Theo
B y the time we got to the house, it was dark outside. My hands shook as I fumbled with my keys, trying to slide it into the lock on the door. I’d never been anxious to bring a woman home before, but this felt different.
Of course it did. Because everything with Brynne felt different.
I laughed breathily as the key finally slid home, glancing sidelong at Brynne. She bit her lower lip, smiling softly. If she was as nervous as I was, she hid it well.
With a deep breath, I shoved the door open, and we stepped inside.
I flipped the light on and tossed my keys onto the side table, just like I’d done every day for the last few months.
I looked around with fresh eyes at my house, at the familiar decor I picked out, and the framed photos of Larry Scout insisted we hang.
The woman at my side made it feel different. Made it feel alive .
I smoothed my palm against my thigh, feeling antsy, like a million ants were crawling through my blood. She wrapped her arms around herself, glancing around like she hadn’t been here a few weeks ago doing exactly what she was doing now.
Everything felt quiet. Peaceful . But there was this undercurrent of anticipation buzzing through us, connecting us.
“I need to check on Larry,” I announced, my voice somehow too loud. A soft smile curved her full mouth, her lipstick faded from a night of eating and drinking and kissing.
The boat had been perfect. Conversation started heavier than I’d wanted, but I was glad we’d gotten it out of the way. Even though it was awkward and uncomfortable saying things I’d only ever thought aloud, it was worth it.
It forced me to be vulnerable in a way I’d never been before. And she listened. She listened to every single word, without judgement or making me feel two inches tall.
But it wasn’t until that moment I realized we’d only talked about me .
Brynne followed me through the house to Larry’s cage in the theater room. She was curled up asleep when we got to her, and Brynne crouched slightly to get a better look.
“She’s adorable,” she cooed. “I feel like she’s gotten so big since the last time I saw her.”
“She doesn’t stop growing.” I laughed slightly, my hand resting on Brynne’s lower back. I didn’t know how to bring it up, how to casually segue into this conversation. So, I blurted, “We never got to discuss your past partners.”
Her head reared back as she looked at me. “What?”
“Earlier. You asked me about Sarah, but we never discussed you.”
I moved to one of the couches and sank onto it. Reaching up, I undid a few more buttons on my shirt, watching as she reached into Larry’s cage and smoothed her fingers over the bunny’s fur.
“There’s nothing really to discuss,” she said, her back to me. “I’ve never had a serious relationship. I usually break things off before then.” She laughed, though it was tight. My eyes narrowed slightly.
“You break it off?”
She shrugged and turned toward me. “It’s easier to leave before you’re left.”
I rested my arm along the back of the sofa. We stared at each other for a few moments, like we were daring the other to say something first—to break first.
“Don’t do that with me,” I finally said. Her head fell back, and she laughed.
“You can't just tell me?—”
“I can,” I said. “And I did. You’re not going to leave me because you’re scared of being left first. We’re going to work through whatever is making you feel that way.”
She tilted her head to the side, red hair spinning like a curtain behind her. “That’s very mature of you, Playboy.”
“I have my moments.” I flashed her a grin as I got comfier. “So, no boyfriends? Really? I never thought you were a one-night stand kind of girl, either. Were you celibate?” She snorted as she sank onto the other end of the couch.
“No,” she said, chuckling breathily. “I definitely wasn’t celibate.
But I also never looked for a serious relationship, either.
I just…had fun.” Her hand lifted to her throat, to where her necklace usually was.
When she didn’t find it, she rested her palm against the base of her throat, her thumb rubbing soothing lines on the side.
“We don’t need to have a therapy session. ”
“I don’t mind.” I shrugged. “I’m not in a hurry, are you?”
With a sigh, she leaned back. “My parents left me with my grandma when I was young, and Mason was working on his career.”
“How old were you?”
“I was twelve. Mason was eight. He auditioned for some kid’s show and got the part. So, of course, my parents saw their new cash cow. They’d tried to get me to audition for shows too, but I was too uncomfortable. Mason was born to be in front of a crowd with a microphone.”
“I didn’t know you were so young,” I murmured. “You lived with your grandma in Blackrock Bay, right? But you lived with your parents in high school.”
“Yeah.” She ran her fingers through her hair, jostling it slightly. “A therapist would probably say that was where my abandonment issues started.”
