21 | Honey-Apple Cake

Stunned and confused, the ginger taste was still on my mouth.

"Hello? Ollie, are you possessed again?" A hand waved in front of my face. I pulled myself out of my head and back to the Dales' kitchen, where I should be cooking snacks. Brennan was in front of me, a bemused expression on his face.

I rapidly shook my head to clear the fuzzy memories. My friend for years and years just kissed me, when I was a hundred percent certain either of us didn't think of each other that way. Trust me, I wouldn't complain if I got into a relationship with Lawrence and I knew in me that he was the perfect guy for every girl, but he wasn't the right guy for me.

"It's nothing, Brennan," I slid towards the counter, "Where are your parents? Have they arrived yet? Jackson?"

"I was telling you, wasn't I?" said Brennan, "Mom and Dad aren't home yet, but they'll be in a while. Jackson's away for school stuff. He texted that he might be late."

Jackson. For some odd reason, I felt like I had just wronged him with kissing Lawrence. But I gripped the edge of the counter tight, realizing the horrifying truth. "We're alone in this house?" I said in a hushed tone, looking off into the distance.

"Yes," Brennan replied smugly. I almost passed out, seeing that sly look on his face. There was no way I was babysitting this idiot!

He made his way over to the kitchen table, where I spotted a mini-keyboard for the first time. And by mini-keyboard, I meant a seemingly portable piano with lights and buttons. Looking at him warily, I decided to concentrate on making snacks for him instead, thinking he wouldn't bother me once I cooked food.

My hand had just touched the cupboard when Brennan stopped me, "You don't have to cook anymore, Ollie," said he, "There's honey-apple cake in the fridge. I took it home from work – and by that I'm saying that I stole it from work."

Suspicion crept in. He wasn't doing anything childish or up to anything. Why was he so calm? Nevertheless, I walked towards the fridge and slowly opened it.

Once I was sure there wasn't any exploding pie or anything similar hidden inside, I grabbed the box and shut the door quite strongly. "Why this sudden attitude? You're up to something, aren't you?" I turned towards Brennan, who was stretching his fingers over the piano.

He murmured notes distractedly. Then, he raised his gaze to meet mine, "Come on over here. We could share the cake."

He never shared the cake. And it didn't even feel heavy on my hand. I rested a hand on my hip, "You think I'm going to believe that? What are you going to do?"

One of the times he acted extra cheery towards me, I ended up covered in chocolate syrup, honey and feathers. We were in Reynold Records, and he somehow lured and Montana and I into a 'harmless' prank. Actually, I was the original target, but Montana got mixed into the trouble. Brennan got the worst from her.

Brennan smiled coyly and raised the piano. I knew then what he was planning to do. My eyes widened a fraction and I raised the box of cake to my chest, "No. No. Absolutely not! You're not going to make me."

"Oh yeah? If you don't, I'm going to thrash around the house. Take your pick," he threatened.

Prick! He couldn't do that!

I heard the screeching of a chair. Brennan pulled a seat next to his and patted the empty space on it. Reluctantly, I took careful steps towards the kitchen table, after grabbing two forks and a spoon. On the table, I opened the box and took a piece of icing – honey-apple, delicious.

Brennan pushed away the box as I reached for another piece. He tugged me down on the seat and I lightly stabbed his hand with my fork. He wasn't the least bit fazed – he moved his hands back on the piano and played a simple tune.

I learned from all the conversations I had with Brennan that he played a wide variety of instruments, but he was most fond with the piano, his first instrument. Most of his songs had him playing it, and when we sung, it was all that he used.

Meanwhile, I, lacking the talent, had my voice as my only instrument. Brennan constantly teased me about it, but I would effectively hit him on the head and that did stop him.

The first time he heard me sing was when I was low-key singing to a song with the radio at Reynold Records. He literally hauled me to a recording and insisted for me to sing. I had tried to sing in an average level, but he had threatened that he wasn't going to let me out unless I gave my all. And I had.

Brennan had been completely astounded by my singing and up to this day, he still was. He had offered me a place in Dale Studios a few times, but I had declined it every time, knowing my father would have my head. Nonetheless, he was the only one to encourage me to actually do something with my talent. Since he had heard me sing, he became my mentor and my singing partner.

