Chapter 26 Brady
brADY
The silence in the SUV is tense. An hour into our drive to her parents, and she still hasn’t said a word.
Elizabeth waited up for me last night. She hadn’t asked for specifics about what Rhodes and I had done.
Her only question was if it was over. And when I told her not yet, she’d only nodded and rolled onto her side, not saying a word when I curled around her back, holding her tight until she fell into a fitful sleep.
I know she’ll ask when she is ready.
It’s late morning, and there are still no news reports of Carrow’s death.
Finn is monitoring the police feeds, and so far, there is no chatter about what happened.
If nothing else, his housekeeper and the next shift of guards should have arrived.
Whoever is handling the cover-up knows what they are doing.
I hear her let out a long, shaky breath. “Okay, tell me what happened.”
Leaving out the interrogation portion, I tell her what we learned.
“Carrow was another one of their loose ends.” Her voice is flat. “Like me.”
She’s angled toward the passenger door, hands clasped white-knuckled in her lap, eyes fixed on the blur of trees.
Her hair is fixed in a loose knot, strands sliding free to catch the light, and every now and then her thumb presses against the edge of a fingernail—a small, restless tell that she’s fighting to keep it together.
“We have a lead. A name.”
“Anna.” She still doesn’t look at me. “Pretty common name.”
I adjust my grip on the wheel, at her defeated tone, and study her from the corner of my eye.
“It’s more than we had before. The way Carrow spoke about her, she might be in charge.”
“No.” She turns her intense blue eyes on me, and I briefly meet her gaze before returning my attention to the road. “Carrow was an actual lead. Anna could be anyone.”
“Finn is already cross-referencing what we know about other Lapidarists and the name Anna. He’ll find something.”
In my periphery, I see her close her eyes and breathe deeply for a minute before opening them again. “Hopefully, we'll find something today.”
I offer her a smile, but the larger the Blue Ridge Mountains grow in the windshield, the more rigid she becomes. When we pass the sign for Fannin County, her body coils even tighter, and she falls silent again.
“You hungry?” I ask mostly to break the quiet.
She doesn’t move. “No.”
“You want to stop?”
“No.”
I wait a beat. “You sure?”
Her sharp reply slices through the air. “I’m fine. Stop worrying about me.”
“Yeah, no,” I say, my voice dangerously low. “We’re not doing this. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
She opens her mouth like she’s going to tell me, then shuts it, chin lifting in stubborn defiance.
“Why are you so nervous about seeing your family? You are tenser about this than when I told you about Carrow getting shot. And don’t tell me it’s just because you’ve grown apart.”
“He deserved it.” Her head snaps toward me, eyes narrowed. “Besides, don’t you already know?”
I blink. “Know what?”
“My dossier?” The words are flat, but there is a scathing undertone to them.
Ah, that. I sarcastically file a mental thank-you note to my little sister for stirring the pot.
“Is that what’s bothering you?”
Elizabeth shifts in her seat, just enough to betray her hesitation before she masks it. “Not exactly. It’s just… You’re about to get a front-row seat to my family circus. And with all the stuff between us…” She exhales through her nose. “Sometimes it’s disorienting.”
I glance over. “Disorienting how?”
She folds her arms across her chest protectively.
“You know everything about me, Brady. My grades. My exes. My prescriptions. My mother’s maiden name.
That’s not how a new relationship is supposed to start.
The way we met—both times—wasn’t exactly normal.
If this was a regular beginning, I’d be asking you questions, too.
But right now, it feels very one-sided.”
I hear her. But my brain sticks on one word. “We’re in a relationship?”
Her eyes widen. “I thought… I mean… not like a relationship relationship.” Her face flames so fast it spreads to the tops of her ears.
I grin and catch her hand before she can retreat, pulling it free from her chest. She tries to tug back, but I bring it to rest on my thigh and keep it there. “This is absolutely a relationship relationship.”
