Chapter 14 Braedyn
brAEDYN
The door closed behind me with a soft snick. Logically, I knew the sound was quiet, barely audible, but it sounded like a cannon. Or a nail in a coffin full of hope.
I heard the sounds of a video game coming from the small living room to my left, Yeti’s bark in response to one of Owen’s cheers. But I couldn’t go in there. Not yet.
Instead, I leaned against the door and slowly slid to the floor. Pulling my knees to my chest, I hugged them as tightly as I could, hoping that would keep all my grief, fear, and agony from spilling out over the worn hardwood.
I couldn’t break. Because if I broke now, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to pick up the pieces again.
The sound of the game cut off, and Owen’s curious face popped out from around the corner. I reached for reserves that were empty, trying to bring a smile to my face, but it wobbled around the edges.
Owen frowned and crossed to me, Yeti bounding over behind him. He slid to the floor, too, looping his arm through mine. “Are you sad?”
Yeti flopped on my lap, refusing to believe that her 142-pound self wasn’t a lap dog.
“Yeah, I’m sad.” The one thing I’d made damn sure to do raising Owen was let him know all feelings were valid in our house.
And he was safe to talk about any and all of them.
I didn’t want him to be raised like I was, where the only acceptable state of being was perfection, and emotions were seen as weaknesses.
Owen squeezed my arm tighter. “Did Mr. Dex not like your boobie cookies?”
One corner of my mouth kicked up. “No, I think he really liked them, actually.”
Owen’s head tipped back so he could study my face. “Then why are you sad?”
My throat suddenly felt painfully dry. Like I’d just taken a ten-mile trek through the Sahara without water. “I miss Nova.”
I was constantly walking a perilous tightrope when it came to Nova and Owen.
For those first few months, I was so sure she’d be found at any time that I hadn’t wanted to lay that on my seven-year-old.
And then the lie just grew. It weighed more and more the longer it went on.
And now, I wasn’t sure if I was protecting Owen or myself.
Hurt flickered over his expression. “Does she not like us anymore?”
The words turned agonizing pain into something unbearable. My heart fractured into the sort of pieces you could never put back together again, and if by some miracle you did, it would never look the same. It would be misshapen with ragged edges and missing parts. Barely functioning anymore.
“She loves us more than anything,” I croaked and swallowed against my desert-dry throat. “Something’s keeping her from talking to or seeing us. It’s not her fault.”
Owen’s tiny brows pulled together. “Like she’s grounded?”
“Kind of.” I couldn’t think of any better way to explain it.
A scowl with more heat than I would’ve thought possible erupted on Owen’s face. “Whatever that thing is, it’s stupid.”
Normally, I didn’t allow that particular s-word in my house, but I couldn’t agree more in this case. “It really is.”
Owen laid his head on my shoulder. “I love you, Mom.”
A different sort of pain flared then. The beautiful kind. The staggering beauty of a real moment with the person you loved most in the world. “I love you, too.”
And that would keep me going. Because it had to.
* * *
I stared at the coffee machine, willing it to brew faster as Owen raced through the cabin in circles, Yeti barking at his heels.
Dear God, I needed caffeine—all the caffeine the world had to offer. I laid a hand on the top of the machine. “Please, don’t leave me hanging today. Give me all your beautiful life force.”
Because sleep had been fitful at best. Reopening my deepest wounds twice in one day was bound to bring out the demons, but they’d come full force.
Nightmares where Nova called out for me, asking why I hadn’t found her, demanding to know why I’d abandoned her.
I’d finally given up around four in the morning.
The sound of the doorbell rang through the cabin, sending Yeti barking and Owen changing directions. “I’ll get it!” he yelled.
“Owen, not yet,” I said, hurrying after him.
But it was too late. He yanked open the door, revealing six feet and four inches of towering muscle with a little more scruff than last night and dark circles under his eyes.
Owen’s hands went to his hips. “Did you not like my mom’s boobie cookies?”
I had the sudden urge to pull my sweatshirt up over my head and stay there.
A low chuckle slid through the air, hitting me with a wave of invisible vibrations.
“I loved the boobie cookies,” Dex assured him.
Owen’s eyes narrowed on the man in my doorway. “She was sad when she got back from your house.”
“All right,” I said, wrapping an arm around my son’s shoulders. “Owen, what’s the rule about opening the door to strangers?”
“It wasn’t a stranger. It was Mr. Dex. He’s kinda scowly, but I don’t think he’s a bad guy.”
Truer words had never been spoken.
Dex’s lips twitched. “Sorry about the scowly. But your mom’s right. You shouldn’t answer the door until she gives you permission.” His gaze flicked up to me. “If you had a camera, you could see who was at your door before answering it.”
Owen practically started dancing at my side. “Mom, we should totally get a camera. That would be bussin’. I could make it talk in a robot voice!”
“Bussin’?” Dex asked.
A soft chuckle left my lips. “Basically means it would be cool.”
He shook his head. “I’m old.”
“You’re telling me,” I mumbled.
Owen looked between the two of us. “You’re both kind of old. Did you even have TV when you were growing up?”
Dex staggered back a step, clutching his chest in mock injury. “Direct hit.”
The action made Owen giggle, but I couldn’t help but wonder why Dex was even here.
As if sensing my question, his hazel gaze lifted from Owen to my face. “I want to help.”
Owen’s gaze ping-ponged between us. “Help with what?”
“One of my Yeti projects,” I hurried to say, guilt swarming at all the Nova-related lies piling up.
Dex nodded slowly and dropped his hand for the dog to sniff. “Yup.”
