My Rose

34. Rose

Chapter 34

Rose

“Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.” ― Plato

“ W hat’s your favorite song to sing?”

I arched a brow as I smoothed out the long-sleeved, black velvet dress, the matching black Vans bringing a smile to my face. “I don’t think I have one.”

He rolled his eyes over to me. “That’s a lie, Rose. What do you like?”

I paused, trying to think of what I liked instead of what I’d been told to like for years. It was never hard to think for myself, but somewhere along the way, some of the things I liked became muddled down as I tried to be someone I wasn’t for someone who didn’t care. “I haven’t thought about it in a while, so give me a minute and stop looking at me like that.”

“Like, what?” He smirked, knowing exactly what look he was giving me. One that was making it very hard not to tell him to pull over the other stupidly expensive car he pulled from the garage right then and there like I did the night before. I had to remind myself that appearing freshly fucked wasn’t exactly a good look when introducing your boyfriend to your grandparents. But, after?

I blushed as I looked at the amount of space inside the SUV. I knew one thing I definitely liked a whole lot, and trying to think of music instead of that was hard when Briggs looked so effortlessly devourable in his black pants and black button-down, the sleeves cuffed to show a portrait of Romulus and Remus—the myth of twin brothers who founded Rome—as babies on his forearm.

Those forearms I stared at flexed, the veins rippling above the stacks of muscle I wanted to sink my teeth into. “Keep looking at me like that and we’ll have to stop at our gym after dinner so I can properly fuck you like I want to.”

I blushed harder and straightened in my seat. “Fine. I think I like darker songs. Ones that have a deeper meaning to them.”

“Something like what you sang before?” I nodded as he found that same song again, playing it at a low volume. “You kind of sound like her, you know. Personally, I think your voice is better, but I could be biased.”

I giggled. “Definitely biased. I’m no Billie Eilish.”

He took my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. “Good. I prefer you as you are.”

I glanced out the window, unable to focus on the song as the snow outside began to fall, dotting the windshield. “Briggs?”

“Rose, baby?”

I squeezed his hand. “What do you think would happen if you told the police about what your dad did? Do you think they’d do anything?”

His jaw tensed. “No, I don’t think he’d get what he truly deserves. Maybe some media outlets would shame him, but it’s been so many years, and with the kind of lawyers he can buy and the lack of evidence they’d find—”

“How do you know they wouldn’t find enough?”

He narrowed his eyes on the road, though I knew he could see just fine as the sun began to set. “There are people who…handle jobs like that.”

I pulled my hand from his and crossed my arms over my chest. “Explain.”

“Rose,” he groaned. “Let’s talk about this later. ”

I leaned forward and turned the music off. “We can talk about it now.”

Briggs pinched the bridge of his nose, his other hand staying on the wheel as his eyes slid over to me. “No matter what I say, you’re coming home with me tonight.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a command. I squeezed my thighs together to fight against what that was doing to my body. “I’ll still love you no matter what you say, so you might as well just tell me.”

He couldn’t seem to fight the smile that made its way through whatever he was processing in his head. He reached back over for my hand, holding it tightly. “Our business dealings don’t always end in the best of ways. Sometimes, people are sent somewhere to be dealt with—usually with blackmail, beatings, and threats. Things like that.” He said it so casually that it sent a chill down my spine. I squeezed his hand, urging him to continue. “Other times, when that isn’t enough, we have to call them in.”

“Who—”

“A man whose life turned to shit, and now he makes a killing well…killing.”

My mouth turned dry. “So, who handles the people who aren’t meant to die?”

He released my hand and pressed the door lock, then the windows. As he reached back over for my hand, I let him have it, taking his actions as his answer.

“What did you do to them?”

He chuckled lightly, almost like he couldn’t believe my question. “What was necessary. ”

“Was it? Is any of it worth all the money VanAndrews is worth?”

“Rose.” His tone was cold, like the snow that continued to fall on the road. “VanAndrews is worth billions. I am worth billions.”

“You are priceless.” I pulled my hand from him again. “But that doesn’t excuse you for making the decisions you made.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t. But the people who ended up in front of me were vile. Not one of them had a clean slate. Think about my father being in that chair, for instance, knowing what you know now. Those are the kinds of people I deal with. Rapists, murderers, sex offenders, abusers. They may have been put in front of me to be dealt with on the business end—sour deals, missed payments, shoddy practices—ironically as that is—but that wasn’t going to motivate me to do what I was told to do.”

I could sympathize with being forced, but—“A chair? You have a fucking chair?”

“I do,” he replied calmly. “So, what would you do? Would you just let my father sit there and do nothing to him? Would you let someone who hits their wife or sells children on the black market just sit there? Or would you do something about it?”

“I wouldn’t put them in a chair to begin with.” Even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. If I had the chance to slap his father across the face, scream at him, or make him feel some of the pain I did that night when he took my parents’ lives, I knew I would take it. And I was willing to bet Briggs knew right away that I wasn’t being truthful. “Every single person you touched was bad?” I asked faintly.

