll ever be . . .
Brother.”
I punched him lightly in the arm, and he mocked falling under its absent power. William’s face lit up, maybe at my casual acceptance of Patrick being my brother too . . . one day.

The inside of the weathered cedar-slat cottage was inviting, warm, and personal. The walls were plastered with framed photographs, so much so, the sky-blue color of the walls barely seeped through.

Some were old and showing their age; like the portraits you saw of great grandparents that were tucked away in attics. Some were recent, printed on silver paper. No matter the age of the picture, they all contained the same faces, although the faces remain unchanged. His face was easy to find, and in many of them. I wanted to stop and look at each one; to experience the pieces of his past, but he persuaded me forward with a tug of my hand in his.

I heard the gentle cadences of several voices coming from a room in front of us. The voices sounded cheerful and comfortable, and then the scent of baking bread—banana-nut if my carb loving nose was correct—permeated the house, and my fear and hesitation over meeting the Hayward family, diminished some.

Patrick strolled in front of us with his hands in his back pockets. He was no longer in his black suit, but had changed into a pair of faded jeans, a grey polo, and was bare footed. While I’d previously thought the black suit was fitting and natural on him, I realized, seeing him now, I’d been wrong. This look was much more Patrick. This picture was more fitting of a little brother I could imagine William having, as opposed to the confident man dressed in black who headed up John’s
acquisitions
department.

Patrick hadn’t been witness to the entirety of William and my episode in the driveway, as evidenced by his wardrobe change, and I was immensely gratefully for the mercy of a little brother wanting out of a stuffy suit.

William wrapped a strong arm around me, and shot one last smile of reassurance my direction before we rounded the corner into a large open kitchen, where the pleasant voices and smells were coming from.