Elizabeth tries to play it off with a blithe, “We’re having fun. But we’ve known each other less than a week.”
She’s scared—afraid to trust, afraid to need someone again after what her ex did to her. I get it. This isn’t exactly familiar ground for me either.
I hold her gaze long enough for her to see I’m not joking.
“I told you I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you again.
That includes me.” I lift her hand and press a kiss to her knuckles before focusing back on the road.
“So, when your family asks… We are in a relationship relationship. No misunderstandings.”
Checking my mirrors, I ease the SUV onto the wide shoulder of the road, gravel crunching beneath the tires. I keep my voice steady because, if I let it show how much she already matters to me, she’ll retreat.
“There’s something between us,” I say firmly, with no room for her to mistake my meaning. “There has been from the beginning. I know it scares you. Don’t even try to deny it,” I add, when her fingers tense in mine.
She wants to argue. I can see in her eyes the need to throw up walls as clearly as if she were laying the bricks in front of me. I hold her gaze, and finally her shoulders drop, and her eyes soften.
“When this is over,” I continue, “we’re going to figure out exactly what it is. This isn’t about that night, and it’s not something I say lightly. I don’t know what will happen, and I’m sure I will fuck up a lot. But you’re worth fighting for, Firefly.”
A shuddery breath escapes her. “In that case—”
But I’m not giving her the chance to offer a smart-ass response.
Cupping my hand around the back of her neck, I pull her closer and crush her lips under mine.
She gasps and her body melts, her tongue sweeping hot against mine.
The sound she makes when I suck her bottom lip between my teeth cuts straight through me.
Much as I want to pull her into my lap and hold her soft curves against me until she’s ready to give in to the inevitable, out here—exposed on this road—isn’t safe. I force myself to pull back.
Her lips are rosy and swollen, her blue eyes hazy.
One hand still holding her captive, I lift my other hand to brush my thumb over her bottom lip. “Understand?” My tone makes it clear that there is only one acceptable answer. Because whether or not Elizabeth is ready to admit it, I will batter down whatever wall she tries to throw between us.
She swallows hard, her gaze dropping to my mouth before saying in the sexiest, breathiest voice I’ve ever heard. “Understood.”
Pulling back onto the road, I flip to my road trip playlist. “And because I will never be anywhere close to as good with words as Taylor…”
I press play and seconds later, the unmistakable opening notes of Taylor Swift’s Lover thread through the speakers. On the last line of the chorus—"have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years”—I glance at her, and squeeze her hand tightly.
Her mouth forms a perfect O. “You’re a secret softie, aren’t you, Mr. Big Bad Bodyguard?”
I don’t bother answering, and when the song fades, I lower the volume.
“You’re right. I know more about your life than you know about mine, and I can see how it would make you uneasy.
” I force the next words out, because I’ve never offered someone an open view into my life. “What do you want to know?”
She arches a brow. “Favorite color?”
I can’t help but grin. “You already have a list?”
“I like to be prepared,” she shoots back.
“Black,” I answer.
She mutters something like ‘should have known.’
“Dog or cat?”
“Both, but I don’t have time for either.”
“Beach or mountains?”
“Depends—are we talking about you in a bikini or you curled up in front of a fire on a bearskin rug situation?”
She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitches.
“First girlfriend.”
“Ashley DeMarco. Eighth grade.”
“Middle name.”
“Don’t have one.”
Then she hits me with it, casual as a sucker punch. “Where’s your dad?”
“Today?”
“Brady,” she practically growls.
“My mom had me when she was seventeen.” The words come out calmly, but my grip tightens on the wheel. “We lived with my grandmother for most of my early childhood. She worked two jobs, until my dad started sending money. Took night classes for a while. She did her best.”
Elizabeth’s brows draw together. “It’s not a simple answer,” I hedge. She nods, staying quiet. Not rushing me.
