A/N: Hi everyone. Sorry for the long wait. Summer's always tricky because there's so much to do. I was away on a quick, spontaneous trip so I didn't get around to posting. 

By the way, thank you to everyone who joined me on my Periscope broadcast last July 16. It was nerve-wracking at first but it became real fun when people started interacting with me. If you missed it, you can find it on Wattpad's YouTube page. 

Anyway, here you go! Enjoy!

***

Ever since I was a boy, I'd thought my father to be a great, powerful man. Invincible, you know, as most parents seem to us when we're young and small.

And even as years passed, I don't think the way I saw him ever changed, even as he got older and physically weaker. Sure, he's been having health issues and sure I conveniently used that excuse when I was baiting Charlotte but in my mind, Dad remained much invincible—until he no longer was.

Through the angioplasty and a couple of mild attacks, I had no real concern that Dad wouldn't make it. Surviving two wives, raising three children mostly on his own, running an empire—nothing kept Martin Maxfield down too long. He was too stubborn to die.

But it didn't sink in on me that he might not get a choice on the matter until he was rushed to the hospital after a very serious heart attack the night after mine and Charlotte's wedding.

Suddenly, I realized just how much time I've already lost with him and how little I might still have left.

As I sullenly sat in that prison cell, regretting nothing of Francis's well-deserved payback and wondering where the hell my wife and lawyers were, I realized that I might lose my father as abruptly as I'd lost my mother and Evelyn.

That realization filled my stomach with cold, heavy dread. I've been through a lot in my life, both good and bad, and Dad's the one person who's been there from the start and for every single thing.

I'm not prepared to lose him.

When Francis had so casually dismissed the grim possibility by planning out the the future as if Dad was just cooling in a grave, I saw nothing but red—the same bright richness of his blood that I'd been ready to splatter on the hospital floor.

Francis is really starting to deserve a cushier place in hell. First for abandoning his child and his child's mother—a woman who still loves him for God knows what reason. Second, for his callous attitude about Dad—a man who'd been there for him all these years despite the stupid things he did. And third, for his crude treatment of Charlotte when he wasn't even fit to lick the ground she walked on. If he kept this up, I wouldn't wait for his timely descent to hell. I'll push him right off the edge and kick him in for good measure.

But Dad would've wanted me to do better so I was glad I hadn't killed Francis right then and there. It was an extremely foul experience but I was glad for the lukewarm coffee shower Charlotte saw us fit to suffer through.

That thought was the only thing that made me smile in the two hours I sat in jail so even if I would never tell my wife how wise that move was for fear of inspiring her too much with the same strategy in the future, I was still grateful to Charlotte.

It was then that it hit me that Dad could die anytime soon and he wouldn't know the whole truth about me and Charlotte. And then I wondered further if it mattered how we began when we turned out what we wanted all along anyway—or at least I hope we're going that way. But then, I still don't know if Charlotte will stay with me at the end of the year. I'm hoping with all I've got that she will but there are no guarantees at this point. If she chooses to walk away because it's what will make her happy, I'll have no choice but to let her and I don't want Dad to go thinking everything was great only to look down and find us living separate lives. And to be honest, I wouldn't put it past him to haunt us from the afterlife if only to meddle.

Suddenly, a year seemed too long a time to secure Charlotte's place in my life. Suddenly, I wanted her promise as soon as my next breath but I had to keep a lid on it. I didn't want to scare her away. I might have to start slow but I'll have to start soon and my perfect chance at that fled when we had to cancel the honeymoon to stay with Dad. Dad tried to argue us out of that decision as soon as he learned it but neither Charlotte nor I budged. My old man's welfare is one thing we can never disagree on.

But a thwarted honeymoon just means a new opportunity at another one and I plan to make it up her. Paris will be another day and time and maybe as we stroll along the Seine, I'll tell her about this silly production I outlined and she'll probably laugh and roll her eyes and call me cheesy and I'll have to bear it with as much dignity as I can manage.

Dad told me a lot about Charlotte while I kept him company in the hospital. The kind of clumsy, too high-energy a fourteen-year-old she was when first met her. Her sassy wit that at first made him think she was much older and wiser than she really was until he realized that she was basically just doing her best to be a grown-up because there wasn't one around to be the grown-up for her. He told me about how Charlotte refused to talk about the ugly stuff, no matter how much he tried prying it out of her in an effort to find opportunities to help. He talked about how she would only ever blabber on about the splendid life she was planning to live. He told me of the things she would muse about doing one day—owning a patisserie, spending all her Christmas money making turkey dinner for homeless people, going camping old-school, among other things.

