Chapter 17
Tobias
We can’t keep going like this.
I can’t keep going like this.
I’ve been dreading finding out what brought Brooke back to me, but the not knowing is becoming worse. It’s giving me room to imagine all the things Matt might have done to the beautiful woman staring up at me with fear-filled eyes.
It’s her fear that’s becoming too much to bear. The way she jumps at every loud sound. Cowers if my voice raises the smallest bit. Panics any time she thinks I’m going to be unhappy.
Like tonight.
After giving her toe another look to make sure there’s not a cut I missed, I return my attention to where Brooke sits on the counter in front of me. The added height puts us almost eye-to-eye, which forces me to see all the emotions flashing through hers.
It cuts through me that she’s afraid. That she’s suffering. It knocks me down a peg. Levels the belief I had that I could fix it all for her.
Brooke shakes her head, the movement jerky. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She does, but I’m not calling her out. Not when I’m asking her to do something she very clearly doesn’t want to do. “I want to know what that prick did that made you leave like you did.” I lean closer, needing to breathe in the scent of her skin. “Tell me how he hurt you.”
Because I know that’s what happened. He put his hands on her. I feel it in my bones.
And it has me planning all the ways I can break each of his. One by one.
My thoughts are filled with violence, but my hands are careful as they reach for her, smoothing up her arms before cradling her face. “Please.”
I must be some sort of sadist to be begging for information I know is going to cause me extreme and lasting pain. But If I can’t fix this, the very least I can do is make sure she doesn’t have to deal with it alone.
Brooke’s chin quivers, the edges of her eyes shimmering in the kitchen lighting. “I’m so embarrassed.”
Fuck. I thought hearing about some asshole hurting her was going to be the worst part of this conversation, but that was very shortsighted of me. Learning what happened isn’t going to be nearly as painful as discovering all the ways it broke her.
“There’s nothing for you to be embarrassed about.” I shake my head. “Not with me.”
Brooke’s lips curve in a hint of a smile, surprising me. “You’re just saying that because you ruined a pair of pants today, aren’t you?”
Damn. The seriousness of our current conversation made me forget all about the moment we had in her office before lunch. But since she’s brought it up…
“I’m not embarrassed about that.” I shake my head. “At all.”
I know I’ve been out of the game for a while, but I’m pretty sure there is nothing wrong with a man being so worked up over pleasing the woman he loves that he nuts in his pants. If there is, I think I’m probably gonna be wrong a lot.
Brooke’s eyes move down my body, fixing on the front of my jeans. “Oh.”
She’s getting distracted, and her distraction is going to lead to my distraction. And my distraction will likely lead to my hand finding its way into her pants again.
Or worse.
Or better, depending on how you look at things.
Bringing a finger under her chin, I tip her head back, lining her eyes with mine. “Now. Tell me what happened.”
Brooke’s lips press together, like she’s planning to keep everything in. But then the line of her mouth softens and her eyes drop mine. “A lot happened.”
“Like what?” I don’t mind baby stepping her through this, but I need at least the basics.
Before I lose my mind.
“At first, everything was fine. Matt was charming and polite.” She lifts one shoulder and lets it drop. “But I guess he got tired of pretending.”
I wait for her to give me more. When it doesn’t happen, I ask a question that will cut straight into the meat of things. “Did he hurt you? Physically?”
Brooke swallows, the delicate line of her throat flexing with the action. “Yes.”
It takes more effort than normal to get air into my lungs. More strength than I knew I had to maintain my composure. I don’t do it for myself. I do it for Brooke. So she knows I’m capable of controlling any negative emotions I might feel.
“I have one more question, and then we can be done for now.” I tuck my chin, bringing my gaze to where hers has dropped. “Will you give me one more answer?”
Brooke seems hesitant, but she nods.
Forcing an amount of calm I’m shocked I possess into my voice, I ask, “If I ever have the opportunity, do I have your permission to hurt him back?”
Brooke’s eyes widen, like she’s surprised by my request. “Why would you do that?”
The easy answer? He hurt someone who belongs to me. But Brooke doesn’t yet know she’s mine. Yet. So instead I say, “Because he deserves it.”
Brooke sighs. “You have no idea.”
“Not yet, but I will.” I ease away from her, crouching down to pick up the knife she dropped. “It can wait though, because if I’m not wrong, I smell tacos.” I set the knife in the sink. “And eating tacos will always be way more important than talking about that fucker.”
I watch the tension leave Brooke’s body, and I hate that I had to push her.
Hate that I made her tell me something, instead of waiting for her to do it in her own time.
But now I don’t have to keep pretending I don’t notice when she reacts to me in a way that makes me ache for her.
Now when it happens, I can pull her close.
Let her know it’s going to be okay. Show her over and over again that I will never hurt her.
I help her off the counter, and then I start lifting lids, my mouth watering at the scent of cumin and cilantro filling the air.
Along with something else.
“Brooklyn Marie.” I flip on the oven light. “Did you make dessert?” I stare in at what is most definitely dessert. A familiar one at that.
“Maybe.” A smile plays across her lips. “Mariah gave me the recipe, but I think I messed it up because it didn’t seem right.”
“I don’t give a shit how it seems.” I pull in a deep breath. “It smells amazing.”
Almost as good as she does.
My eyes find their way to where Brooke is sprinkling shredded cheese across two flour tortillas. For the first time since getting home, I have the opportunity to really look at her.
Which is a mistake, because now I’m going to be eating dinner with a hard-on. Because she’s wearing my clothes. My favorite pair of sweatpants covers her lower half and the hoodie I live in during the fall is rolled up at her wrists.
