Chapter Five #3
“And now it’s yours too.”
His words slam into my heart with a punch, meaning more than he can ever know. They invade my lost soul, suddenly giving me a place to belong.
“I’ve slept in far worse places than the couch, Alice. Trust me, I’ll be fine.”
My curiosity piques at the statement, but I don’t get the chance to ask him about it before he ends the argument.
“Go ahead and get changed.” He nods toward the dress. “I’ll go get you a glass of water so you can take your medication.”
“Thank you.”
After a final nod, he walks out, closing the door behind him.
I look around the empty room, taking in everything that is Braxten’s and become further intrigued by the man who saved my life.
Walking over to the dresser, I pick up a framed photo of him and his brothers with their father, each of them holding a large gun with black paint smeared on their faces.
Despite the deadly machines in their hands, their love for one another and smiles light up the entire picture, Braxten’s father having the biggest one of all.
Not for the first time, I notice the difference in their skin color. All the brothers have relatively the same warm tone, but despite that, they too don’t look alike. It has me wondering what brought these men together and made them a family?
Placing the picture down, I turn to the dress on the bed and try to hurry before he returns. Unfortunately, getting undressed turns out to be quite the struggle. Every move is slow and painful, my aching body screaming in protest with every twist and turn.
It’s long minutes later when I’m finally able to attempt the dress, but that proves to be an even more difficult task. I manage to only get one arm through before becoming stuck and tangled. A huff of frustration leaves me, a light sheen of sweat blanketing my skin from exertion.
The door swings open, startling me.
“Hey, I brought—” Braxten stops mid step, the sentence left unfinished when he finds me in the center of his room half dressed.
I hurry to cover the top half of myself. Unfortunately, the shame plaguing me isn’t as easy to hide.
“Sorry. I thought you’d be finished by now,” he says, but doesn’t bother to look away.
“It’s fine,” I mumble, eyes cast down.
“Everything okay?”
I shake my head, unable to lie.
“What’s wrong, Alice?” The question holds command, forcing me to answer.
“It’s still really hard for me to dress myself.” Humiliation threatens to swallow me where I stand.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
I shrug then resume gazing back at the floor, not wanting to admit how embarrassing it is to be so reliant. I’m tired of feeling so helpless.
Several beats pass before I sense him approach. He puts the glass down on the dresser then comes to stand behind me, his fingers skimming the skin of my shoulder.
The sensations of his gentle touch dance along my senses in the most beautiful way, unknowingly soothing every wound I bear.
“There’s a zipper here,” he murmurs.
Further embarrassment plagues me.
How on earth did I miss a zipper?
He struggles to undo it because of the tangled mess I have myself in.
“Listen, I’m going to remove the dress. Once I have it unzipped you can step into it.”
I hesitate, terrified for him to see what lurks beneath the clothes, for him to see me at my worst. Then I remember how he found me and realize he already has.
“I won’t look,” he promises, sensing my internal battle.
Gathering my courage, I drop my hands from my naked chest. The fabric leaves my body like a heated caress, the cool air whispering over my nipples, triggering fiery sensations to erupt like a volcano.
Add that to the man behind me, his warm breath on my skin, masculine scent invading my senses, and it all becomes overwhelming.
Both hot and cold.
Both terrifying and exhilarating.
All those sensations only heighten when he drops down behind me. Long seconds pass as he remains crouched there, never moving, never breathing. Not even making a single sound.
I stand stiff and frozen, wondering what’s taking so long. “Braxten?” his name quivers past my lips with question.
“I lied,” he murmurs.
Confusion grips me. Until his fingers graze my lower back, just above my bottom, right over where I know deep, vicious, white scars run crisscross over my skin.
I haven’t seen them myself, unable to bear the sight of more wounds, but I’ve felt them.
Knowing this is where his attention is has shame staking its claim once again.
I bite my lip to keep my emotions locked up and do my best to explain the little I know about them. “I was told they’re old wounds.”
He says nothing in return, but he doesn’t need to. In the next second, I feel lips graze the angry skin in the most gentle manner as he presses a kiss, healing so much more than the wounds on my flesh, but the pain buried in my soul too.
My breath catches, shock rendering me immobile. The genuine act marks my back as deeply as the scars, but the aftermath is different. So very different. It’s life altering, speaking so much more than words ever could, weaving deeply into my wounded heart.
