Chapter 21 – Braelyn
brAELYN
I’m crying and I don’t know why. In the last two weeks, I think I’ve cried more than I ever have in my life, and that’s a whole other thing that’s freaking me out.
I’m sitting on the toilet with my face in my hands, trying desperately to hide my sobbing, and when that fails, I get in the shower—the inside one this time—and cry in here.
I don’t have my phone with me, but I could really use a phone-a-friend moment. One where I freak out and they listen and tell me it’s going to be okay. That life changes on a dime for all of us and that I have to believe the course it’s charting now will take me somewhere incredible.
I have to believe that because otherwise I’ll never stop crying.
Him calling me “my sexy girl.” His finger in my ass. Safe words. Being spanked. His hand on my throat. All the things we just did replay through my head, and I can’t… Jesus, I don’t know how to make sense of it.
Maybe it’s the what did I just do thing or the odd cocktail of endorphins and happiness when that happiness absolutely terrifies me.
I thought I was happy with Adam. I thought things were great between us.
I would have blindly and dumbly married him.
How could I have felt so absolute with that two weeks ago and now have everything feel different?
How can I trust myself after that? It’s not even how can I trust men because I trust Roman.
Maybe that scares me too because I just had the best, most intense sexual experience of my life with my best friend, but how can he still be my best friend after we did all that?
How can I suddenly start to see him differently than I ever have before when I’ve known him literally my entire life?
Is it some strange form of grief or rebound? Or am I finally opening my eyes and looking at what’s been right in front of me all along? Then I almost laugh. Roman doesn’t date women. He doesn’t get serious. Not with anyone.
Is this different?
Am I ready to ask that question and learn his answer, whether it’s yes or not?
I wish I hadn’t married him. I glance down at the sparkling ring still on my finger. I haven’t taken it off. I’m worried I’ll lose it, and he hasn’t taken his off. I don’t know what any of that means. I wish we could have a fresh start and it wouldn’t be complicated from the start.
Ugh. I’m a mess. Again.
Just fucking fabulous.
I give myself a quick wash and step out of the shower so I can brush my hair and get my shit back on straight. My stomach rumbles, and I have no clue what time it is. It could be seven or midnight.
I get into my robe and leave the bathroom to find the bedroom dark and empty. I throw on clean undies and a soft, wireless bra, along with a pair of cotton shorts and my favorite old college T-shirt. Then I woman up and go in search of Roman. And food, let’s be real.
He’s out on the patio, on the edge between the rock garden full of flowering plants and the dark wall of sand and ocean beyond it.
His short hair is barely rustling in the breeze, and his profile is bothered.
Food sits untouched on the table with metal covers on the plates.
My friend is troubled. Unsettled. It’s not something he wears well.
He buries it deep within himself like an artifact after a sandstorm.
My heart thunders. I have a choice. Embrace the possibility or pretend everything we just shared didn’t happen.
Only I know I can’t do the latter. Because I am seeing Roman in an entirely different way and it began before tonight.
He’s a rare and special gem. The kind you only uncover once in a lifetime and only see all the facets if you look closely enough.
Otherwise, you see what everyone else sees. The gorgeous face. The tall, muscular body. The tattoos. The brilliance in the kitchen. The broodiness. The fierce boxer.
But he’s Roman. The soft-hearted, will protect you with his life and will do whatever it takes to make you smile while he dominates your ass until you’re screaming for him guy.
All that aside, I don’t know if I’m ready for what this could be.
Sucking in the shakiest of shaky breaths, I cross the stone patio, past the pool that’s glowing until I’m behind him. I know he hears me because his shoulders tense, but I shock the hell out of him by wrapping my arms around his chest from behind and resting the side of my face against his back.
I don’t say anything. I’m not quite up for that. This is still new, and I’m still raw, and I’m still afraid of, well, everything, if we’re being honest. But his body relaxes into mine in a way that draws a smile to my lips and a skip to my heart.
His hands cover mine that are pressed against his chest, our rings clinking against each other, and he releases a tense breath. The kind I wish didn’t ever find its way to his lungs.
“You were crying.”
I lean deeper into him. “I wish you hadn’t heard that.”
“Did I push you too far? Was it too much? Did I hurt you?”
His question almost makes me laugh, though the panic and torment in his voice shatter any mirth before it can form. “No. Not even close.”
