Chapter 13 Braxton
Braxton
Iease the door open, blinking to adjust to the dark apartment, the shadows only broken by the muted glow of the lamp in the living room. A tremor runs through my fingers where they’re clamped around the door handle.
I close the door and flick the lock, beelining for the kitchen.
The hushed silence is only broken by the faint hum of the refrigerator, and I head for it, pulling it open to grab a bottle of water.
Halfway out, my stomach sours, an acrid taste filling my mouth as I spot the foil-covered plate sitting on the shelf. Fuck.
The neon glow on the microwave warns me that it’s almost midnight, meaning I’m about five hours late. I couldn’t stomach the thought of driving back. Not with the image of Allison’s lifeless body haunting me, and Paisley had seemed to sense that.
We had made our way around the strip mall, her constant chatter filling the silence and giving me some distraction from the bloody horror filling my head. It was like walking through a thick fog—one that clung to my skin and filled my insides, leaving nothing but gray and ice.
Paisley had tugged on my arm, pointing out an old theater across the street. The kind that shows a mixture of modern and classic films. It had been too easy to agree to watching a movie…and then another.
The longer we sat in that dark theater, the more distant everything became.
My smiles came easier, and my shoulders sank, my brain convinced that we were stepping back into a time where everything was just…
less complicated. I was numb, nothing able to touch me.
Not my memories or my fears, and not Gracie’s worries.
“Do you remember the sleepovers you and Nick used to have?” she asked while we were waiting for the second movie to start. “He would always fall asleep early, and you and I—”
“Talked,” I murmured.
“I don’t think I’ve ever talked with anyone for that long,” she said, eyes distant with the memory. “Even now.” Her smile softened into something wistful. “I don’t think I’ll ever know anyone as well as I know you. Knew you,” she corrected quickly, eyes darting from mine.
She complained about being hungry at one point, grabbing some food from the concession stand. I ate more out of habit than anything else, barely noticing when our hands kept brushing against each other in the single popcorn bucket.
We got halfway through the second movie, and she leaned over her armrest, laying her head on my shoulder.
“You don’t mind, do you?” she murmured.
My breath caught, my mind screaming with warning, but I shook my head. “It’s fine,” I heard myself telling her, even as her palm slid against mine, our fingers tangling. I stared down at where our hands are resting against my thigh, her palm dry and…different in mine.
I swallowed thickly, dragging my attention back to the movie, pretending like I couldn’t feel her hairs tickling my jaw or the warmth of her body seeping into mine.
When we left, I still hadn’t turned my phone on. I couldn’t stomach the thought of facing the choices I made that day, the slithering sensation warning me that I crossed a line I wasn’t going to be able to come back from.
I walked Paisley to her car, hands tucked into my pockets and shoulders slumped, which was when she paused, keys in hand. “It’s late,” she observed pointlessly. “Maybe we should stay here for the night…”
I looked around dumbly. “Here?” I echoed, and Paisley giggled.
“Not here, silly. We would get a room or something. We’ll watch crappy movies and eat crappy food.
” She stepped closer, her perfume filling my lungs—smoky rose and spice—and then there was no space between us, her arms around my neck.
I hugged her back, dimly registering the wrongness of how she felt in my arms before a sickening feeling churned in my stomach.
It wasn’t Paisley I wanted in front of me, but Gracie, her smile soft enough to ease the tightness in my chest. I knew that if she were there, the world would right itself again, and I’d stop feeling like I was drowning.
Reality had screamed into being, shredding the daydream away with claws and teeth…because if Gracie were there, if she knew, I would have to confess to breaking every promise to her in the space of two weeks.
“I’m fine,” I rasped, stepping back and setting her away from me. I couldn’t meet her eyes as I tried to beat back the panic thrumming in my chest. “Gracie’s expecting me, so I need to get going.”
Her expression flattened before she smoothed it out, giving me a gentle smile. “Of course.” Paisley reached out, her hand landing on mine, and I stared down at it, unable to feel the contact through my jacket. “Will you be okay driving back?”
“I’ll see you later,” I told her. She opened her mouth, but I turned and walked away before she could say anything else, pretending like an icy sweat wasn’t trickling down the line of my back.
