Chapter 24 Monroe
MONROE
Standing back from the kids and watching them rehearse, pride filled me.
The musical was coming together. Callie had grown more confident over the past few weeks and was a wonderful Dorothy, with the sweetest voice.
Lewis was hilariously bumbling as the Scarecrow, and one of David’s tallest pupils, Andrew, was over-the-top dastardly as the Wicked Witch.
“They’re doing great,” Brodan murmured as he stepped beside me.
I tried not to tense as his upper arm brushed my shoulder. He was so much bigger than me. Big men made me wary. Brodan did, too, just not physically. “They are,” I agreed.
Yesterday at rehearsal was my first time seeing him since he crashed brunch the weekend before.
Since he’d said those heartfelt words that kept running around and around in my mind.
I didn’t want them to seep into me as they had.
I wanted to forget them, in fact. But every time I tried, his anguished face flashed in my mind, and my stupid, neglected, battered heart clung to his declaration.
In my need to protect myself, I hadn’t exactly been warm to him yesterday, but Brodan was immune to my aloofness.
It reminded me that when Brodan Adair wanted something, he got tunnel vision.
There was no one as determined as this man.
That much hadn’t changed about him. The thought exhilarated as much as it frightened me.
My frustration with myself and him was at explosive levels.
It was another reason I was wary of being around him at school.
I was afraid I’d detonate all over him one of these days, and I didn’t want witnesses.
“I have my script with me. I wondered if I could pop round to yours after school with it?”
“Just post it through the letter box,” I murmured.
“Monroe.”
At his tone, I looked up at him. He stared down at me, expression almost vulnerable. “I’m being serious about the script. It’s not a ploy. It means something to me. And I know I don’t deserve for you to care about anything that means something to me … but I want you to.”
Goddamn it!
Sighing heavily, I looked back at the class. “Fine. But only if you’ll be quiet during rehearsal.”
I actually felt his body deflate with the release of tension. “Thank you.”
Bloody hell. I was such a soft touch when it came to this man.
After class, I drove directly home, now that I didn’t have Mum to look after.
The thought of her was abruptly shoved out because I still wasn’t ready to deal with my feelings.
Walking around the corner to the cottage, I found Brodan’s SUV parked out front, him leaning against it.
The village streetlamps had come on as the short day darkened to twilight, casting a yellow glow over Brodan.
His gaze locked on mine as I approached, and he pushed off the SUV.
I noted the A4-size leather envelope in his arm.
“Thanks for doing this,” he said.
“You could’ve just given it to me at school,” I grumbled as I shoved my key in the lock.
I felt his heat at my back and then his breath on my cheek as he bent his head to say softly, “You could have insisted I did.”
Goose bumps scattered down my neck and spine, and I cursed him under my breath as I pushed open the door. He was right, of course. There was no reason for me to allow him to follow me home.
Other than abject loneliness.
Rubbing the ache in my chest, I stepped aside to let Brodan into the cottage. Thankfully, the heating was on a timer, so it was nice and toasty for me coming home. Brodan wandered in, his gaze darting around the room, taking in the space.
“You haven’t changed or added anything,” he noted. “Come to think of it, where are all your books?”
Closing the front door, I bent down to pick up my mail. I left all my books behind in Glasgow long ago. “I have an e-reader.”
“What about stuff?”
“You did help pack me up,” I replied dryly as I flipped through the mail.
“So, that’s really all you have in the way of belongings?”
“It’s all I—” I cut off as I flipped to the end of my small stack of mail and found the Christmas card.
I knew it was a Christmas card before I even opened it because I recognized the handwriting on the address label.
My cheeks flushed as adrenaline coursed through me, my hands shaking as I flipped over the card to check for a return label.
There was none.
How did he find me here?
“Not possible,” I whispered frantically, dropping my mail to rip open the card.
It was an illustrated image of a loving couple sitting before a fireplace decorated for Christmas with a tree in the corner. No. No, no, no. I opened the card and my stomach dropped.
There’s nowhere you can go where I can’t find you. Merry Christmas, Monroe.
Yours always, Steven
“Monroe?”
Finding me in Ardnoch was easy enough … but how did he know I’d moved to the cottage? I’d only been living here a few weeks. Surely, he should have sent the card to Mum’s. How did he know I was here?
“Roe?”
Had he come here? Had he been watching me?
Was he going to step out of the shadows one day? Maybe when I least expected it.
This is what he wants! Every birthday and every Christmas … he did this to mess with my head. Because he was a fucking coward!
“What is going on? Give me that.”
Brodan snatched the card out of my hand, bringing me crashing back into the room. “Brodan—”
His face darkened with fury, those pale-blue eyes like ice chips as he raised them from the card to me. “What the fuck is this? Who is Steven, and why is he threatening you?”
Part of me wanted to tell Brodan to bugger off and leave me to my shitty existence. But an even bigger part was so tired. So alone. I needed someone to talk to … and he was there.
“Steven is my ex.” I dropped my handbag on the side table and stared wearily at Brodan. “You’re not the only reason I don’t trust you.”
The muscle in his jaw flexed. “Tell me. Please.”
I nodded. “I think I’d quite like a spiked coffee first, though. You?”
His impatience was obvious, but he controlled it, nodding.
Like he was afraid I would disappear in a puff of smoke, Brodan trailed me like a puppy dog into the kitchen and watched me make coffee spiked with the whisky I’d found in the back of a cupboard.
He then followed me back into the sitting room and we sat together, the mug warm between my cold palms.
“Sunset?” he prompted quietly.
I couldn’t quite look at him as I spoke. “It took me a long time to get over you. There were disastrous attempts at uni, casual sex that left me empty.”