“Every single one of them. ”

“And you’ve never killed anyone? Never shot that gun of yours?” The one I knew, without having to ask, was somewhere in this car.

His palm slid over my thigh. “I never said that second one.”

“Who the hell did you shoot and not kill?”

His forearm flexed. “Most of them.”

“You shot them in a chair. You tortured people.”

“Yes.” He sighed as my stomach began to knot, picturing him in that situation, knowing he turned it into something that meant more to him than I wanted to think about. No one tortured and didn’t have a drive to do so. It just…didn’t seem possible. “That was the only way I made it bearable. I wasn’t the one who was supposed to be in this fucking role to begin with. It was always supposed to be Beckett. He would have done what was needed without question, and I was…I don’t know what he had planned for me before Beck died. But the life I wanted with you wasn’t within my reach. It wasn’t even something I thought was possible.” His fingers tightened around my thigh. “I used to feel pain, Rose, physical fucking pain just looking at you. Being near you that night at the theater was more torture than I’d felt in years. And now that you’re here, that you love me ? I just never pictured I’d get here.” His voice dropped, barely audible over the music. “I thought I’d die before I saw the day you wanted anything to do with me. With the person I’d become.”

My stomach dropped. He’d been crafted into someone he never wanted to be. Molded to fit into a twisted form and forced to live a life he hated. I’d gone through my trauma and came out the other end, but Briggs never had that opportunity. I wondered what his life would be like if he had that chance, if maybe his mother had taken both her sons away when she chose to leave, or if Beckett had never died.

“Don’t feel bad for me. I can see you do. Don’t cry, baby.”

I wiped a stray tear. “I’m not crying.”

He groaned. “Not only are you the worst liar, but we’re almost at your grandparents’ house, and if they see that I made you cry—”

“You didn’t make me cry, Briggs. Not like that.”

“They won’t see it that way.”

I lightly backhanded his chest. “Stop. They like you. They said you seemed like a nice guy.”

He chuckled. “They think I’m nice?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Kind of.” He pulled into the driveway and put the car in park, then leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Am I being nice when I tie you up and fuck you like my little slut?” A hot flush crawled over me. I pressed my hands between my thighs as they snapped together, trying to ease the building ache. His nose grazed my neck as he chuckled darkly. “Thought so.”

He pulled back, and in seconds he was out of the car, opening my door and holding out his hand for me like he didn’t just make me too wet to function. Briggs smiled softly as I took his hand, staring up into his heavy-lidded eyes. His arm wrapped around me, pulling me close to him while snow droplets fell in the thin space between us.

“God, I fucking love you,” he whispered, brushing his lips along my forehead with a soft kiss. “I won’t apologize for the things I just admitted to in the car. But I am sorry that I can’t help but tell you the truth. About everything. You deserve that much from me, even if it isn’t always pretty to hear.”

“Your truths are safe with me. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.” Crazy. That’s what I was—crazy for Briggs in a way that bordered on idiocy. Yet, I couldn’t find it within myself to give a damn. I wasn’t ready to fully justify torture or the brutality he showed, but just like the color grey—sometimes it appeared light, other times it was darker and more black. He walked the grey line and survived on the darker side when he wanted to run the other way. Who was I to fault his survival methods?

Over the top of his shoulder, I saw my grandmother peeping through her bedroom window, smiling back at me, then snapping the blinds closed. “They’re watching us, Briggs.”

“I don’t care.” His hand slid down my back, resting above the base of my spine. “I want the world to know that you’re mine and that I’m completely at your mercy.”

“Starting with my grandparents?” I giggled, pulling back from his hold to meet his gaze.

The hint of mischief I heard in his voice was gone from his face in seconds, replaced by a softness that made my chest ache. He brushed my hair back, dusting the snow from my cheek with his thumb as he curled his fingers beneath my chin and guided me to his waiting lips. When he kissed me, gravity failed to keep me anchored, my toes lifting my body to collide with Briggs’ chest. His touch reciprocated—his arm wrapping around me firmly, guiding me closer to him. It still shocked me that I believed I knew what love was before him, that I believed I’d be happy in a situation where I never felt as I did now.

“I love you,” I whispered between our breathless embrace. “Thank you for being you.”

My grandpa cleared his throat from the front porch, then scratched the back of his head as Briggs stepped back and turned to face him.

Briggs immediately shifted into the formal, more put-together man he used to appear to be not so long ago. Without hesitation, he climbed the steps and held out his hand.

“Briggs Andrews. Nice to meet you, sir.”

My grandfather scanned Briggs from head to toe, then flashed his teeth with a wide smile. “Likewise, son.” Their handshake was brief, my grandfather bobbing back and forth on the balls of his feet as he crossed his arms right after, this time, evaluating me with something like joy in his gaze. “Well, get in, both of you. It’s freezing out here.” He exaggerated a shiver, then left Briggs standing on the porch with the front door wide open.

“You first, babe.” I hadn’t realized I’d just been standing there, watching them meet each other like it was the most fascinating thing to witness. When my grandfather first met August, he looked at him like he was infectious—not in a good way. Seeing him open up immediately to Briggs made my chest swell more. I wondered if it was possible to have a heart attack from being so in love and happy all at once. I just hoped they’d see past everything like I had done if they ever found out what really happened the night of the fire .

