21. Blake
I stifle another yawn and try to focus on the words in front of me.
Three hours of sleep are doing a number on my concentration. Not to mention my ability to keep my eyes open.
Last night after being woken by Bran having another nightmare, the third night in a row, I stayed in his room when he settled. I couldn’t leave him alone like I had the two nights before.
I sat on the end of his bed and watched him sleep for a few hours, until he began to stir and the world outside the bedroom window began to lighten.
Only then did I slip back across the hall to my room where I lay there listening to him go through his morning routine.
I thought about joining him on the porch, but I wasn’t sure if I could hold my tongue and I still don’t know if I should bring up the dreams.
A message bubble pops up in the bottom right corner of my screen, drawing my attention.
Oakley
How’s it going?
Good.
Oakley
He still interested?
He’d sign today if I put a contract in front of him. Without reading it.
Oakley
Wow. That’s some voodoo charm you’ve got going on there.
No charm. Just history and a desire to get his life back.
Oakley
When will you be here?
At least another week. I want to head to Mom and Dad’s for a while first. Take him with me.
Oakley
Let me know if you need anything. If he does.
Oh, and I’ll pass on Branton’s info to Drake. See if he’s interested in taking on another client. Another Rogue.
Thanks. Tell Drake if he’s interested, I’ll get Bran to call when he’s ready.
Oakley
Okay, talk later.
Staring at the screen, I think about Bran. About the trust he has in me. He’s said it, and I know he means it—if I laid a contract in front of him, he’d sign on the dotted line without reading a word.
We used to have that level of trust. I’d thought it gone. Lost when he severed our relationship with a clean slice.
Now that I know what he’s been through, what he had to deal with, I completely understand why he was there one minute, gone the next.
He wasn’t just protecting me and the family, his friends, he was protecting himself—his unborn child. He might not see it that way, but I do. If he kept in contact, we would have had to meet Celeste and I think he knew on a subconscious level that would be a bigger mistake than the one he perceived himself making.
Noise behind me turns my head and I spot Bran coming in from the deck. “Nice walk?”
“Yeah. A little chilly this morning.”
“Probably the cloud cover.”
“Yeah, it’s hovered for the last two days, keeping out the warmth of the sun.”
“Will we get rain? Snow?”
“Not sure. But I checked the generator just in case we lose power.”
“Is that something that happens a lot?” We haven’t really talked about living here and while the weather probably isn’t that different from where my parents live, Gannon Byrd’s property butts up to the shoreline of Parry Sound.
“In winter a bit. But this place is set up for it. There’s the wood pile to keep us warm if the power goes out. The generator runs basics like the refrigerator, but not the furnace, so good old fashion wood has the job of heating this place covered.”
“Do we need to get more wood? I haven’t noticed a wood pile.”
“It’s in the garage. Well, around the back of it.” He moves to the fridge and opens it. “Are you hungry? Want me to make us something for lunch?”
“Around the back of the garage?”
“Huh.” He glances over his shoulder. “Oh, yeah, the garage is split in two. Front section is for the car, the back is stocked with wood for the fire. Grilled cheese sound good?”
“Yes. Maybe some hot chocolate to go with it?”
“Sure. I can take care of both, you can keep working. I know being here doesn’t mean you don’t have work to do.”
“More reading than anything. Making notes, questions about players to bring up at our next meeting. It’ll be the first big one with Walker at the table.”
“Want to share who you’re looking at? I might be able to answer some questions.”
“No. I’m good for now. Just narrowing down a list of players to begin with. More about their positions and stats at this stage.”
“Well, let me know if I can help in any way.”
“Making lunch is helping.”
He gives me a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sure. Give me ten and it’ll be ready.”
I don’t know what the sad look is for. He’s been doing it all morning so I know it’s not because I just rejected his help. I haven’t asked if there’s something wrong because I’m frightened he’s going to tell me to go. It’s an irrational fear because he hasn’t said anything about me leaving. Not even the day I arrived.
Hell, he sort of blackmailed me into staying for the week.
It has to be the lack of sleep messing with my head.
If Bran wanted me gone, he’d tell me. He’s shown he’s capable of shoving me out of his life already; I doubt he’d struggle to do it now.
“You want marshmallows with your chocolate?”
“Is there any other way to have it?”
“No. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted it since we’re having grilled cheese.”
“I’ll never pass up marshmallows with hot chocolate. It’s the only way to drink it and yes that comes from experience. I have a supply of them to go with my chocolate at home. Never have one without the other in my house.”
“Same.” He reaches into the cupboard and pulls out two large mugs. “Want to eat outside or in here? Can you take a break from what you’re doing?”
“I can. I’ll grab a hoodie to put on. Unless you’re going to turn the heaters on.”
“You planning to go straight back to work after lunch?”
“Yes.”
“Then grab the hoodie. I was going to get some washing done after lunch so I’ll be inside too.”
“Okay if I toss some of my stuff in the wash with yours?”
“How much have you got? I’ve let mine go a bit long so I have a least a full load.”
“Only a couple of things.”
“When you get the hoodie, drop what you have to wash off in my room and I’ll put it together with mine.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Are the sandwiches smoking?”
“What— Shit!” Bran lunges for the stove and grabs the frypan. Moving it to the side he curses. “Fucking hell. Can’t use that butter now.”
“I don’t mind it a bit brown.” Mom used to make grilled cheese a light golden color but Dad always managed to burn the butter but somehow the sandwiches still tasted good.
“A bit brown yeah, black, no.” He shakes his head, frowning at the pan before huffing and bending to the cupboard where the pots and pans are kept. “I’m not even going to waste time cleaning it.”
I watch him as he mutters about paying attention and slaps things around. First a glob of butter then the bread and cheese. I want to laugh. His antics are amusing but the look he gave me before is stuck in my head.
What has him sad?
Is it the dreams he’s been having?
Maybe if the right opportunity arises, I can ask him about them over lunch.