Chapter 27 #2
So many nights, I was enveloped in this scent. In his arms. The smell alone harbors a sense of safety, and for the first time in a long time, I can breathe with full capacity. I brace myself and leave the bathroom.
Brandon’s shoulders are silhouetted in shadow from the faint bedside lamp. Something about seeing a comforter draped over his bare chest again makes me go weak in the knees. I try to mask my nerves as I make my way to the very opposite side of the bed and slide under the sheets.
My back faces Brandon, but the bed shifts as he slides deeper down to lay on his pillow. He respects my space, but the bed is so small that his heat practically tickles my bare shoulder blades.
He turns off the bedside lamp, leaving only a distant streetlamp through the threadbare curtains.
I watch the scruffy fabric waft in the air from the cracked window, and I’m grateful I left it open.
Although H.Y. is still out there, I assume I’m safer now that Brandon is here.
Besides, this room feels like a furnace fueled by tension and bad decisions.
A hush fills the room, stills my lungs. It’s like time has stopped, here in this darkness. A blanket so thick it feels as though it could absorb anything.
Hope. Regrets. Desires.
An all encompassing barrier of blackness stands between us and the world outside. Shadows from my past dance across the ceiling, punctual as always. But tonight, the one person that can cast light across them lies beside me.
My heartbeat ticks faster, and I suddenly cannot go another second, another moment without knowing. The words fly out of me, pressing against the redeeming curtain of darkness.
“Why’d you stand me up that night?”
My words sound so small, I can’t tell if he even heard me. Seconds tick nearer to a minute before Brandon responds with a whispered question of his own.
“Why’d you run?”
Moisture stings my eyes as I stare blindly into the dark room. One question for a question. One heartache swapped for another.
“It was only a matter of time,” I whisper, thankful that my words vanish as soon as I speak them.
“Until what?”
“Until I disappointed you.” The words stick in my throat, cling to my tongue, but I force them out anyway. I’m tired of holding on to them. “Like I disappoint everyone.” Brandon’s long exhale brushes the nape of my neck. A single tear betrays me into my pillowcase.
Brandon shifts, the mattress dipping with his weight. I expect him to turn away, like my parents, like my sister, like everyone, but I realize he’s drawn closer.
“You couldn’t have known that,” he murmurs.
“I couldn’t have known otherwise.”
“Kate…” His voice is low. “You have to know that it couldn’t be farther from the truth. I could never have been, will never be, disappointed in you.”
The darkness does its job, smothering each syllable like they never escaped in the first place. I take a deep breath, steadying my emotions before I roll over on my pillowcase to face him.
“Then where were you that night?” I ask.
“My…” The darkness whisks away Brandon’s whisper too soon.
I stay silent, praying for him to continue.
“My mom is an alcoholic.” The words vanish into the void before new ones replace them. “The night of the parade, she got into an accident.”
In my shock, my shaking palm finds his stubbled cheek. His expression feels pinched, the most concentrated form of agony. His hand finds mine, holding it in place against his skin. I’m surprised to feel moisture lining my fingertips.
“She was drunk and wrapped her car around a pole before she even left the parking lot.”
Another tear slides off my nose and onto my pillow, but I don’t make a sound. I sweep my thumb back and forth across his cheek. I’ve never heard his voice like this, so raw he could be bleeding.
“I spent the night of the parade in the hospital with only the clothes on my back. A public defender showed up, told me Mom had been arrested for a DUI. Said the situation wasn’t looking good, based on a previous infraction I wasn’t aware of.
” He sucks in a ragged breath. “Kate, he told me that in addition to me possibly being subpoenaed to testify against her, anyone I told could be subpoenaed as well. Friends, girlfriends… He said me keeping quiet could mean the difference between Mom serving time or not.”
He pulls away, turning to lie on his back while shock keeps me paralyzed.
“She was in the hospital for about a week, but then she got released, decided to change, and has committed to staying sober ever since. The court case took forever, and she had to work a few jobs to pay off the fines, but once it was resolved, I wanted to reach out. But since you hadn’t over all that time… ”
“I—I didn’t know,” I whisper.
“I know.” It’s like he’s reliving the past as he traces a finger along the spyglass tattoo across his collarbone.
“Is that when you got the spyglass?”
He releases a long breath. “Yeah. Eyes on the future, staying sober and all.”
Seconds stretch before I speak. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“I know, and that was my fault. I could have opened up sooner. Trusted you. But growing up sometimes neglected isn’t exactly something I like to broadcast. And you… Well, on that day, you clearly weren’t going to listen.”
I bite my lip, tasting shame so potent that my stomach twists. The whole morbid scene plays out in my mind of how I treated him that day. How I accused him of being drunk. Brandon’s excuse had been every bit as valid as his pleas were for me to trust him.
And I didn’t.
Sure, my parents aren’t the epitome of unconditional love, but they always made sure Liza and I were taken care of. I’m not sure I can say the same for Brandon.
I squeeze my eyes, trying to staunch the river threatening my tear ducts. My heart aches so hard that it’s almost painful.
Brandon has never been shallow a day in his life.
In fact, it’s a miracle that Brandon has remained so light and full of laughter.
Everything he’s ever told me about his mom has been kind, albeit vague.
He’s always loved her fiercely, that much is apparent.
It also speaks to how loyal and forgiving Brandon Roberts can be, despite one’s shortcomings.
I bite my lip, trying to ignore the flutter of hope in my belly. Just because Brandon forgives easily doesn’t mean I deserve it.
“Brandon, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you.
That last day outside the Fine Arts building, I…
I was angry. I had gotten into it with my parents at the parade the night before, and it wrecked me.
They were saying such terrible things, being so awful, and I needed you—” My voice catches, then dims to a whisper.
“I needed you so badly. Too badly. I realized I shouldn’t have let my guard down.
But you were right about everything. I got scared, and I ran.
” My words melt into the darkness. “But now I see that I should have trusted you. I have no excuse for how I acted.”
“Neither do I.” Brandon’s admission is scratchy. “I should have fought for you.”
“I wouldn’t have let you.”
“I know that too.”
Staring at the ceiling, we are at a night-soaked impasse. One where neither tears nor regrets can rewrite the past or change the future. They are simply facts, nothing more.
“But, Kate…” Brandon starts, voice strained. “You need to know that you always were enough for—”
“Brandon, don’t.” A staggered breath escapes the edge of my stifled cry. “Don’t say it.”
“Kate, I’ve gotta get this off my chest.” Brandon takes a slow breath before he speaks, low and serious.
“You were enough back then, and you’re enough now.
I’m not pretending to understand everything going on in your life, but…
” He rolls off his back, turning to face me in the darkness, and I feel his hot gaze sear through my heart.
“Whatever skewed version of you that your parents convinced you to be—don’t.
Just be you, Kate. I need you to be you. ”
A whimper flies out of me, and I clamp my mouth shut.
He blows out a long breath, his back sinking deeper into the mattress. I can’t speak without unleashing six years of pent-up sobs, so I don’t respond.
But a few moments later, Brandon’s hand finds its way into mine, and I don’t pull away.
Unlike our secrets dissipating into the curtain of night, our understanding remains unspoken.
These words are nothing but backpay. Their timestamps do not belong in the present.
Holding his calloused hand will not change tomorrow, or the day after that.
But for the first time in six years, I fall asleep with answers.