The moment we stepped foot inside, Briggs followed my lead, removing his shoes and coat and putting them where each belonged. It didn’t stop there. He met my grandmother in the kitchen, and when she hugged him—although he looked completely unready for it—he wrapped his arms around her, making her face light up even more so. Throughout the dinner, Briggs kept finding some way to touch me. If his hand wasn’t playing with mine beneath the table, it was sliding down my thigh or at the edge of my knee. My grandparents were too caught up in the conversation to notice, or maybe they didn’t care.

“You know,” my grandfather said as he cleared his throat, wiping his whiskery mustache with a napkin. “I married your grandmother after only—”

“Five days,” I finished for him, rolling my eyes while his shifted between Briggs and me.

My grandfather’s expression turned serious as he settled his focus on me. “You’ve always been strong, Rose. You know what you want and you go for it. But, when I told you to find a place, I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to leave.”

“It’s not like that.” Briggs’ hand squeezed mine under the table. “I’m doing this because I want to.”

“He’s a good-looking young man. I’d move in with him, too,” my grandmother cut in, making Briggs choke on his water.

“Eloise, you’re making the boy turn red,” my grandfather scorned, then smacked his teeth at her as she narrowed her eyes on him. “Don’t stare, dear. ”

“It’s hard not to look right at the red on his face when his hair is almost as fine as the snow falling outside. Hair like that must be genetic.”

My grandfather held his arm out, pointing at Briggs. “Of course, it is. You see his father and him on the TV at least once a month, being followed around by reporters. Or are you like Rose and stopped paying attention?”

“I pay attention! All I’m saying is Rose needs to watch herself.” My grandmother angled to face me directly. “You keep kissing a fine man like him as you did outside, and babies will surely come sooner or later.”

“Eloise!”

“They’ll all have very fair skin like you and fair hair like him. Might as well be alb—”

“Guys!” I shouted over them, but when I looked at Briggs, he was shaking with silent laughter.

He wiped his eyes, his face tinged a deep red from laughing so hard. “It’s okay, baby. I haven’t had this much fun in years.” He reached up to tuck my hair behind my ear. “I love your skin.”

My grandparents fell silent, watching us as they leaned in closer together. The rest of the night went by in a blur. My grandfather and Briggs talked in the living room while my grandmother helped me fill up a suitcase and some bags of all the things I wanted to bring. I didn’t want to tell her Briggs already bought me new clothes and filled up the bathroom with things I already had, so I didn’t really need much of anything. Instead, I tried to focus on being with her, knowing I wouldn’t be waking up in their house anymore .

“Your parents would be so happy to see you like this. I don’t think I’ve ever seen your grandfather like someone so fast, not even your father.”

I couldn’t hide my smile at that. “They met in college, right?”

She nodded. “Law school. I still have a box of things from when this was her room before she moved out if you want to take a look.”

I sat down on the edge of my bed, looking around at the walls that had long since been painted over, trying to picture this as her room. My grandparents rarely talked about her. Not in front of me, at least. “I didn’t know she left anything here.”

My grandmother nodded. “She did. Not much, mostly some old photos and jewelry I guess she grew past needing.”

I moved to my nightstand and got to work on filling a grocery bag with the few things I kept there. “How old was she when she moved out?”

“A little younger than you. She moved in with a friend she met in college at first, then met your father shortly after, and they jumped right into it like you are now.” She laughed, and before I could ask if she was bothered by that, I saw a tear roll down her cheek.

“Grandma, don’t be sad. I’ll be fine.”

She wiped her tears, smiling back at me. “I know that, sweetie. Time seems to move by so fast when you’re my age. One day, you’re raising your baby. The next, you’re raising their baby and watching them move out just like their mom did.”

“She’d be happy with the way you raised me,” I replied, forcing a grin to spread along my face to keep her from crying more .

A knot formed in my stomach, and I realized the sentimentality happening on my end wasn’t simply because I was moving out. Briggs’ story about what his father had done to my parents and what he’d planned to do to me when I was a child made me see how fleeting life really can be. I could be dead right now. I should be running from Briggs, running from this town and everyone I knew, and making a new life for myself, far away from potential threats. But I couldn’t bring myself to want any of that.

I felt safe with Briggs, more so than I realized I needed to feel. I loved him more than my heart could handle—leaving wasn’t an option. Moving in with the man I loved should have had a lot to do with staying safe in our situation. But it really wasn’t. Living with Briggs—waking up every morning to him, making love slowly or roughly and passionately, then going to sleep at night in his arms as he read to me—it was all I wanted now. Even eating burnt pancakes sounded great.

I looked out the darkened, snowy window, knowing I was riding on the edge of a broken and patchy seat into a life I wasn’t sure I was ready for, but had no desire to feel any other way. I could only hope Briggs would find a way to make his father pay for the things he’d done that’d made our lives so traumatic without it weighing down our future.