“Braelyn, I went easy.”
“I figured.”
He threads his fingers through mine, squeezing them. “But you were still crying.”
“Not from that. I mean, not in that way. I’m overwhelmed. That’s what those tears were.”
“Baby…”
Oh god. Him calling me that.
“Do you regret it?”
“No. Absolutely not. I want more.”
He takes a heavy breath in and releases it slowly. “I want to go harder and deeper with you.”
That rolls through my head and my nipples tighten and my pussy clenches. They say bring it on because we’re ready to roll with it. “Okay.”
He laughs, but there’s no humor there. “Okay? Do you have any clue what you’re agreeing to?”
“No,” I tell him honestly. “But I liked what we did today, and I’d like to do more.”
He’s trembling. This guy. His heart is guarded by an army, and yet it’s the softest, most beautiful thing when you breach its defenses.
“You don’t know what you’re saying. Where my mind or even my heart is with this.”
“Will you hurt me?”
“Not the way you think and never your heart. It’s the thing I value most in this world. Above all else. And if you tell me you don’t like this or don’t want it to be like this, that you want it to be more of a typical vanilla thing, I’m fine with that. I swear it.”
I close my eyes and think about this. I have to focus on the physical.
I’m not ready to talk about relationships even if we’re married.
So… sex. Sex with possibility. It’s something I can work with.
For some reason, that takes a lot of the pressure off my chest while also making my insides squirm.
Fuck, I’m a contradiction, but I think it’s safer this way.
“If I ask you to stop or tell you I don’t like something or say ‘Fletcher’, which still feels kind of weird?”
“I stop.” He’s almost hurt by the question.
“We’d have boundaries. Safe words. One you pick.
Braelyn, I’m not a sadist or anything. I just…
I’m physical and dominant, and I like to make sure my partners feel safe in that space.
What I want the most is your trust because you already know I’d never hurt you. ”
I do know that. And I do trust him. More than anyone, really. And the idea of somehow giving myself over to him in that way doesn’t feel awful or demeaning. It ironically feels empowering. Sexy. Fierce.
But… “Roman, it’s more than the sex that has me afraid.”
“I know. Me too.” He squeezes my hands. “But it’s still us, Brae. Me and you. Married or not, it’s as you said, we’re forever. At least, that’s my hope. Are you hungry?”
I smile at that. And relax. “Famished.”
“Let’s eat then.”
He spins around and his hand is somehow on my cheek, with his blue-green oceanic eyes on mine. It’s like I’m looking at him for the first time. He’s Roman, but he’s also someone new and it’s all these things.
He dips down and kisses me. Just a sweet pressing of his lips before it’s over just as fast and he’s leading me to the table.
“Tequila and wine?”
He laughs. “I had no clue what you’d be up for.”
“You ordered one of everything on the menu, didn’t you?”
“Not the ceviche.”
I shiver. “I hate anything raw.”
He smirks. “You seemed to love it this evening.”
I smack his shoulder and laugh. “Not yet! I have to have carbs in my stomach before I can handle your brand of sexing me up.”
He laughs and kisses my forehead. “I got you a cheeseburger and fries.”
“Thank god.” We sit down and it’s not strained anymore. It’s us. It’s us chatting and laughing and telling stories and me checking his hand and us drinking and eating.
And when it’s time for us to go to sleep, there is no tension. It’s not awkward. We each take turns in the bathroom and once we settle into bed, he simply wraps his arms around me, lets out a contented sigh, and that’s that.
He’s not pushing me, I realize. He’s giving me time to acclimate. Acclimate to what, I’m still not sure, but I’m choosing not to overthink anything.
Instead, I fall into the blissful abandon of sleep.
I stir, chasing the tail end of my dream, not wanting to wake up just yet. Everything is that delicious sort of heavy, the sweet grogginess that comes after a good night’s sleep and an incredible dream. I don’t get these often. Hardly ever, actually.
Working in the ER, you see the worst of the worst. No one comes to you on their best day and sometimes you save a life and sometimes you lose one.
Or it’s just fucking sad. You have to teach yourself to disassociate, but even when you do, there are remnants you can’t fully excise. A patient who sticks with you.
So to sleep the way I slept last night while dreaming of stars and the ocean feels like a gift. One I’m not ready to let go of just yet.
Until I hear a sound in the other room. A voice. Roman talking.