That was one of the reasons I cared for Brennan Dale.

"I'm not going to sing!" I still protested, "What if someone hears?"

"Then let them hear," Brennan shrugged.

I fell silent, watching his fingers glide over the keys. Brennan played exceptionally, just as his voice was beautiful. "You know," he said, "After your father is satisfied, you have a record deal in your hands. When you find the right composer, you could be really famous, you know."

A stirring in my stomach appeared, "Don't remind me of that. I'm not exactly sure I want to do it anymore."

"The singing or working?"

"Both . . . ?" I was unsure. I didn't want to quit singing, and my father still had his threats ready aside.

"Because of my brother?" he asked, gazing at me.

I realized then that this was a serious time between us. Now that he found the opportunity for us to talk, he was asking me crucial questions. The stirring in my belly intensified, the guilt settling in the first time after days.

"No," I forced out a smile, "Not just him. Your whole family. It feels nice to be with you guys."

He nodded, agreeing. His fingers flew faster, coaxing out a pleasant and quick melody I didn't recognize. "And once you get out of the contract, that's it then?"

I swallowed, "Saying they don't catch me, yes. But Jackson knows, and I can't just escape this without him hating me."

"Have you told your Dad anything else?"

I merely said a simple 'no'. I haven't had another visit with Dad, because he was giving me time to look around and observe. However, the next time we'd see each other, he'd be harsher. He'd fire me with questions.

"I feel the need to tell you that Jackson's as anxious," uttered Brennan.

"What do you mean?" Different feelings when his name was mentioned. Different undefined things going all over my body and I couldn't digest them.

Brennan said it in a murmur, and I knew from that he was being honest – from the heart. "He's afraid you'd leave him someday. He's starting to like you, but he lives with the fact that you can't stay together forever. He's anxious about it. He's dreading it."

I was dreading it, too.

"He tells you that kind of stuff?" I never pegged Jackson to be softhearted and vulnerable to his brother. But I remembered Montana and I were like the same before – we spilled everything to each other.

"Uh huh," Brennan answered, "He has nobody else, Ollie. And when you leave, who would he go to?"

I was going to destroy him.

"You have more impact on him than you think." Brennan pressed hard on the piano, pushing some buttons and knobs. "You affect him in more ways than it seems."

"I get it now," I breathed out, "You're warning me away from him. Because it's for his own good, not mine."

He glanced briefly at me, surprise emerging on his face. "Of course not. If you stayed away from him, he'd suspect something and blame me for it. No, you shouldn't. He would be unhappy. All I'm saying is that you should be careful for your and his own good."

I hated to admit it, but Brennan was right. I needed to be careful, getting hold of myself before everything could slip away.

We basked in the comfort of the piano's sultry tune for a few minutes. I played with my fingers underneath the table, running through my choices and decisions. Lawrence had just attacked my lips almost an hour ago, and now Brennan was giving me epiphanies.

"Now sing," Brennan's immature aura was back, "Or else you don't get honey-apple cake."

I laughed for a second as he started off the piano with a familiar song. Before I knew it, I was singing Sara Bareilles' Love Song. And I was not giving much effort in it, but Brennan had this signature rendered speechless look on his face as I let the words flow.

Soon, halfway into it, he started accompanying me through backup vocals. I smiled through the song, how it fit a particular mood, and I couldn't believe the voice coming out of my mouth was mine. I realized I missed hearing it letting loose.

The last note hit, and the song was done. Brennan sucked in a breath, staring at me, "How do you do that?"

I shrugged, a little uncomfortable. He was so confident in my abilities, while I thought otherwise. "I don't know," I muttered, "I just sing, I guess?"

"You just sing!" he said in an incredulous tone. Did he have to be this way every time I sung? His voice was the one who couldn't compare to the rest.

"That was unbelievable! Your range goes everywhere, you never run out of power, and the pitch and delivery is extraordinary!"

"Really?"

"Really," he frowned, "You've heard your sister sing, right?"

I winced at the thought. Montana was a class-A model and actress, but she sucked at singing as I did with playing a triangle. It was like she could damage a thousand eardrums the moment she hummed on the microphone. Her manager tried to steer her away from singing to keep the press from talking, but of course she didn't realize that.

