Chapter 18 #3
The second Briggs shuts the door, Seth pulls away.
I stand there, watching his truck fade from sight, wondering if he’s even fit to drive in his current state.
Exhaling audibly, I shift Hudson’s weight and turn to Briggs, my eyes falling to the car seat he’s holding in one hand and the tablet and sippy cup in the other.
Several diapers and a pack of wipes are tucked beneath his arm, his preparedness making my eye twitch.
I hadn’t even thought to grab everything we’d need, too lost in my worry for Seth.
“How are you so well-versed in all of this?” I gesture to myself and the items he had the forethought to snag while I was preoccupied.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to judge a book by its cover?” Briggs teases, his eyebrow quirked in amusement.
“I’m not judging,” I insist, my gaze holding his as I attempt to explain the dichotomy of his two personalities.
“I’m trying to reconcile the opposing sides of you I’ve come to know.
One is sullen and shows no consideration for how his actions affect those around him, but the other is kind and knowledgeable in areas I wouldn’t have thought he’d be interested in.
You’ve treated me better than you do your own friends, and that doesn’t make much sense to me.
” Unconsciously, my gaze drifts to the macabre artwork etched into his neck, depicting his throat having been ripped apart, the insides exposed in greyscale detailing.
It’s graphic, perpetuating a stigma that doesn’t ring true.
Without a doubt, the artist responsible for such an intricate tattoo is talented, but it’s disturbing nonetheless.
“Is that really how you see me?” Briggs questions, his head tilted to the side in contemplation.
His tone is level, showing no signs that I’ve offended him.
“That’s fair, I suppose. But in my defense, I wasn’t always like this.
Life has a way of destroying the best parts of a person, and for some reason, we’re still expected to function and carry on like normal, making do with the ragged pieces we’re left with after getting chewed up and spit back out.
” I bite my lip, toying with Hudson’s curls to hide the tremble in my hand.
His words mirror the inner turmoil I fight persistently, but this rare glimpse of who he is beneath the cold exterior he’s crafted makes me question if we’re more kindred than I thought.
“But to sate your curiosity,” Briggs adds, all traces of the somber moment gone.
“I used to be a doctor.” My jaw drops comically, but he pays no mind to my exaggerated reaction, forging on with his revelations as if he didn’t just make my mind implode.
“I worked with kids a lot, so it stands to reason I’d know a thing or two. ”
There’s so much I want to say right now, so many questions I want to ask, each one more invasive than the last, but his usage of the past tense keeps me quiet.
He’s told me a lot about himself without saying much at all.
Doctors are naturally inclined to be caretakers, so that explains his softer side and penchant for hovering.
Regardless of why he’s no longer practicing, those attributes don’t just disappear, and I can’t help but wonder if his crude facade takes more effort than he lets on.
“And friends is a bit of a stretch, Angel. More like acquaintances who just so happen to cohabitate.” I scoff at his inaccurate summarization of their relationship.
“You might not be exchanging friendship bracelets or braiding each other’s hair, but there’s a degree of fondness between the three of you.
You’re fortunate to have people in your corner who’d drop everything and come running if you asked them to.
” Briggs’ stare pins me in place, his onyx-colored eyes simmering with something I can’t quite name.
“I wasn’t aware that friendships are elevated by a piece of costume jewelry, but I’ll be sure to get yours made expeditiously, now that I know.
” He smirks, pleased with himself for redirecting the conversation once again.
“Come on, let’s get inside. The sun is starting to set, and he’s not dressed appropriately for how cool it’s gotten. ”
Right on cue, Hudson starts to shiver, his tiny body burrowing closer to mine in search of warmth.
Briggs grabs his things and leads us across the street, his head on a swivel as he searches for anything out of place.
I’m not sure what he expects to find, but I think our only cause for concern is a wayward journalist trying to get the inside scoop on Veritas.
I’ve yet to be approached, but I’m certain they’re close by and lurking, plotting their ambush for the most inopportune time.
And while I appreciate the sense of safety Briggs’ presence offers me, I haven’t survived this long by letting my guard down.
I’m constantly aware of my surroundings, having learned long ago that surprise attacks are far worse than the ones you can see coming.
At least you have a chance to brace for impact when you’re expecting it.