It didn’t take me long to find my truck and climb behind the wheel, but I couldn’t bring myself to stick the keys in the ignition. A bitter laugh bubbled on my lips, trying to figure out what the fuck I was doing.
I could explain away trauma-dumping on Paisley after she appeared right after my counseling session, but there was no way to explain how I ended up in a movie theater with her, our hands clasped and her head on my shoulder.
And then, facing an hour drive home to get to my girlfriend, who was probably worried as hell about me, and I couldn’t even turn the engine on.
By the time I finally forced myself to move, my fingers had been stiff and aching, the cold outside seeping into the truck.
I shut the fridge door, pulling my phone out of my pocket, turning it back on for the first time since my appointment. It doesn’t take long for the screen to light up with message after message, as well as several missed calls, and my stomach drops.
All I’ve done since the crash is make mistakes, and now, I’m so far down the hole, I’m not really sure how to crawl out.
I’m so far down, I can’t even see the goddamn sky anymore.
I finish my water before heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and then pad silently into Gracie’s bedroom.
The curtains aren’t fully shut, the moon shining through the window with just enough light that I can see her huddled under the covers on one side of the bed.
I pause, just listening to her even breathing.
The tight ball in my gut eases slightly—not all the way—but enough that relief filters through.
Gracie’s still here, and still mine. Dropping my clothes into a pile on the floor, I slowly crawl into bed behind her, trying not to jostle her awake.
But I can’t resist the need to pull her close, sliding one arm under her neck and the other around her waist, curling my body around hers firmly, burying my face into her neck.
“Braxton?” It’s a sleepy murmur, and I press a lingering kiss to her neck. She rolls toward me, eyes cracked, and brow furrowed. “I was worried about you.”
I trail my fingers over her forehead, wanting to smooth the lines away. “I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper. “I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow, yeah?” She blinks, her expression unreadable in the dark room, but then she leans forward and inhales. I jerk back, surprised. “Are you…Are you sniffing me?”
She pulls away, and for a second, it looks like her eyes are glistening, but then she lowers her lashes, and the moment passes. She rolls back over, her body all tense lines, but I wrap myself around her, refusing to let her pull away. I know she’s mad about today, but I’ll make it up to her.
I’ll make everything right.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” I say again, desperately trying to ignore the unease when she doesn’t respond. “Good night, baby.”
It feels like I barely blink before I fall into a deep, unexpected sleep.
When I drag my eyes open next, the morning sun is glaring through the cracks in the curtains, and the sheets beside me are cold. I’m surprised I slept and that it was relatively dreamless, but I still feel exhausted to my bones.
I sit up, scrubbing my hands over my face, listening for sounds of Gracie moving around, but the apartment is silent. The significance of her leaving without waking me makes my stomach swoop.
There’s been plenty of sleepovers when one of us has had work the next day, and kissing each other goodbye in the morning was one of the easiest habits to make. Even if I was still sleeping, she always came in to give me a peck, just to let me know she was leaving.
The silence surrounding me feels thick with accusation, and my head throbs. I don’t linger in her apartment. I can’t, unable to bear being surrounded by Gracie, even when she feels miles away.
I’m not even sure where I’m going until I land on my mother’s doorstep. I send a quick message to Gracie before I head in, desperately hoping she’ll answer.
Braxton
I’m sorry for last night, Rumpel. Can we meet for lunch today?
The door opens, and I look to find my mother standing there with a glower on her face. I look over my shoulder, trying to figure out who the expression’s meant for.
“Braxton,” she says grimly. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you.” Her eyes flick down to the phone in my hand, and I have a vague recollection of seeing her name in my missed calls.
I slick my tongue over my teeth, watching her cautiously. “Yeah?” My lips kick up in a smile, but she just stares at me, her face not even twitching. “You gonna let me in, Ma?” I step toward her, expecting her to move out of the way, but she doesn’t move an inch.
“I’m thinking about it,” she says, her tone more damning for how quiet it is. “I’m not sure I feel like talking to you right now.”
Taken aback, I gape at her. “What?” I shake it off. “Just let me in, would you? It’s cold out, and I’m sure you don’t want Joanie McFarrel poking her nose into our business.”