Glancing at him, I noted he was white-knuckling his mug, his own gaze on the drink as if he was afraid to look at me too. It bothered him? The thought of me with others? For some reason, that hurt. There was no satisfaction.
“When I moved to Edinburgh for teacher training, I met a firefighter called Nick. He reminded me a little of you.”
Brodan looked at me now, his anguish clear. “What a fucking pair we are, Sunset.”
Pain warmed my chest in a bright flare, and tears burned my eyes.
I fought them back with a grim smile as I nodded.
It took me a minute to be able to speak around the sudden lump in my throat.
“Nick and I were together for four years until I discovered he was sleeping with a colleague behind my back. They decided to be together, and I left. Most of our friends were his, so they chose him and the new woman.”
“Fuckers,” Brodan bit out. “The lot of them.”
I harrumphed in agreement.
“Roe … you should know I have never cheated on anyone, and I never would.”
“I know. You were always very honest when you grew tired of a girl and moved on to the next.”
He flinched.
Remorse hit me unexpectedly. It wasn’t Brodan’s fault that Steven liked to torment me, and I didn’t want to do to Brodan what he’d done to me. I didn’t want to keep taking hits at him. “Sorry.”
He waved off my apology. “Just tell me about this other guy. This Steven person.”
“Steven Shaw. I met him when I moved to Glasgow to teach. He was ten years older than me, charismatic, intelligent, and he worked in the financial industry. I still don’t know exactly what his job entailed, but I knew he was successful because he showered me with expensive gifts, and I allowed myself to be swept off my feet by him.
Fancy dinners, fancy holidays, fancy flat in the West End of Glasgow.
” I smirked bitterly. “But it wasn’t the lifestyle that pulled me in.
It was him. It was me. He was looking for someone like me. ”
“What does that mean?”
“Someone vulnerable. Someone desperate to be loved. After you, after Nick…” I glared into my whisky. “Steven must have smelled it on me like a shark smells blood.”
“Roe.” My name seemed to be dragged out of Brodan, rough and ragged.
I looked at him and saw his self-recrimination.
I shook my head. “No one is responsible for anyone else’s life or their choices.”
“But I loved you, and I walked away from you because I didn’t think you cared anymore. It was easier to let the fear win. My cowardice left you thinking no one loved you. I can’t forgive myself for that.”
“You’re not to blame, Brodan. No one is to blame but Steven. He’s a piece of shit. You might not forgive yourself, but I forgive you. I forgive us. You need to forgive us as well.”
His expression softened. “You were always wiser than me.” Then, just as quickly as he’d softened, his features hardened. “Now tell me what that bastard did to you.”
I took another swig of coffee before continuing.
“Steven pulled me in with how passionate he was about me. How much he wanted me and how quickly he fell for me. He told me he’d never fallen for someone so fast. I felt special because he made me feel that way.
He made me feel loved. And even if I didn’t love him back in the same way, I was addicted to how much he wanted me.
“However, a year into our relationship, he lost his job, and he started to take it out on me. Steven turned out to be just like my father.” The thought of Dad threatened to open a volcano of emotions, so I continued quickly, “Every time I tried to leave him after he’d hit me, he would apologize and make me feel loved again. ”
“Jesus fuck,” Brodan bit out, letting go a shuddering sigh that seemed to rattle his insides.
I couldn’t look at him as I confessed, “I try hard not to be ashamed of the fact that I stayed with him for so long. It was part fear, part manipulation, and a wee part of me had begun to believe that maybe it was me. Maybe there was a reason this was how people ‘loved’ me.”
“Roe, no,” Brodan whispered harshly.
“I know.” And I hated that there was ever a point in my life when I’d believed that.
“I know better now. I talked to a counselor behind Steven’s back, and she helped me a lot.
It took me a long time to break the cycle, but eventually, I left him and got a restraining order.
By then, I was thirty years old. It took me three years to be free of him.
For the past seven years, he’s sent me a card on my birthday and at Christmas.
He’s made no other move. After all this time, I reckon he’s just a coward.
He has no plans to actually do anything to me, but he likes me on edge.
He doesn’t want me to forget him. I just …
don’t know how he knew to send one to the cottage, considering I’ve only been forwarding my mail here for a few weeks. ”
Silence fell between us, and eventually, I forced myself to look at Brodan.
His whole body trembled with rage.
Then he said with quiet fury, “I’m going to find him, and I’m going to fucking end him.”
Fear jolted through me. “No, you will not. Please, Brodan. Don’t do anything. Like I said, he just sends the cards to mess with me. He has no intention of doing anything. It’s been seven years.”
“Seven years too long.” Brodan stood to his feet. “This stops now.”
“Brodan—”
“I won’t kill him. Even though it’ll take every ounce of self-control I have. But Walker and I are going to find him, and we’re going to make sure he knows you are now off-limits. No one fucks with you again, Monroe. And I will ruin anyone who tries.”
Even though my heart beat frantically at his words, I stood and forced myself to remind him, “I can take care of myself.”
“Aye, you can, and you do it very well, my love. But that doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you too.”
My love.
My mind reeled at his endearment and butterflies fluttered to life in my belly, betraying me. I’d be a fool to believe him.
But exhausted, I didn’t protest as he called Walker to give him Steven’s full name, and I provided his last known address.
Brodan wanted him found, he told Walker, but he’d explain everything later when he saw him.
After the call, Brodan insisted I put my feet up to read his script while he cooked.
If it surprised me that the man knew how to cook, I hid it. Just as I hid my bemusement.
Just as I hid from the truth.
That as I sat there in my sitting room, reading a wonderful script that made me laugh, cry, and swoon, written by the man making dinner in my kitchen … I felt something close to safe for the first time in eighteen years.