"Awful," I commented.

Brennan laughed, "I think your Dad got the wrong daughter for singing. He doesn't realize how good you are."

"I'm not that good," I felt my face reddening. Brennan ignored this and pulled the cake box to us, and let me take a piece as promised. I licked my lips at the taste of the sweet dessert. Whoever made this was a genius.

"You know who your voice reminds me of?" he said in between bites, "Demi Lovato. And Sia. But at the same time, it's unique and irreplaceable."

I wasn't used to be showered with compliments when it came to my singing – especially coming from Brennan. "Ollie," he stared directly into my eyes, "You're going to do so much more with that voice of yours. I promise. And when you do, I'm going to be there to back you up."

I threw my head back, choking on my laugh and the cake. "Stop," I elbowed him, "You sound like a The Voice coach."

He stuck his tongue out, "Maybe I could be on the show. You never know."

"Ha! You would be after your career starts climaxing. And that's never."

"You're hurting me! Come on, I just compliment you and you're like that?"

I said nothing and took a bit of icing from the cake and smudged it on his nose. In turn, he locked me in his arms and put cake on my cheeks. "Enough! Stop!" I guffawed, trying to break from his hold.

Once the play time died down, I began taking icing from my face and licking them from my finger. "Anything interesting happen lately in school?" he asked, taking another bite of the cake.

"The Yearbook Club caught another trio cheating and blackmailing a teacher," I informed, "The football team begin their insane rituals, playing against our track team. Other than that, just the same old school."

"You and Jackson are going about, huh? What were you up to yesterday when I was locked up in my room?"

"Shut your mouth," I felt cheeks getting hot again, "We just talked and walked in the rain, that's all."

"Romantic," he gushed, "You sure that's all?"

"Ah, we shared a churro or two."

Brennan gasped, his hand flying to his mouth, "You shared churros!"

He and I also jumped on puddles and showered in the drizzling rain. We made faces at the store mannequins and smiled at random strangers. We arrived not long after at the mansion, where we cleaned up some more, in Brennan's absence. We finally let him out when he had claimed he was extremely hungry.

And so Brennan had tackled his brother for locking him in.

"I think things are looking up a little," Brennan smiled, "You and Jackson are getting along. It's good rebellion against our parents."

I hummed an agreement. "And maybe one day," Brennan continued cunningly, "We could be real brother and sister."

"What! Don't you suggest that, Brennan Dale!"

"Oh!" He pointed to my face, "What's that? Look! It's my ship! It's already sailing!"

"Brennan!"

He chuckled and took my head between his hands. He pulled me closer and pressed a brotherly kiss on my forehead. "I see lots of things coming toward you, Oliver," he whispered, "But you'll get through it."

A smiled spread on my face, thinking about how he truly cared for me. Montana couldn't get the job right, so he filled in.

In a daze, I turned my head to the doorway of the kitchen. Jackson was there, his eyes raking over Brennan and me. I tore myself from Brennan's hold and walked over to him. "What have you been up to?" I asked Jackson.

He cleared his throat, "Just a group project. You made anything?"

I shook my head, "No. Brennan brought over cake."

Jackson squinted at me, "What's that on your face?" I chuckled, reaching over to my jaw to see a bit of icing.

"We had a little cake fight," I told Jackson. Brennan was back to playing the piano. "But don't worry. Half of the cake is still intact – it's honey apple."

"I'm not hungry," he grumbled, pushing past me to throw his bag on the counter. What crawled up his butt and died?

Sighing, I watched Jackson rummage through his bag. Brennan watched curiously, his hands still playing the keyboard. "I can cook up something for you, if you like," I said in a soft voice.

Jackson faced me, his face softening. "Sorry. You don't need to. I'll be just up to my bedroom. I have to work on something real quick."

The second Jackson disappeared from the kitchen and up the stairs, Brennan stopped playing and grinned widely. "I am the captain of this ship and nobody can sink it!" he whispered proudly.