I don’t talk about this. Ever. Don’t even think about it if I can help it. Most people are satisfied with the easy version of my backstory, which is a grin and a self-deprecating joke. I can reel off the practiced story in under three minutes. My own white lies. Truth dipped in deception.
It’s not because I care what other people think, though as a family we always kept my father’s identity a secret.
My mother believed his bullshit that it was to keep the press away, but it’s painfully obvious that it’s always been for his benefit alone—allowing him to dodge his responsibilities, and avoid uncomfortable questions.
I have no problem blowing up his life… but not at the expense of my sister’s privacy.
And the fewer people who know, the fewer chances they can use it to get to me or her.
I’m not so different from Elizabeth—we both keep our guard up, always ready to protect ourselves.
Maybe that’s why we understand each other so well.
It makes me want to give her the truth. The whole truth. The parts that even Sera doesn’t truly understand because she was too young to comprehend what she was witnessing.
“My mom always had this… idea of what life was supposed to be. Even when reality told her otherwise. My father—he wasn’t interested in her.
Never really was. They were hormone riddled teenagers, but she believed they were star-crossed lovers.
She kept thinking he’d change. That someday he would come back to her…
Kept hoping he’d decide we were worth staying for. ”
Elizabeth angles toward me, her knees drawing slightly closer, eyes steady on the side of my face. She’s quiet as she listens. Hearing me. Seeing me. I fight the urge to make a joke and deflect from the uncomfortable emotions my words stir.
I take a deep breath. “He’d show up sometimes—no warning. His usual excuse was that he wanted to see me. When he crawled out of my mother’s bed after a day or two, he would spend some time with me. Usually in the garage where he taught me to box.”
Never at a gym. He couldn’t risk someone recognizing him, but when he saw I had promise and inherited his athleticism, he was thrilled to set me up with trainers.
My mother thought it was because he was proud of me.
That he was finally being a father, but I was old enough at that point to know it was bullshit.
I wasn’t a person to him. I was a pet. An extension of himself.
Because when I started to win, to make a name for myself… He hadn’t liked that at all.
“He came around when he wanted attention,” I say out loud. “Proof he mattered… was still relevant even when he was losing.”
Her brow pulls—small, quick—but I catch it. “Losing?”
I should have known she would pick up on that word choice.
I ignore her question. “My mother adored him.” My voice tightens along with my lungs.
“Probably more accurate to say she worshipped him. It was embarrassing to watch her fawn all over him after he had ignored her for so long. He ate it up. Filling himself while draining her dry. No matter how many times he ghosted us, she’d light up when he knocked on the door.
Even if she was with someone else, she’d drop everything just for a few days with him. ”
“What happened?” Elizabeth asks quietly as the GPS directs us off the highway.
“What always happened. He’d stay for a day, maybe a couple of weeks. A few times he even stuck around for a couple of months. Just long enough to make her think this time would be different. Then he was gone again with a lame excuse.”
She exhales a sad sigh, and I glance at her then back at the road, following the directions being spoken from the dash. “It wasn’t all bad. On one of those visits, he stuck around long enough to get her pregnant again. I was twelve when Sera was born. Best gift he ever gave me.”
Her eyes flick toward me.
“Sera never had a father. He didn’t even spend the time with her that he spent with me. She was a girl, and he didn’t know what to do with her. I filled in for him. Or tried to. Took care of her when Mom couldn’t. Tried to protect her from the mess we both inherited.”
“You did more than try,” Elizabeth says. “I know your sister’s hurting, and I hate what she’s been through, but she’s strong. And she loves you. That says a lot.” Her voice is certain.
This is usually where I say something to make her laugh to alleviate the tension. It’s what I’ve always done. But my chest feels as if something has ripped it open, as if I cracked a door and I can’t close it again.
Elizabeth doesn’t look away. She doesn’t flinch or look at me with pity, mouthing platitudes. She just… accepts what I’ve said. It’s disorienting as hell.