11. Blake
I don’t know what to expect when I leave the bathroom after my shower, but it isn’t the scent of baking bread.
Dumping my dirty clothes in my room I follow my nose to the kitchen to find Bran pulling a loaf of crusty looking bread out of the oven. “How the hell did you make that so quickly?”
“Shit!” He bobbles the pan as he puts it on the stovetop. “You scared the crap out of me, woman!”
“Sorry.” I move closer, take a big breath of yeasty air. “But how did you make that so quick?”
“I have a routine. I’ve always got dough ready to bake.”
I can’t keep the shock from my face or my voice. “You bake bread?”
“Didn’t I tell you I made the loaf we had yesterday?” he asks as he flips the bread out of the pan onto a cooling rack. “I could swear I did.”
“Eh…” I try to remember but the scent of fresh bread and the bubbling soup have my stomach growling. “You might have. I can’t remember.”
“Yeah, well, I bake a couple of times a week. Once a loaf gets low I get the next batch ready to throw in the oven.”
“Very domestic of you.” I grin. The idea that Bran, the boy who used to bitch about washing dishes or picking up his dirty clothes—my gaze darts around the house.
Nothing is out of place.
There are no dirty dishes in the sink or clothes on the floor or empty pizza boxes overflowing the bin. “You’re very domesticated now…”
His movements stop abruptly, his whole body going rigid, and I swear, he isn’t breathing.
I want to take back the words, suck them back down my throat, and I don’t know why. It’s just the tension in the air, it feels heavy, broken with razor sharp edges, and I’m?—
“When no one else in the house behaves like an adult, there’s no choice.”
His words sound like boots grinding on gravel and the rawness of them has me hunching my shoulders, pulling back without taking a step. “I?—”
“How many slices do you want?”
The abrupt change in topic makes my head spin for a second but then I get it. He’s revealed another piece of the puzzle that is—was—his life without me in it. A hard piece. One he wouldn’t have given me if I’d kept my mouth shut.
“Don’t.”
My head snaps up, my eyes colliding with Bran’s. “What?”
“Don’t beat yourself up. It’s not your fault. And I don’t want you walking on eggshells. I’ll handle anything you throw at me.” He shakes his head. “God knows I’ve already handled the worst.”
“I wish?—”
“You and me both, Blake, but we can’t change anything that happened before. Only what might happen now.” Indicating the cupboard behind me with a lift of his chin, he says, “Get the bowls. Dish up the soup—that smells fantastic by the way, and let’s go eat out in the sauna.”
He says the last with a cheeky smirk that reminds me of our childhood. One that has me helpless to stop the curl of my own lips. “I’ll turn a couple of them off.”
“You don’t have to. I don’t mind the heat and I should probably get used to it, right?”
“You thinking of leaving your hidey-hole?”
“You don’t think it’s time?”
“I’m the wrong person to ask.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t think you should have ever hidden yourself or what was happening.” I have to swallow the emotions threatening to burst out of me. “I would never have judged you.”
“You know, the more I see you, the more I realize it wasn’t about anyone else, especially you, judging me. I’d already judged myself.”
“Someone wise once told me we are our own worst critics.”
“Your dad.” Bran’s smile stretches wide. “I’ve missed his sage words of wisdom.”
“Good. Because that’s where we’re going when we leave here.”
He eyes me closely. “In a week.”
“Yes. One week. I’ll give you the week you asked for.”
“And I’ll sign your contract.” His gaze drills into mine, the force of it taking my breath. “With or without the week, I’ll sign.”
“But—”
“Let’s not worry about that now. This bread is toasty warm and your soup smells delicious and I can hear your stomach rumbling from here.”
“I am hungry. It’s been hours since I came out to find someone had made me breakfast, left it warming in the oven. Thank you for that, I didn’t expect it.”
“You’re welcome. And thank you for taking care of lunch.”
“Maybe we can join forces and take care of dinner together?”
