Chapter 45
brIELLE
My mother has always been beautiful. Almost ethereal, really.
She has green eyes a shade lighter than mine, and with these little gold flecks that I’ve always been envious of.
When she speaks, there’s a gentle flow to her voice that almost sounds like she’s singing to you.
I remember finding comfort in that when I was younger and made it a habit to have her read me to sleep nearly every night.
There are a dozen things that I used to cherish that I no longer do.
And that beautiful, angelic voice is at the top of my list. What I once regarded with awe now has my fingers curling into my tennis skirt.
It’s too calm. Too gentle. It’s the same voice that never scolded my father for his unfair treatment of Wes and allowed him to carry on as if he weren’t tearing the family apart.
How many times has she used that warm tone to reassure my father that she wasn’t going anywhere when she learned he’d been cheating?
I force my expression to remain dull when she thanks the barista for her latte.
He sets my double chocolate frappe in front of me before heading inside, letting us marinate in our silence once again.
We’re accompanied on the outdoor patio by nothing but empty seats and the summer sun beating down on us.
Usually, there are never any available tables outside of Blank Page, but it only stopped raining about an hour ago, leaving the air a bit muggy.
Most people are inside the café, avoiding the frizzy hair and sweaty skin.
“You’re angry with me.”
It’s an almost laughable statement.
“Yes. Obviously, I’m angry. With you, at you, for you. How are you not angry?”
“Marriage is for life, Brielle. Anger poisons us if we hold on to it too long,” she murmurs, fixing her stare on the untouched latte in front of her. “Divorce isn’t an option after so many years together.”
I shake my head slowly, disbelief pulsing through me. “So you’ll allow yourself to be treated poorly because you don’t believe in divorce?”
“You don’t have to understand my decisions, Brielle. I only ask you to accept them and to apologize to your father for the cake.”
“Over my dead body!” I burst out before sucking in a breath, lowering my voice. “I’m not apologizing to him. And you shouldn’t be asking me to. Not when you’ve sat by and watched—”
She goes red when I cut myself off and dig my fingers into the muffin in front of me before shoving a piece into my mouth. Crumbs escape and fall down my chin as I struggle to avoid spitting it right back out.
“When I watched what?”
My mouth is so dry it takes forever for me to chew the chunk of muffin. I have to take a swig of my coffee to get it down my throat.
“You sat by and watched him belittle Wes. For years. Not only did he go behind your back, but he hurt your son.”
“Your father never raised a hand to your brother,” she pushes out, hands trembling as they fall to her lap.
“The bar isn’t that low, Mom. He didn’t need to hit him physically to hurt him. To make him feel so low and unloved and disposable. He’s treated Wes like nothing more than a money funnel for years, and I’m not accepting that anymore. If you won’t protect him, then I will.”
“Your father isn’t a villain. He took care of you both and raised you right. Expecting him to be perfect is not fair when we’ve never expected that of you,” she argues.
“Never? Have you been that blind?” I shift on my chair, scooting to the edge as my hand moves in front of me, fisting my cold cup.
“I love you, Mom, but I’ve sat back and allowed this to happen for too long already.
I watched Dad drain the life out of Wes while sitting back and convincing myself that it was just tough love and that he’s strong enough to weather it.
I’d gaslighted myself into believing that Dad would wake up one day and realize that he’s been too hard on him and finally see that Wes has already done everything he’d ever wanted him to, despite the pressure he put on him. That day hasn’t come, and it won’t.
“I’ve forced Wes into Dad’s clutches too many times, and I will regret that for the rest of my life. Now, I know that he’s better off away from him. From both of you.”
Mom’s lip wobbles before her knuckles press against it. “Don’t say that to me, Brielle. Not here. Don’t be cruel.”
“Cruel? You think this is cruel?” I sputter, staring like I’ve never seen her before.
Or maybe I’m finally seeing the truth. The realization that I’ve been so focused on reminiscing on the past that I’ve ignored the present.
The pain that I was kept blissfully ignorant of. “You have no idea what cruel is.”
“I hope we’re not interrupting such an enlightening conversation.”
My head snaps to the side. I have to strain my neck to look up at the two men now standing beside my chair.
Wes isn’t looking at me, but rather, Mom.
There’s nothing warm about the way he’s acknowledging her, as if maybe he heard more of the conversation than she’d have ever hoped he would. Than I hoped.
But the man beside my brother, standing tall and confident and so, so handsome in a pair of dark-washed jeans, a plain white shirt, and a forward ball cap, is Roman.
Roman’s here with Wes, of all people.
After five days, I’m seeing him standing at my brother’s side, in front of my mom, and all I want to do is jump up and into his arms. I’ve missed him so desperately this last week. To the point I considered buying a plane ticket and flying to him only one day after he left.
The only reason I stayed away this long was because I knew that regardless of how badly I wanted to be with him, when I saw him again, it was going to be with a confident answer to give. No take backs or bartering.
I meant what I said about our future in his garage, and over the last week, I’ve realized that what I’ve wanted my entire life—what I’ve dreamed of and hoped for—is already mine. All I have to do is forget the past and say yes to a future with him.
And that conversation wasn’t going to happen in a hotel room.