A bubble of excited hope escaped its prison. “Why don’t you come in? The caffeine is in the kitchen.”
Dex chuckled again, the sound reaching out like the caress of featherlight fingertips. “Give me all the caffeine.”
As I moved to the fully brewed pot of coffee, Owen peppered Dex with questions. How old was he when he got glasses? Did he have any brothers or sisters? I nearly balked at the fact that he had four brothers. What was his job?
“Well, I guess I don’t have one anymore. But I used to work for the FBI in their cyber division, helping on the computer side of things,” Dex said as he settled at one of the stools in the kitchen.
“You. Worked. For. THE FREAKING FBI? Did you hack stuff for them?” Owen shrieked.
I winced as I set a mug in front of Dex. “Apologies for the lack of volume control. We’re working on it.”
Dex grinned. “No worries.”
“Wait,” Owen said, disappointment hitting him. “You don’t work there anymore?”
Dex shook his head and then took a sip of coffee, ignoring the cream and sugar I’d placed on the table.
“Why would you stop doing the coolest job ever?” Owen demanded.
“Owen,” I warned.
“What? I wanna know.”
Dex held up a hand. “It’s okay. I made them a promise. I told them I’d work for them for ten years. My ten years were up, and I was ready to do something else.”
“Something not as cool as the FBI, though,” Owen mumbled.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Owen, why don’t you go get dressed?”
“Aw, man. I always miss the good stuff.”
Dex leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ll catch you up on the good stuff later.”
“Promise?” Owen asked excitedly.
“I promise.” Dex lifted a hand, holding out his pinky finger to my son.
Owen hooked it instantly, and they shook. The image was so simple, but it knocked me sideways. Memories of my and Nova’s shake flashed in my mind—a million little pinky promises.
“I’ll be back,” Owen yelled, running for his bedroom, Yeti fast on his heels.
The moment he was gone, a wave of nerves hit me. For countless reasons. But most of all because there was the possibility of hope. New roads to go down. New leads to follow.
Dex lifted the coffee mug to his lips and drank. His mouth tightened at the corners, lines of strain digging into his stubble.
“Not your kind of coffee?” I asked, trying to fill the now-deafening silence.
One corner of his mouth pulled up in a sheepish smile. It made him look years younger for just a second. “I don’t like coffee. But I love caffeine.”
A chuckle bubbled out of me. “What do you normally drink?”
“Energy drinks, mostly. Lightning Energy is my favorite.”
My jaw went a little slack. “Isn’t that the drink that sent a bunch of people to the hospital with heart palpitations?”
Dex took another pull on his coffee. “Amateurs.”
“Maybe you should try green tea.”
Dex’s whole face screwed up. “I’d rather just go chew some grass outside.”
My lips twitched, but the action quickly slid away. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
Dex’s hazel eyes caught and held mine. “You won’t.”
“You sound sure.” I tugged my lower lip between my teeth and worried it.
The last thing I needed on my conscience was getting Dex in trouble with the FBI.
He might’ve been a grumpy, occasionally stalkerish neighbor, but there was kindness beneath it.
And his showing up here and offering to help proved it.
“I’m damn good at what I do, Hellion. I won’t get caught.”
He didn’t look away as the words spilled into the space between us.
The nickname was a tiny piece of intimacy we hadn’t earned, but I still found myself wanting to hold tight to it.
Because I yearned to be known in that way.
The kind of way that meant someone knew you inside and out.
Was aware of all your secrets and eccentricities. But I didn’t have that. Not anymore.
I swallowed down the yearning. Tucked it away where I put all my other hard things. My parents’ abandonment and disapproval. Vincent’s rejection. Nova’s disappearance. It was as if I couldn’t hold on to anyone in my life. They all vanished in one way or another.
“You’re sure?” My voice dipped on the words, a rasp coating them that Dex didn’t miss.
His gaze tracked over my face and down to my neck as if seeking the source of tension. “I’m sure. Started getting the lay of the land last night, but it would help to know what you’ve found so far.”
This was happening. I shoved off the counter, my fingers tingling the slightest bit, telling me to breathe. “Okay, I…”
Dex’s hand loosened around his mug as if he might reach out to touch me. To comfort me? “You don’t have to do it today.”
“No, I want to,” I said quickly. But it wasn’t a want; it was a need. Not to leave Nova alone any longer. “I just…yesterday was a lot. Talking about it to you. To a support group. I’m not used to quite that much sharing.”
The words tripping out of my mouth made me feel almost naked. But Dex deserved my honesty. He’d earned it with his offer of help despite all the risks it posed to him.
Dex studied my face for a long moment. “Didn’t sleep well?”
I shook my head, wisps of blond hair fluttering around my face. “Nights are the hardest. So much silence. Too much room for memories.”
Understanding swept over Dex’s features, and beneath it…pain. For me? I wasn’t sure.
“The quiet’s the hardest when the memories are loud,” he said softly.
He spoke as if he truly knew. As if he’d experienced the same things I had. I wanted to ask but didn’t have any right to. And he was already giving me so much. Instead, I gave him what I could. “Thanks for helping me, even though I’m the worst.”
One side of Dex’s mouth kicked up in that lopsided grin, and something about the off-kilter smile knocked me sideways.
“You’re the worstest. But I think I like your worst, Hellion.”
A buzz lit beneath my skin at his words, a faint hum that was an early warning system. Because I didn’t go there anymore. Not with anyone. If you touched a hot stove, you learned because you had the scars to prove it.
But still, I headed for my Nova room, knowing Dex would follow. Playing with fire all over again.