I’m knocked from the moment when the sound of the zipper is finally released.
“Step back in.” His voice is gruffer than it was seconds ago.
Once I’ve complied, he stands, pulling the material back in place and slipping the straps easily over my shoulders before he zips the dress all the way up.
I remain still, unable to move. Unable to breathe.
He steps around me, coming face-to-face as he slips the sweater up my arms next, covering what I wish no one would ever see, especially him.
Too late.
Fear hinders me from looking up at him, terrified for what I will find there.
Pity? Sympathy?
He doesn’t let me hide. Not this time. He slips a finger beneath my chin, tilting my face up to his.
The chaos storming in his dark eyes thrashes through the confines of my chest. Too many emotions to name, but none of the ones I expected to find there.
I see anger and I see pain, the same one I harbor deep inside, but most of all I see a parallel between us.
Like maybe…just maybe, he understands what it’s like to hurt too.
His hand lifts, fingers skimming my cheek in a loving touch. “There is no shame or pride between us, Alice. Next time you need help, you tell me. Understand?”
I nod.
“Good, now take your medication. I’ll wait for you outside, then we will go to the main house for dinner.” Without another word, he walks away, leaving my life irrevocably changed for a second time.
The air that’s been locked in my chest leaves me on a rush. With shaking hands, I reach for my medication in my bag and take it with the glass of water he left for me. Then I head into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, needing to gather my composure before facing him again.
It’s mystifying how a stranger can affect me so deeply. How I can be so aware of one person.
Once I’m more collected, I leave the bathroom, only to be greeted by the sound of laughter.
Following the infectious sound, I step outside to find Braxten swinging a young girl around by one hand and foot, her high pitched squealing triggering a smile from me.
It doesn’t take long before I realize this must be his niece.
“Faster, Uncle Brax. Faster!”
“You better not puke on my shoes, little bit.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll aim for the grass.”
A giggle escapes me before I can stop it.
Braxten’s head snaps up, those dark eyes colliding with mine. They anchor me where I stand and the careful composure I had managed to gather fractures with just a look.
He slows the young girl to a stop before righting her to her feet.
“Awe man, why did you stop?”
His gaze never leaves mine. “We’ve got company, half pint.”
The young girl’s attention drifts to where Braxten’s is and a tiny gasp escapes her before she skips her way over to me. Excitement lights up her small face as she extends her hand. “Hi, Miss Alice, my name is Hannah J. Creed. I’m the niece.”
My heart completely melts at the polite greeting. I take her hand in mine, leaning over as much as I am able to. “Well, hello, Hannah J. Creed. It’s lovely to meet you.”
“You too. Welcome to the coolest family in Mississippi. Ain’t that right, Uncle Brax?” Her gaze moves to her uncle, her not so subtle modesty sweet and amusing all at once.
“You know it, kid.” Braxten walks over to join us, his heated eyes sweeping down the length of me, reminding me of our encounter minutes ago.
It has me shifting on my feet and fidgeting with my braid.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“A little.”
“Good. My father has been preparing all day.”
“You’re gonna love Papa Thatcher’s gumbo,” Hannah tells me before taking my hand and leading me toward the house. “It’s a special recipe that no one else knows. Well, except for me. He shares all his secrets with me because we’re tight like that.”
Braxten follows closely behind us, watching on with amusement.
“He’s entering the town’s cook-off this year and I just know he’s gonna win first place. Maybe if you’re feeling better by then, you can come too.”
I open my mouth to speak, but don’t get the chance since her mouth is moving a million miles a minute.
“It’s going to be so much fun. There’s a live band, games, and even a three legged race.
Miss Gwen is entering her famous cornbread as well, something you will also get to try at dinner.
It’s amazing. It will be your favorite out of any other cornbread you’ve had before.
That is…if you like cornbread?” She looks up at me expectantly, finally giving me the chance to speak.
It’s an easy question, but unfortunately one I am unable to answer.
“Honestly, I don’t know, but I’m sure I’ll love hers,” I add, not wanting to sound rude.
“You probably will, but if not, don’t worry, I’ll feed it to the pigs after.”
Braxten’s chuckle drifts through the air while a small smile claims my lips.