“No, she’s still asleep,” he says. “How are you feeling? How’s the pregnancy?”
Skylar. He’s talking to Sky.
“Good.” A grunt. “He better fucking be or you’ll have to let me kill him finally.
” He’s silent for a beat, though I know he was talking about her ex.
“I know. I spoke to Crew.” He laughs. “Quinn sees hockey players, not football. No way she’ll work for the Rebels unless forced.
She doesn’t want to work with her brothers or parents.
” More silence followed by, “Things are… good. The restaurant is coming along. The resort is incredible and we’re having a good time.
No, I won’t elaborate on what that means, and my voice does not sound funny.
” He huffs. “Stop fishing, Sky.” The doorbell rings.
“Our breakfast is here. I’ll have her call you when she gets up. Bye. Love you too.”
I hear him move around and answer the door, speaking in Spanish to whoever is there. More noise, then the room service guy is gone, and I hear Roman head toward the bedroom. For a moment, I lie here, debating if I want to be a child and pretend to be asleep still.
He chuckles by the entryway. “You’re the worst faker.”
Busted.
“I wasn’t giving it my all. I was still undecided,” I admit as I roll over and open my eyes to see him. He’s shirtless, damn him, in only a pair of track shorts. He’s also sweaty like he went for a run or worked out. “What time did you wake up?”
He smirks. “Dawn.”
“You didn’t wake me.”
“If I woke you, I would have fucked you or had my mouth between your legs. You looked like you needed the sleep, so I went for a run and to the restaurant for a bit.”
I belt out an incredulous laugh and flop onto my back, my hands on my face. “Roman! You can’t say that to me.”
“But I thought it was our honeymoon.”
“Oh my god! Shut up.”
He chuckles. “Come on. Get up. Breakfast just got here.”
“Your love language is feeding me.”
“My love language is food. Feeding you is a bonus. Come join me. Unless you want me to join you.”
“I do, which is why I’ll get up.”
“I figured. It’s why I gave you space this morning and will wait till you tell me you’re ready for more. But, Braelyn, I want more. So go have your freak-out, and after that, we can eat and talk if you want. Then I might kiss you and see where that goes.”
Without another word, the man leaves me here to have my freak-out.
Which I do. I smother a squeal and an oh my god, what the fuck am I doing?
Then I pull myself together, use the bathroom, wash up, and follow the smell of coffee and bacon into the living area.
Roman is sitting at the table with his phone in his hand and a mug of coffee in his other.
“In case you didn’t hear before, Skylar called.”
“I heard.” I take the seat opposite him, pour myself some coffee, and make myself a plate of food. “She sounded like she’s suspicious.”
He sets his phone down and scoops up a bite of omelet. “It’s Skylar. I think that says it all.”
“You didn’t tell her.”
He smirks as he slides his fork from his lips and chews. “About the marriage or the sex?”
“Yes.”
“I figured I’d let you have the honors. Or not if you’re not ready to share.”
I change the subject, because yeah, not ready. “How’s your hand? Any signs of infection?”
He glances down, then holds up his palm for me to see.
No extra redness, drainage, or swelling. “Looks good.”
“Feels good. I have a good nurse. One I get to spend the next five days with.”
He watches my expression, and I hide it behind my coffee.
“Then we go home. Back to life.”
“Could be a new life,” he counters. “Even if you want a divorce, it could still be a new life.”
I lean back in my seat, taking a croissant with me and nibbling on it as I stare past the floor-to-ceiling windows at the ocean.
“Roman, is that what you want? I’m honestly scared to ask, but I think I have to know all the same.
” I turn back to him. “Is this just some vacation fun for us? Or are you asking for more?”
His intense gaze holds mine. “I’m afraid to answer because I’m not sure you’re ready to hear what I have to say about it. And things are… complicated in my life right now. It’s things we’d have to talk seriously about.”
My heart sputters in my chest. Complicated. Meaning he doesn’t date. He doesn’t get involved with women. But he’s talking about a new life with us. Meaning… friends with benefits? Is that what he wants? Is that what we are right now? Ugh.
He’s right. I don’t think I’m ready for this discussion.
“We have five days here together. Can we have these five days?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” he agrees and continues to eat. “We can figure the specifics out later.”
I swallow and smile a little at that. Five days of sun, water, and Roman. I can handle that.