For the next few moments, Jackson didn't come down. Brennan and I finished the cake while he played the piano and assured me that Jackson was just busy and irritated with school. I had four thoughts about going up to talk to him, but there came another four opinions, opposing the idea. Finally, I just settled to start preparing a big dinner for Maira and Walter's arrival.

Two hours haven't passed and the front doors opened. They were home.

"Do you have any souvenir gifts?" Brennan immediately ran towards the two, giving his mother and father kisses on the cheek.

"There might be a few in my bag," Walter shrugged. He was in casual attire, looking laidback as always.

"Yes!" Brennan cheered.

"Oliver," Maira smiled at my way, "How was the house while we were gone?"

Oh, you know. Raging party involving your eldest son, as usual. Your youngest and I helped cover up the mess. But don't be surprised if you find a raccoon in your bedroom.

Brennan and I met gazes for a split second. "We behaved, Mom," Brennan rolled his eyes, "Ollie can confirm it."

Maira laughed in disbelief, as Walter opted to go around for some faults, "I think I'll stop being your mother first before I could believe that. What is it now? A raccoon in our bedroom?"

Sweating nervously now.

"The brothers beat each other up a couple times," I stepped forward to defend Brennan, "And there were accidents with the mop shoes. Other than that, everything's fine."

Pure enjoyment shone on Maira's face. Behind her, Walter was rapping on the walls, shouting for Jackson to come down.

"I knew you could take care of the house with the boys around!" Maira approached me, arms wide and squeezed me in a tight hug. "That calls for a huge bonus! I'm amazed by you, Ollie!"

A smirk crept on my lips. "Thanks, Maira."

"Oh, I have something important in mind," Maira suddenly pulled me aside, "Come here." I took a peek at the boys. Jackson was down, the family was all here. Walter was performing some kind of inspection on them.

"Oliver," Maira held onto my shoulders. My gaze flickered back to her. "I know I've asked you a lot of things, and you just don't want to complain – "

"Whatever it is, it'll be fine, actually."

Her face considerably lightened up even more. "Okay," she blew out a breath, "I have an important favor to ask you."

"Go for it."

Don't go for it, my inner voice chanted.

"As you might now, the Dale Studios' anniversary is coming next week," she began gently, "And in honor of the event, we throw a big celebration at the center of the city. When Walter and I were away, we talked about the plans, and he suggested that you help cook for that night."

"Me?" I almost choked, "Cook? At anniversary?"

"Yes," Maira nodded excitedly, "Of course, we'll be hiring the best chefs all around the country, but since Walter really liked your cooking, we want you to be part of the kitchen team."

Before I could say something, she opened her mouth again. "We're going to pay you thrice your salary for that. And you won't be cooking for the whole night, anyway."

"So will you do it?"

That offer was mind-blowing! I get to work at a first-class kitchen and be at the anniversary party, where Brennan wouldn't have the chance to bother me. Triple salary! And perhaps that could provide me with more information to relay to Dad.

"Of course," I replied meekly.

"Great!" Maira bounced up and down, "I can't wait to put you in a dress!"

She didn't give me the chance to say politely that I didn't do dresses. She hopped over to Walter to say the good news. And before I could approach Jackson to speak to him for at least a while, I was pulled aside roughly.

What was with the days and grabbing people?

"Okay, since Mom broke the news to you," Brennan grinned down at me, "I decided to treat you also."

From his pocket, he pulled out two concert tickets. He showed them to me, and I saw one of them granted a backstage pass. "I have a gig two days from now," he informed me, "And I'd be happy if you'd come. You could take your best friend with you . . . Mitch, was it?"

I narrowed my eyes at the tickets he was waving in front of my face, "How did you know about Mitch?"

"You tell me about her, remember?"

Oh, right.

"And what makes you think we'll go to the concert?" When I asked this, Brennan shoved the tickets into my hands. I curled a fist around them.

"I know you will. It's just here in Los Angeles. Maybe I'll let you open for me," he winked.

"Don't start that with me," I pocketed the tickets, "like I want to be surrounded by screaming girls who don't even know you sleep like a pig."

"You wound my ego, Ollie. Say sorry to it."

Two offers in one day. As if I didn't have so much in my hands already. But we'll see now where this will get me.

♫ ♫ ♫