“Absolutely.” His gaze turns sad, wistful. “I’ve missed this.”
“This?”
“Being with a friend, sharing meals with someone I care about. For a while, every interaction was a battle in a war I had no hope of winning.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I got myself into the situation. I deserved?—”
“Not that. No one deserves what you went through.” Neither of us speaks the words and I still don’t know the full story but nobody, not even the haters I’ve dealt with over the years, deserves what Branton has endured.
“Agree to disagree. Now let’s get lunch on the table.”
“I’ll get drinks.”
“Water for me. I might not have worked up a sweat on my hike, but I still need to hydrate.”
“Well, I did work up a sweat, so two waters coming right up, then I’ll dish out the soup, or should we just take the pot out and serve ourselves at the table?”
“We can do that. There’s a square tile on the table that we can put the hot pot on.”
“Okay. I’ll take the soup out and come back for the rest.” As I do what I said, I try not to dwell on the things Bran revealed.
If he and Celeste were always fighting, why the hell were they together?
Nothing is making sense and I have so many questions. Questions I’m not sure I want the answers to. Except this is Bran. The boy I grew up with. The boy who was my friend. The boy who turned into the man I fell in love with. The man I thought I’d spend my life with.
The man I let push me away when everything in me was screaming to get closer.
I didn’t push back. I should have pushed back. I should never have accepted the silence between us. Not even sure why I did. It wasn’t what I wanted.
And yet I didn’t even push when his world fell apart. I just sat back and wished I could be there for him. What kind of friend does that make me?
Bran blames himself, but aren’t I just as much to blame?
My inactions speak for themselves.
I’ll need to think hard, look deep, to work out why I let things go the way I did.
After talking with Mom, and the conversations I’ve had with Bran so far, I’m not sure I can let him go. And the warning he gave, about not thinking he’s pretty after I know everything doesn’t do a thing to make me want to either.
I’m not even sure I let him go before. I stayed away, focused on my life, but did I really let him go?
The feelings rising to the surface now suggest I didn’t.
It only makes me want to get closer, get back to where we were before Celeste came into the picture.
“I cut four pieces each. I’ll eat that many and I know you could pack away the carbs when you played…”
“Four’s good,” I say as I pass him on my way back into the house. “I’ll just grab our drinks.”
“There’s ice if you want it. I put a tray in the freezer this morning.”
I can’t help laughing.
“What’s funny?” Bran calls out.
“Just picturing how yesterday would have been different if you’d had ice in your freezer.”
“Oakley would have loaded the bucket with ice instead of water?” he asks from right behind me.
I didn’t realize he’d followed me back inside and the sound of his voice so close sends a shiver down my spine. “Ah, no. She would have added the ice to the water and waited a few minutes for the ice to chill the water before dumping it over your head.”
“Cruel, cruel woman.”
“She’s not.”
He holds up a hand. “No. She’s not. I know that. I was joking. Obviously I’m so rusty at this interacting with others thing, it didn’t come out right.”
“I don’t think you’re that rusty and it was probably fine but I’m a little sensitive when it comes to the women of KAW. We’ve dealt with a lot of shit-talk over the years and I’m sure we’ll be dealing with a hell of a lot more now that the world knows about the Rogues.”
“The world? Or is it a select few who will dig at you?”
“The latter. I think most hockey fans will embrace the new team, and honestly, I don’t need to defend our choices or plans. What we’ve done so far, what we’re planning for the future, is about more than the Rogues. I think once we’re established, the team on the ice, people will see that.”
“If they don’t, fuck ’em.”
I grin. “Keep that attitude, because when the world finds out you’re signing on with the Rogues, you’re bound to get some of that shit flung your way.”
“Then I should tell you everything so there aren’t any skeletons lurking in dark closets.”
“I’m not afraid of dark closets.”
“What about the skeletons?”
“Those don’t scare me either.”
“Good. Because I’ve got a graveyard full of them. Real and otherwise.”