I’ve seen her in my clothes before, but that was when she was sick. I liked it, but the sight didn’t cause the reaction I’m fighting now. Maybe it’s because I’m a decent enough human not to pop a woody over a sick woman.
I hope that’s it. But in all honesty, if Brooke had asked me to fuck her while she was sick, I’d have handed her a box of tissues and made her scream between bouts of blowing her nose.
So I’m going to guess that what I’m facing now is an amalgamation of everything I’ve been fantasizing about staring me in the face. A quiet night at home, eating dinner with the woman I was willing to wait on forever.
When you add in that dinner is tacos, she’s wearing my clothes, and I’m pretty sure the dessert she made is that chocolate pudding cake Mariah brought to family dinner? I don’t see how I wouldn’t be hard.
The oven timer goes off while Brooke is melting our cheesy tortillas, so I grab a couple hot mitts and pull the baking dish out.
While her back is turned, I dig a spoon from the drawer and scoop out a pile of molten chocolate goodness.
I want to immediately shove it in my mouth, but I also want to be able to taste the rest of the dinner Brooke made me.
Blowing across it like my life depends on it, I manage to get it cool enough I’ll keep the skin on my tongue just as Brooke turns around. I’ve got no choice but to shove it right in my face, hiding the evidence as fast as I can.
Brooke’s mouth drops open. “Are you already eating dessert?”
I quickly chew, managing not to collapse at the rich, slightly bitter flavors, before swallowing the mouthful down.
“You seemed worried it wasn’t right, and I was just trying to make you feel better.
” I turn back to the dish, grabbing another spoonful.
“I think two bites is the standard for taste-testing, though.”
Brooke rolls her eyes. “I got ice cream to go with that, you know.”
I’m not regretting my choices, but I have to admit ice cream would be perfect right now. “What kind?” I ask around a mouthful of decadence.
“I’m not telling you, because then you’ll want to try it too.” She shoves a plate at me. “And I worked really hard on these tacos, so you have to at least eat one before you jump into dessert.”
I take the plate, grinning at Brooke’s slightly bossy tone. I think I did the right thing by getting at least part of the elephant out of the room. “I will eat whatever you put in front of me, ma’am.” I wait for her wide eyes to snap to mine. “Any time, any place.”
I’m being forward, but I’m hiding it behind humor, so she can pretend I’m kidding.
I’m not.
There’s nothing in this world I want more than for Brooke to spread her pretty thighs and demand I follow through with my claim.
Well… That’s not entirely true. There are a couple things I want more than that.
Both of them also involve her.
Carrying my plate to the spot where I normally sit at the island, I scoot onto the stool, waiting to eat until she’s situated next to me. I watch as Brooke assembles her own taco, adding a little bit of everything before taking a bite of my preferred combination.
I lift my brows as she chews through the collection of cheese, meat, and tortilla. “Good?”
“Delicious.” She takes another bite, tongue slipping out to collect a smear of sour cream from her lip. “Almost as good as a strawberry Pop-Tart.” Her eyes spark with amusement. “Maybe I should have thrown yours at your head.”
I laugh so hard I almost snort out the mouthful of beer I’d just poured in. I barely manage to swallow it down without choking as she grins at me, looking proud as punch over her joke.
She should be proud. She’s come through a lot.
And I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault. At least partly.
If I hadn’t been such a dumbass, Brooke would have never even met Matt. She would have been here in Willow Bend, being loved and appreciated and adored.
Or I would have been in California, loving, appreciating, and adoring her there.
“Seriously.” I lean toward her, making sure she sees the look on my face. “Thank you for making dinner. It’s nice to come home to something besides an empty house and dog pee in my shoes.”
Brooke’s eyes go to where Copper is doing her best to ignore Bruno while he tries to drag the bed she’s sleeping in across the floor. “Did she really pee in your shoes?”
I tip my head in a nod as I shove in the last bite of my first taco. “Regularly.”
Brooke scoffs, her mouth dropping open. “Copper. You bad girl.” Her eyes come to me, filled with remorse. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she was going to be like this.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I glance down at the dog who might be the only thing that kept me from going out of my mind on the long lonely nights.
“She’s been good for me. Kept me company and gave me something to do with my time.
” I clear my throat at the sudden fist of emotion tightening my windpipe.
“I could have done without all the humping, but I’m not sure I could have done without her.
I figure, if the worst she does is assault a throw pillow or ruin a pair of boots, I still came out ahead. ”
Brooke’s brows slant in question as she quietly asks, “Have you really been single this whole time?”
I lean back in my seat, needing a little space to keep me from reaching for her. “I’ve really been single this whole time.”
Brooke’s eyes hang on my face a second longer before skimming down my frame. They pause on the spot where my dick is perking back up after finally calming down after all the talk about eating. I know what she’s thinking about, and I need her to stop.
Because if I’ve learned one thing tonight, it’s that Brooke is nowhere near ready for what I want from her.
And I want everything.
I want her at my side. In my life. In my house. In my bed.
As my wife.
And becoming a wife didn’t go so well for her the last time she considered it.
So my new goal is to make her decide I should be her husband. That she wants me at her side. In her life. That she wants to live in my house and sleep in my bed.
Permanently.
Pushing back from the counter I stand. “You ready for some of this dessert?” I round the island, deciding I can eat a second helping of dinner later as I set down my plate and open the freezer.
There’s a container right at eye level, and I stare at it a second, shocked by the way it makes me feel. “You got chocolate chip ice cream?”
I turn to find Brooke watching me. She lifts one shoulder, like it’s not a big deal. “I just remembered you used to love it, and thought maybe you might still.”
I hold her gaze, the most serious I’ve ever been when I admit, “I still love a lot of things I used to.”