I needed to deal with my shit first, which is why I asked Mom to meet me here today. It was all so I could move forward.
“Wesley,” Mom whispers, her expression dipping for a brief moment before she’s painting on a smile and pulling the chair closest to her out from beneath the table.
“Please sit with us. I didn’t know you were back home.
You played so well yesterday. I even heard Susan from next door cheering from her living room as she watched. ”
She clearly hasn’t registered Roman’s presence, and for some reason, that pisses me off. He hasn’t taken his dark eyes off me since I looked up, as if maybe he’s waiting for an invitation to join. Or to be ordered to leave.
I clear my throat and lay my hot palm on the back of the last empty chair at the table. It’s opposite to the one Mom’s pulled out for Wes at the small square table. Close to me but still too far.
“Sit,” I say, my voice strained with nerves. “Please.”
His cheek twitches. I track every movement he makes as he rounds my chair and takes the one I’ve offered.
The scrape of chair legs against the pavement cuts through the air when I drag myself closer to him, unable to help myself.
Our knees brush beneath the table, and my heart jumps, so fucking needy.
He holds my gaze, those addicting, deep brown eyes seeing right through me.
Then, his hand is on my thigh, right back to the spot he always keeps it when we’re in the car or sitting side by side on the couch.
It’s impossible to hold back my smile. It spreads like a wildfire until my entire face is burning.
“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, his voice nothing more than a soft caress on my skin.
I don’t care that we’re in public or that we haven’t discussed this aspect of our relationship. There’s no need to debate it. I want him everywhere, no matter who’s around.
“I didn’t know you were back yet.”
He hooks his foot around a leg of my chair and scoots me closer until I’m seated near the corner of the table. The scent of his cologne hits me, and I have to swallow a moan.
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“Alright, before the two of you start making out right here, you should introduce your boyfriend to Mom, Brielle,” Wes tells him, humour lining every word.
Finally, I tear my eyes from Roman. Wes is sitting on my other side, his posture rigid despite his attempt at a joke. I don’t have the chance to try and soothe him before Mom’s talking.
“Boyfriend?”
“Boyfriend, Roman Shore, either works,” he says, drawing a startled laugh up my throat. The wink he tosses my way heats my blood. “It doesn’t matter what you call me as long as you know I’m in love with your daughter.”
Wes chokes. “Christ, alright. No holding punches today.”
“You’re Wesley’s coach,” Mom babbles, eyes so wide they very well may drop into her coffee. “I’m . . . I wasn’t prepared for this. How long has this been going on? This is a conversation we should be having with your father present. I—this is inappropriate.”
I stiffen, sensing her disapproval. It isn’t unexpected, but that doesn’t make it any less upsetting.
Her approval doesn’t matter much to me anymore, if it ever did.
Maybe that’s why I never stopped to ask her for her opinion before I started Soft Body.
Despite having grown to love sewing while watching her as a child, she played no part in my decision to make a career out of it. Or at least try to.
Maybe deep down, I knew that I didn’t want to take advice from her.
“According to who?” I snap. Roman’s thumb sweeps over my thigh, soothing me. “I love you, Mom, but I don’t want to hear dating advice from you.”
“Roman’s a good man. And if he hurt her, I’d take care of it,” Wes adds bitterly.
I inhale a shaky breath. “I didn’t invite Dad here for a reason. This has nothing to do with him, and I want to keep it that way.”
“I won’t leave him, Brielle.”
“Then you’ll need to get used to this,” I state, pressing my back into my chair.
“He’s not invited to anything anymore. I don’t want to know the details of your marriage or the women he’s been with.
If you’re choosing to stay, then I won’t waste my breath trying to convince you otherwise or giving my input when I know it won’t matter.
But just know that this is how it will be from now on.
Us and you. That’s it. And I don’t want to hear about him, either.
He will always be our father, but he isn’t my dad anymore.
Not after everything he’s done to Wes, but also you.
If you want to stay in contact, then we will.
I’ll come see you, and you can see me. You can get to know Roman and learn all of the parts of him that I love because regardless of your opinions, he isn’t going anywhere.
“He treats me well, Mom. I couldn’t have asked for a better man to sit here with me and offer me the type of love that I wish I’d seen between my parents growing up.
You should be happy for me for finding that.
I might not see marriage or divorce the way you do, but that didn’t stop me from finding a man who I can’t wait to be with for the rest of my life. ”
Wes’ eyes are on my face, but I don’t look at him. I can’t. If I did, I’d cry, and I didn’t plan on doing that today. I don’t want his appreciation for this when I’m years too late.
Instead, I set my hand atop Roman’s on my thigh and interlock our fingers. The strength that flows through him to me soothes my tension, bringing me back into myself. A sense of calmness washes over me as I glance at him and try to make him see how sure I am about everything I’ve just said.
He doesn’t spare anyone else a sliver of his attention. I’m the only one he sees as he palms my cheek and leans in to kiss me. My eyes fall closed as I smile against his lips and yank his hand. He tumbles toward me, a laugh rumbling against my mouth.
“I love you, too,” he rasps.
I wrap my arm around his neck and trap him in place, not done with him yet. The world blurs around us. Roman’s in perfect focus when I kiss the tip of his nose and both sides of his smile.
“No more space. I’m in this with you.”