Chapter 10
Samantha
Six months later
The coffee maker sputtered its last drops into the pot while I finished reviewing my notes from yesterday's session. Maria had hit ninety days sober, and I'd watched her face transform when I handed her the chip. Those moments made every hard day worth it.
My phone buzzed with a text from Brandon: Running late. Kid needed to talk after last bell.
I smiled and typed back: Take your time. I'll start dinner.
The apartment looked different now. Brandon's books mixed with mine on the shelves. His running shoes by the door next to my flats. His leather jacket hanging on the coat rack. Small changes that added up to something bigger.
His lease had ended two months ago. We'd talked about it over breakfast one morning, both of us dancing around the obvious solution until he'd finally just asked if he could stay. I'd said yes before he finished the sentence.
Pepper had adjusted to the new arrangement by claiming Brandon's side of the bed as her preferred napping spot. He pretended to be annoyed, but I'd caught him sneaking her treats when he thought I wasn't looking.
I pulled ingredients from the fridge for the stir fry Brandon had been requesting all week.
The rhythmic chopping of vegetables gave my mind space to wander.
Linda had been thrilled with my work lately.
Focused, present, engaged. Everything I'd struggled with during those awful weeks after the parking garage.
Therapy helped. Not just Brandon's sessions with Dr. Morgan, though those were making a difference I could see. I'd started seeing someone too. Dr. Patel helped me work through the Jake stuff, the trust issues, all the ways I'd been carrying guilt that wasn't mine to carry.
The door opened around six thirty. Brandon came in looking rumpled and tired, his tie loosened and his hair sticking up where he'd been running his hands through it.
"Hey." He dropped his bag by the door and came straight to me, wrapping his arms around me from behind. His chin rested on top of my head. "Smells good."
"Long day?"
"Tommy Fletcher was in my office for an hour. His dad got arrested last week for distribution. The kid's torn up about it."
I set down the knife and turned in his arms. "What did you tell him?"
"That his dad made choices that had consequences. That Tommy can love his dad and still be angry about those choices. That none of this is his fault." He looked at me. "Made me think about your brother. About all the families dealing with this."
The old Brandon would have kept that thought to himself. Would have processed it alone, maybe let it eat at him for days. This Brandon told me about it within minutes of walking through the door.
"You helped him today. That matters."
"I hope so." He kissed my forehead and released me. "What can I do?"
"Set the table? This is almost ready."
We moved around the kitchen together, the kind of easy coordination that came from months of practice. He grabbed plates while I stirred the vegetables. I poured wine while he found chopsticks in the drawer.
Over dinner, he told me about the anti-bullying assembly he'd helped organize. I told him about Maria's ninety-day chip and the new client I'd taken on who reminded me of Kyle.
"How is Kyle doing?" Brandon asked. "Have you heard from him lately?"
"He sent me a letter last week. He's been clean for five months now. Got accepted into a community college program."
"That's great."
"It is." I took a sip of wine. "He asked about you. Wanted to know if we were still together."
"What did you tell him?"
"That you're stuck with me now. No take backs."
Brandon's mouth curved into that half smile I loved. The one that made his eyes go soft. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."
After dinner, I washed dishes while he dried. The sun was setting through the kitchen window, painting everything gold and orange.
"My mom called today," he said, putting away the last plate. "Wants to know when we're coming to visit."
"What did you tell her?"
"That I'd ask you about Thanksgiving."
I turned off the water and faced him. Meeting his parents felt significant. The kind of significant that meant permanence and future and all those things we'd been circling around without naming directly.
"Thanksgiving sounds good," I said.
His shoulders relaxed slightly. He'd been nervous about asking. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I'd like to meet them."
"They're going to love you." He pulled me closer, his hands settling on my hips. "Fair warning, my mom's going to ask a lot of questions. And my dad's going to try to feed you until you can't move."
"Sounds like Mrs. Kim."
"Exactly like Mrs. Kim."
We ended up on the couch with some crime procedural playing on the TV. Neither of us really watched it. I was too aware of his hand tracing patterns on my shoulder, the rise and fall of his chest under my cheek.
He pulled me in for a kiss. Slow and deep and full of promise. When he pulled back, his eyes had gone dark. "Bedroom?"
"Thought you'd never ask."
He stood and lifted me in one motion, my legs wrapping around his waist. I laughed against his neck as he carried me down the hallway.
"Show off."
"You love it."
He kicked the bedroom door closed behind us, depositing me on the bed with enough force to make me bounce. I pushed up on my elbows, watching as he pulled his shirt over his head.
Six months, and the sight of him still made my breath catch. All that muscle and strength, the scars that told stories he'd finally shared with me. The way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
"You're staring," he said.
"You're worth staring at."
He climbed onto the bed, settling between my legs. His hands went to the hem of my shirt, pushing it up slowly. "Can I tell you something?"
"Always."
"Earlier today, when Tommy was in my office crying about his dad, all I could think about was coming home to you." His hands traced my ribs, my stomach. "About how you'd understand. How you'd help me process it without making me feel weak for caring."
"You're not weak. You're human."
"I know that now." He pulled my shirt off completely, then worked on my jeans. "Before you, I didn't let myself need anyone. Thought it was safer that way."
I lifted my hips so he could slide the jeans down my legs. "And now?"
"Now I need you." He kissed my hip bone, then higher. "Need this. Need you to see all of me, even the parts that aren't pretty."
"I see you. All of you."
He made a sound low in his throat and kissed me hard. His hands unhooked my bra with practiced ease, tossing it somewhere behind him. Then his mouth was on my breast and coherent thought became difficult.
"Brandon."
"Tell me what you need."
"You. Just you."
He pulled back long enough to shed his jeans and boxer briefs. Then he was pressing me into the mattress, skin to skin, the weight of him grounding me in the best way.
