Chapter 39
thirty-nine
PRESENT DAY
KATE
It’s extremely late by the time Brandon and I make our way back to the pool house.
He stalls by the outdoor shower. “I can rinse off out here so you can have the bathroom.”
“Okay,” I mumble. “Thank you.”
A short while later, I towel off and slip into silky shorts and a matching tank. I squeeze water from my hair into a towel as I open all the windows, grateful for the salty breeze. I notice Brandon’s bedroom door is shut, so I assume he’s getting dressed.
Checking my phone, I run across a missed text.
UNKNOWN: Florida is way hotter than Chicago this time of year. I can see why you like it here. —Hopefully Yours.
Here.
H.Y. is here?!
A whimper escapes me as I take in all the windows I just opened. Fear speeds my steps as I bolt to each window, closing them and twisting the locks. My airway tightens by the second, and I fight to suck in thin breath after breath. Without the nighttime breeze, sweat gathers along my lower back.
Why come all this way? Are they really here or just trying to mess with me?
A door slamming behind me sends me crumpling with a cry, and I whip my head around to find Brandon’s worried eyes. A towel hangs from his hand, but he’s changed into dry terry-cloth shorts and a white tank.
“Kate?” When I don’t respond, he rushes to where I’m huddled on the floor.
“Kate?! What’s going on? Are you hurt?” He braces my weight with his arms, lifting me so he can get a better look.
Anxiety grips me so tightly, it’s like it’s crushing my windpipe.
“Air,” I croak, clawing at my throat. “I need air.”
He doesn’t hesitate to collect my trembling body before sweeping us both out the door, across the patio, and through the break in the fence toward the ocean. I realize H.Y. might be able to see us at this very moment, but Brandon’s here with me. He won’t let anything bad happen to me.
“Breathe, Kate,” he demands as he runs. “Low and slow. In. Out.”
I force myself to comply even as tears stream in rivulets down my cheeks.
“In. Out,” he repeats as I suck in another breath. His own chest raises and falls beneath my cradled body. “That’s it. Almost there, love.”
We barely make it past the hilly dunes of brush before Brandon sinks into the warm sand. He keeps me tight against his chest, the moonlit waves lapping in the distance. I continue to focus on the drum of his heart as my breathing steadies, even though tears continue to well in my eyes.
“Wanna tell me what this is all about?” he finally asks.
My heart swells at his gentle tone, and the story spills out through my cries before I care to second guess. I pour memory after memory until I’ve recounted everything I can think of.
The texts, the timing of them. Levi and my messy past. The undeliverable responses and disconnected calls.
I try to list everyone I’ve given my number to in the past while, even going so far back as the yoga instructor I met before Christmas.
Establishments that might have my number saved in databases, like coffee shops, the museum, and Pulse Fitness.
When I broach the subject of the unmarked packages starting to arrive, his eyes darken.
“Why haven’t you told anyone? Called the police?”
I huff a brisk laugh. “And tell them what, exactly? I have no evidence to go on. Nothing to prove who this is! And I haven’t told Liza or Amantha because of how stressed out it would make them.”
“So you chose to suffer in silence?” he all but growls. I can tell Brandon isn’t angry at me, despite his tone.
“I did what I thought was best,” I whisper.
“Oh, Kate.” He pulls me against his chest. “I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean to snap at you. You’ve already been through so much…
I wonder, though…” Brandon yanks out his phone, and before I can ask what he’s doing, he copies one of H.Y’s numbers into his phone and presses “Call.” “If your number is somehow blocked, mine won’t be. ”
I huddle closer.
But Brandon receives the same disconnected beep that haunts me every night. He shoots a text—undeliverable. He curses, face illuminated by our phone screens.
“I’m just so angry with myself.” The words bubble out of me, and I suddenly realize they’re true. The simmering emotion I’ve felt for months is only now becoming recognizable.
“What for?”
“Maybe if I hadn’t given out my number to a million men in the last decade, I wouldn’t be dealing with this now,” I whisper. “If I wasn’t so messed up, none of this would be happening.”
Fresh tears cloud my vision.
I suck in a breath when Brandon’s finger lifts my chin. His face is the softest I’ve ever seen it.
“You can’t blame yourself,” he murmurs. “And don’t assume responsibility for someone else’s actions.”
I brave a weak smile.
Even after discussing the issue for another hour, we’ve gotten nowhere. Despite this mystery being nowhere near solved, the lines edging Brandon’s eyes seem deeper the later the night grows. Guilt slithers into my belly that I’ve stolen sleep from him, but I’m so grateful he’s here right now.
I slide off his lap, lying on the sand. Grit presses into my back, coats my shoulders, but I don’t care. He follows suit, laying his head close enough that his wavy hair brushes my cheek.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “For all the years I never reached out. For the time I’ve wasted.”
“We’ve wasted,” he corrects. “It wasn’t just you, Kate.”
I pluck up enough courage to swipe a grain of sand from his brow. He catches my hand, pressing a light kiss to each of my fingertips. I melt with each pass of his lips.
More tears threaten to leak into the sand, and I swallow.
My knee-jerk reaction is to fight the rising tide of emotion. Flee. Shatter this tension with silly truths and dares.
But I force myself to stay put.
Because for the first time, I’m convinced that I won’t drown. I clutch Brandon’s hand as each wave of remorse washes over me.
And I cry.
I cry for the years I’ve spent fighting. Spent running.
I cry for each night I fell asleep beside someone who didn’t love me.
I cry for the nights I spent beside the one man who did.
And Brandon lets me. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t distract from my grief. Only bears it beside me the way I did for him in the darkroom.
Because my sorrow is not his to fix.
It’s no one’s to fix.
It is meant to be recognized, mourned, and let go.
The tide eventually goes out, taking my tears with it. I quiet, but Brandon’s thumb continues to spread circles across my knuckles.
“I’m here for you, Kate.” Brandon’s voice is thick, and I’m not sure if it’s from the lack of speaking or emotion. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”
“I know.” I roll onto my side as the last shudder of emotion leaves my body. “Thank you.”
“You’re more than welcome.”
We make our way back to the pool house, and Brandon insists on doing a surveillance sweep before escorting me to my room.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says. “Try to get some sleep.”
“Brandon, wait—”
He stalls a few feet away.
“Stay with me?” My request is little more than a whisper, one I would immediately regret if it wasn’t for the soft smile spreading across his lips.
“Of course, love.”
Gratitude for this man wells in my chest at how good he is.
After brushing our teeth in my ensuite bathroom, we wordlessly excavate the bed from the many decorative pillows the staff left.
I don’t even bat an eye as Brandon removes his tank, and he doesn’t say a word about the messy bun I pile my hair into. We slide into the queen sized bed, and I don’t second-guess my decision to snuggle my back against his chest.
The rise and fall of him feels so incredibly safe that a lump grows in my throat.
A moment later, Brandon’s hand comes to rest on my left hip, and I fall asleep with a tiny smile.