Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Brandi jumped when the heavy knock shattered the silence of the room. Another knock, more urgent this time, had her moving to open the door.
She looked up—and straight into Tool’s dark brown eyes as he stared down at her.
“Brandi.” His voice was rough, thick with something she couldn’t name, as he took in her tear-drenched face.
“I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” she rushed out.
Tool pulled her into his arms, wrapping her tightly against his chest. “Shhh, it’s not your fault.”
“I couldn’t let those guys hurt Quinn’s sister,” she mumbled, her words muffled against him.
He slowly set her down, but his hands stayed firm on her waist, anchoring her in place.
“Look at me, babe.” His voice was steady. Commanding. His gaze locked onto hers. “What you did—what you were willing to do—most people wouldn’t have the guts for that. You stepped in. You were ready to save Quinn’s sister from something she might not have come back from. That takes strength.”
His thumb brushed gently over her cheek. His expression darkened. “Don’t ever forget that, Brandi.”
“Tool…”
“I’ve got to go. The brothers are waiting on me.”
“Wait—aren’t we going to talk?”
“I can’t right now.”
After everything, he was still holding her at arm’s length. Still refusing to treat her like his.
“I won’t be here when you get back,” she said quietly.
“You leave, and we’re done.”
“How can we be done, when we haven’t even started?”
“Oh babe,” he murmured, a faint trace of something bitter in his voice. “We’ve definitely gotten started. Just because it’s not what you expected doesn’t mean it’s nothing.”
“Maybe it’s not enough. Maybe I want more. Need more.”
Brandi watched the flicker of fury spark in Tool’s eyes. She’d pushed him—she just didn’t know how far.
Tool stared at her, jaw tight. It was always the same argument. If she couldn’t accept what he was willing to give, maybe she wasn’t his after all. Maybe he needed to let her go.
“I’ll see you when I get back,” he said, low and final.
He pulled the door closed behind him. He hadn’t claimed her as his ol’ lady. Gypsy wouldn’t be happy. Soon. He’d deal with it soon.
“No, you won’t,” Brandi whispered.
The quiet click of the door sounded like a full stop. Brandi stood in the stillness, the echo of the door clicking shut still ringing in her ears
She stared at it for a long moment, the tears she’d been holding back all night finally slipping free. She didn’t wipe them away. All she’d wanted was for him to admit there was something between them.
But maybe she was asking too much. She didn’t move for a long moment, just stared at the space he’d occupied seconds ago. Her chest rose and fell with shaky breaths, each one more painful than the last. Finally, she blinked, and the tears blurred everything around her.
This time, she let them fall.
Not in silent hope. Not for sympathy. But because she was done waiting for something that might never come.
She turned toward the small dresser in the corner and pulled open the top drawer. Her hands trembled as she reached in, but she forced herself to stay steady. One item after another, she folded her clothes into a duffel bag, her movements slow but sure.
A pair of jeans. Two worn tees. An oversized sweatshirt she didn’t remember buying but wore on nights she missed the sound of his voice. She hesitated when her fingers brushed the edge of one of his shirts—left behind after a late night when he’d held her like he didn’t want to let go.
She pressed it to her chest for a heartbeat. Then shoved it in the bottom of the bag. She zipped it shut and took a step back, arms crossed tight over her chest, as if holding herself together.
He hadn’t asked her to stay. Not really. He’d just drawn another line. Another wall between them.
This time, she wasn’t going to sit on the other side of it and wait. She was leaving. Maybe for good.