The patisserie could be easily done but she'll probably want to finish pastry school before that. It was months away before Christmas but if she wants a Christmas dinner feast for every single homeless person in Boston, I'll arrange it. It left me with camping which has its merits. I like going away from time to time, holing up at my cabin by the beach not too far from here. It's always quiet there, and everything slows down. But it's by no means anyone's idea of old-school camping. I want her first experience of it to be traditional—one she could tell our kids about one day when it's our turn to take them camping the old-fashioned way. Dad's brought us out once before and me and my sisters then helped set up the tent and we roasted hotdogs and marshmallows in the campfire. Dad told some stories and sang some really silly songs.

But in fulfilling this particular wish, I'd be bungling another that Charlotte had made very clear to me that night she waltzed into my office in nothing but what should've been a very wholesome white terry cloth robe. With her hair a damp mess, her face freshly washed and flushed, her eyes sparkling to match the smirk on her mouth, she looked like she'd just stumbled out of bed and was inviting me to drag her back in—which might not have actually been far from the truth.

She'd come for payback after I kissed her mindless only to go no further. I'll admit to feeling some satisfaction that I'm the only one suffering since our interrupted wedding night. But seduction isn't a learned art for Charlotte. She probably knew the textbook instructions on how to stir a man's lust but knowing her, she would be way too amused by them to ever take it seriously. She still tried just to make a point, not realizing that she was already being incredibly sexy with her slightly self-conscious tactics. There was vulnerability in her sexy bravado and the fact that she'd only ever let her guard down like this with me made her offer even more irresistible.

She didn't want to spell it out; she didn't even want to say it out loud but she did. And I knew it took great effort. I could see it in the way she lowered her gaze and giggled nervously.

She wanted me.

More importantly, she wanted us.

She was saying yes to the proposal I made the day after our engagement party—an arrangement where we get to live as true husband and wife for the year we were married.

I know I only said a year but that's just a mere technicality for now.

The startling, glaring truth of her agreement was that it's an admission to feeling more than we ever did when we first started this thing.

She wanted me, the intimacy, the relationship that came with what started out as a bargain. In agreeing to this, she's agreed to let it be more than just the money or Dad's ultimatum. She's agreed to let it somehow be about us. And for what I'm vying for here, what she's given me is a gift—one I have to be careful not to squander because Charlotte's never entrusted anyone else with this before.

Whew.

The past few days—from the wedding to nearly losing Dad to Charlotte's admission of wanting more—I'm not sure if I'm coming out of this more vulnerable or invincible.

Or whether I care to know the difference, if there's any at all.

- B

***

Thanks for catching up on the latest entry. I hate to be such a slacker and post slowly but it's hard to find time in the summer to write long posts. But I've made adjustments to how I'm going to handle Brandon's Journal from now on. I'll keep the posts shorter as they're technically journal notes and I don't know about you but I don't write a diary entry 2,000+ words long. And Brandon's earlier journal entries were definitely quite shorter. To compensate for that though, I'll post more frequently, twice a week, one on the weekend and another mid-week. That's the plan anyway as I want to wrap this up before the end of August, hopefully. 

I have a few other stories I'm mulling about, trying to jumpstart them so there's something new for all of us to look forward to come fall and winter. 

Enjoy the rest of your week!

XOXO

-Ninya

P.S. This song isn't that relevant to the chapter but it's another one I like from Parachute. This line just gets me and makes me think of Charlotte: "And the scars that she hides, with those stars in her eyes. Like the echoes they're all the same."

♪♪♪ Chapter Soundtrack: Be Here by Parachute ♪♪♪

Well she wants to get in

and she wants to get out,

but the city, it calls her name,

and the scars that she hides

with those stars in her eyes.

Like the echoes, they're all the same

'Cause its all been done before

Yes it's all been done before

And oh, you can let this one go,

you can try on your own,

but I want you to be here.

And oh, now the signs are all quiet,

and the streets are all tired

and I want you to be here.

Well she's sick of this town

and the walls of this house,

but her pride just wont let her see

that when she swears that she's made

with a heart that won't break

she could be dead but she'd still believe

That it's all been done before.

Yes, it's all been done before.