Kicking her heels off, she stretched her legs across the couch, pressing her feet into my thigh. I dragged them into my lap and immediately dug my thumb into her arch. She let out a long groan, her head falling back.
“My grandma died when I was fifteen,” she explained, her head resting on the arm of the couch, eyes on the ceiling.
“After that, my parents switched every other week. One would stay with me while the other was with Mason in LA. When I was eighteen, I went to school in Portland, and they stayed in LA with Mason permanently. I had no idea the issues they had at the time. Not until Mason told me how bad it was.”
“What were they doing?” I asked, working the knots out.
“He’d just turned fourteen, and they were trying to groom him to be the next Justin Bieber.
But he didn’t want that. Which started a huge family war about him making money for them.
Eventually, I convinced them to move to New York so we could be closer, but it was really so I could keep a better eye on Mason.
When he was sixteen, he was emancipated and cut our parents out of his life completely. ”
“Do you still talk to them? I never hear you say anything about them.” I moved onto massaging her other foot.
“A few times a year,” she muttered. “But Mason and I are close, and that’s all I really care about. He knows I don’t want a dime of his money. I just want my brother, not Mason Hughes .”
She lifted her head to look at me. “I didn’t know any of that,” I told her, and she shrugged.
“I don’t really talk about it.”
I understood it, but I wished I would’ve known. Everything about her made so much more sense now. The way she wrapped herself in prickly armor as protection. The way she loved fiercely and loyally. The way she was so protective of Mason.
All those fucked up moments of her childhood made her into the woman she was today.
And that woman was incredible.
“You know,” she said, eyes drifting shut. “You never gave me a tour of this place.”
“There’s not much to see.”
Her head lifted, brows raised. “This is a mansion,” she said—deadpan. “Of course there’s a lot to see.”
Gently, I moved her legs off my lap and stood, holding my hand out. “I’ll show you,” I told her, “but don’t freak out when you realize I was right. There’s nothing to see.”
She rolled her eyes as she slid her palm against mine, letting me pull her to her feet. She laced our fingers together, smiling softly as I led her from the theater room.
“Bathroom,” I said, gesturing toward it. “The two rooms down there are empty right now. I don’t know what to do with them.” We made our way down the long hallway, stopping in front of the two rooms. “I was thinking of making one of them a space for Scout.”
“Oh, she’d love that.” She shoved the door open, peeking inside at the empty room. “Like a little writing cave?”
“Or something to do with music,” I said. “I didn’t realize it meant so much to her.”
“A studio?” Her brows lifted, and I shrugged.
“I don’t know where to start.” I ran my fingers through my hair.
“Start with a guitar,” she said. “Then build from there. Maybe Mason can help.”
She followed me through the rest of the house, nosily looking into each room, even the ones she’d been in before. When we got to the bar room, her mouth fell open.
It was mostly bare, except for a wall half full of bottles. A leather couch sat across from a fireplace, with matching armchairs on either side facing each other. The light overhead was a dull, warm yellow, and the rug on the floor was some vintage piece I’d found in Europe on vacation one year.
“I did not know this was here,” she said, looking around. She moved to the wall of bottles and ran her fingers over the smooth glass. “You have so much whiskey.”
“Most of them were gifts from a client,” I explained. “I told him I liked Macallan, and every year since he’s bought me a bottle for my birthday and Christmas. I don’t drink often enough to go through it all, and I’m not going to share it with my friends.” I shrugged.
“I’ve never had Macallan,” she said, leaning against the dark wooden bar. “Would you share with me?”
“What’s mine is yours, Red.”
Grabbing a crystal glass and a bottle, I poured her a finger before pouring myself two. Her lips wrapped around the edge of the glass, eyes locked on mine as she took a sip. Amber liquid clung to her lips, and she dragged her tongue across.
“It’s good,” she murmured. I slid closer, leaning against the bar, almost caging her against it. Her head tipped back, and she smirked, honey-brown eyes twinkling. “I think there’s a room you haven’t shown me yet.”
“Yeah? What room is that?” I sipped the whiskey, feeling it warm me to my soul.
“Your bedroom.”
I fought the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “You wanna see my bedroom, Red?”
She bit her lip as she moved closer, her hand dropping to my belt. Gently, she tugged me forward and pushed up onto her tiptoes. Her scent surrounded me, invading my senses like in a sudden rush.