"I love you," he said against my ear. "In case I don't say it enough."
"You say it plenty." I dragged my nails down his back, feeling him shudder. "But I never get tired of hearing it."
His hand slid between us, fingers finding me already wet. He stroked slowly, watching my face as I came apart under his touch.
"So responsive," he murmured. "Love watching you like this."
"Less talking. More action."
He smiled and kissed me again, his fingers working me with the kind of precision that came from months of learning exactly what I liked. When he added a second finger, curling them just right, I gasped into his mouth.
"There?"
"Yes. Right there."
He kept that rhythm, his thumb circling as his fingers moved. The orgasm hit fast and hard, my body clenching around his hand as I rode it out.
Before I fully recovered, he was reaching for the nightstand. I heard the drawer open, the crinkle of foil. Then he was rolling on the condom and positioning himself at my entrance.
"Ready?"
I pulled him down for a kiss instead of answering. He pushed inside slowly, giving me time to adjust. We'd done this dozens of times now, but it still felt new somehow. Still felt like discovery.
"Okay?" he asked when he was fully seated.
"Perfect. Move."
He did, pulling out and pushing back in with steady strokes. Not rushed. Just thorough and deliberate, like he was trying to memorize the feel of me.
I wrapped my legs around his hips, changing the angle. He groaned and picked up the pace.
"Like that?"
"Exactly like that. Don't stop."
His hand slid between us again, fingers finding my clit. The dual sensation of him inside me and his hand on me built fast.
"Come with me," he said. "Want to feel you."
His thumb pressed harder and I shattered, the orgasm rolling through me in waves. He thrust twice more and followed, his face buried in my neck as he emptied himself.
We stayed like that for a long time. Both of us breathing hard, hearts racing in tandem. Eventually he pulled out and dealt with the condom, then came back and pulled me against his chest.
"You know what I was thinking about today?" he said after a while.
"What?"
"That scar on my ribs. The one you asked about the first night we slept together."
I traced the thin white line with my finger. "The one you said you'd tell me about later?"
"Yeah. Want to hear the story now?"
"If you want to tell me."
So he did. Told me about the robbery gone wrong three years ago, the suspect with a knife, the way the blade had caught him as he tackled the guy. Told me about the six stitches and the lecture from his captain about reckless heroics.
"I didn't think it was reckless," he said. "The guy was running toward a school playground. I had to stop him."
"Of course you did."
"Danny gave me so much grief about it. Said I had a hero complex." His voice went softer. "He wasn't wrong."
I kissed the scar, then the one on his shoulder. The one on his forearm. Each of them a story he'd finally trusted me enough to share.
"What about this one?" I touched a mark on his collarbone.
"Baseball bat. Guy didn't like being arrested for domestic assault."
"And this?" A small circular scar near his hip.
"Cigarette burn. Undercover work. Had to sell the cover."
I kissed that one too. "No more undercover work."
"No more undercover work," he agreed. "No more lying."
"No more lying," I repeated.
He rolled us so I was on top, straddling him. His hands settled on my hips, thumbs tracing circles on my skin.
"I want to move in with you," he said.
"You did. Two months ago."
"No, I mean officially. Add me to the lease. Combine our stuff instead of just cohabiting. Make it real."
"It's already real."
"You know what I mean."
I did know. He was asking for commitment. For permanence. For all the things I'd been too scared to want six months ago.
"Okay," I said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Let's make it official."
His smile could have lit up the whole city. He pulled me down for a kiss that turned into more, his body responding despite the fact that we'd just finished.
"Again?" I asked.
"If you're up for it."
I reached for another condom. "Always up for it." I rolled the condom on slowly, taking my time, watching his jaw clench as I stroked him.
"I love how you touch me,” he said.
I positioned myself over him and sank down slowly. We both made sounds. This angle hit differently, deeper, and I had to pause halfway to adjust.
"Take your time," he said.
I sank the rest of the way down and we both groaned. From here, I could control everything. The pace, the depth, the angle. I rolled my hips experimentally and watched his eyes go dark.
"Just like that," he said.
I lifted up and dropped back down, finding a rhythm. Slow at first, then faster. His hands moved from my hips to my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples in a way that made me clench around him.
"Do that again," he said.
"This?" I squeezed deliberately and he swore.
"You're going to make me lose it."
"Good."
I braced my hands on his chest and rode him harder. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, punctuated by our breathing. He reached between us, fingers finding my clit, and suddenly I was close again.
"Not yet," he said. "Wait for me." His thumb circled faster.
"Then you better hurry."
The orgasm built fast. It coiled low in my belly, spreading through my limbs. When it hit, I threw my head back and let it take me. He thrust up hard, once, twice, and then he was coming too.
I collapsed forward onto his chest, both of us slick with sweat and breathing hard. His arms came around me, holding me close.
"Okay," I said when I could speak again. "Now I'm done."
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Yeah. Me too."
Outside, the city hummed with its usual nighttime sounds. Cars passing. Sirens in the distance. The building settling around us.
"Brandon?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for not giving up. On us, I mean. When I told you to leave."
"I'd never give up on you. On us." He tightened his arm around me. "You're it for me, Sam. The real deal."
"You're it for me too."
He kissed the top of my head. "Good. Because I'm planning to stick around for a long time. Hope you're ready for that."
"I've been ready."
I felt him smile against my hair. "Yeah. Me too."
We drifted off like that, wrapped around each other. The man who'd been lying to protect his case had become the man who told me everything. The woman who'd been too scared to trust had learned to take the leap.
It wasn't always easy. Some days I still had moments of doubt, old fears creeping in. Some days he still struggled to open up about the hard things. But we worked through it. Honestly.