Chapter 13 Braxton #2
Mom immediately cranes her neck, narrowed eyes fixed on the house across the street. I follow her stare, catching the curtains twitching in the front room. “Nosy old biddy,” she mutters.
“Let the boy in, Raewyn,” my father calls out from within the house. I fight back a grimace because he sounds as grim as she does. “If anything, I’d like to know if he actually made it to his appointment yesterday.”
My mother’s expression softens slightly, but her movements are stilted and grudging as she steps to the side, dramatically waving me in.
“Into the kitchen with you,” she grumbles uncharacteristically. “I’ll make you a coffee.” She shuts the door with a firm snap, eyeing me frostily. “But I am not making it with love.”
Bewildered, I follow after her. “I guess I’ll be happy as long as you don’t spit in it,” I mumble, and she whips another glare at me over her shoulder.
“You’ll take what you’re given,” she says threateningly. “I won’t hear another word about it.”
I hold my palms up in surrender as we make it to the kitchen, finding Dad sitting at the island, a newspaper held up in front of him. “I wouldn’t push her this morning, Braxton,” he advises, eyes never leaving the page he’s reading.
I take a seat across from him, ignoring the way Mom has started slamming cupboards and drawers across the room. “You know you can just read the news on your phone, right?”
He lowers the paper, peering at me over the top. “I don’t like the small writing. And my thumbs keep pressing stuff I don’t mean to press.”
Mom scoffs. “Lies. We both know you meant to click on that busty woman. Maybe next time you’ll learn to read before you start pressing things.”
My lips twitch as I bounce my stare between the two of them. “I’m scared to ask.”
Mom forgets she’s irate with me long enough to chortle as she explains, “It was a Viagra ad. Fat thumbs indeed.”
“It was two weeks ago, Rae,” Dad grumbles, his cheeks flushing a dull red. “Let it go already.”
“I will not.” She sends him a sharp grin over her shoulder, but it drops rapidly when she narrows her eyes at me. “And I haven’t forgotten about you either.” I can’t remember a time she’s ever spoken to me like that, voice trembling with a mixture of disappointment and rage.
“What? What did I do?”
My father snaps the newspaper closed, laying it down beside his coffee. He watches me, eyes careful, but doesn’t say a word. When I shoot him a questioning look, he only shakes his head, eyes sliding toward my mother.
A few minutes later, she sets a coffee down in front of me before taking up position at my father’s shoulder, her own mug in her hand. She doesn’t speak straight away, staring at me until a lengthy sigh escapes her.
“First of all, did you go to your counseling session yesterday?” She waits for my jerky nod before asking, “How did it go?”
I don’t want to talk about it, but going off the vibe here, I want to talk about the next subject even less. “Fine, I guess.”
She taps her nails against her ceramic mug, her eyes unblinking. “Esther called me last night. She told me that you and Paisley met up and spent the day together.”
The words send shame coursing through my body—a hot reminder of what I allowed to happen. It’s the last thing I expected Mom to bring up. It’s a conscious effort to keep my expression neutral as she watches me, her eyes narrowed.
“Yeaaah,” I drag out slowly, my throat too tight. “What about it?”
Mom turns to look at Dad pointedly, and he shakes his head, muttering a curse. “Braxton…”
“Wait—No.” I shake my head wildly, defensiveness rising rapidly at the disappointment on their faces.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but no.
Paisley was just…there. I went and got something to eat after the counseling session.
Trying to settle myself, I guess. And she showed up.
” They share another look that’s filled with disbelief, and a dozen thoughts rush through my head, tumbling over each other, not a single one making sense.
Mom sets her mug down, her mouth pressing into a thin line.
“Esther is under the impression that something very different happened yesterday.” She inhales through her nose, like she’s trying to gather patience, before pinning a stern stare on me.
“We knew about your feelings for Paisley before she left. You weren’t as subtle as you liked to think you were.
I’m not sure Joseph or Esther were aware, but…
well, Esther is pretty enamored with the idea of it now. ”
“Idea of what?” I demand. “There’s nothing for her to be enamored with.”
Dad huffs irritably as he lifts his coffee to his mouth. “Bloody nonsense, if you ask me. That girl is flighty and spoiled.”
“Stephen…” Mom chides.
“Don’t argue. You know I’m right. Paisley’s got Joseph and Esther wrapped around her little finger, and she always has.
Can you imagine us flying to Analise for every holiday, like they have with that girl?
All because she never wanted to give her life up there, even for a measly weekend.
And now she’s back here and causing trouble. ”
“You don’t know that’s why she didn’t come back,” Mom counters.
My father scowls, opening his mouth to argue, but I cut in, croaking, “Paisley hasn’t done anything wrong.”
He flicks a dark look at me. “No, I don’t imagine she did. She doesn’t owe anything to Gracie.” There’s a long, tense pause, his expression drawn in aggravation. “You do.”
My panic surges into anger, my vision narrowing into a pinprick as they both stare at me. “I haven’t done anything, either,” I snap defensively. “Paisley is a friend. My friend. I’m not just going to ignore her—”
Mom slaps a hand against the marble, dragging our attention to her. “This isn’t even about Paisley. This is about you.”
I scrub a hand through my hair, wishing I’d just stayed in Gracie’s bed. “What about me?” I ask tiredly.
“Esther wasn’t the only one to call me yesterday,” Mom declares. “Marjorie called me, too, because she couldn’t get a hold of you, and she didn’t have Gracie’s number.”
My stomach sinks to my feet. Lower. I don’t need her to say a word, reaching for my phone like I’m going for a bomb.
I flick through the missed calls and voicemails, searching through each one until I see them.
Three calls in total—all yesterday, all from Marjorie.
A quick swipe into my email apps shows two unread ones from her agency, both with Urgent printed in the subject line.
“Oh, Braxton,” Mom says, her voice gentling. I look up just as her expression falls at whatever she sees on my face. “What have you done?”
The house is gone.
My gut cramps painfully—a startling reminder that I haven’t eaten except for some popcorn and candy at the theater last night.
I can’t think. Everything is muffled, like it’s coming from underwater, the world moving sluggishly around me.
I don’t know how I’m going to tell Gracie because she thinks I have it all in hand.
I reassured her more than once, telling her not to worry about anything.
I told her that I’d get the paperwork for the offer in… but then I just didn’t.
Why didn’t I?
I lean back against the couch, listening as my parents murmur to each other in the kitchen, probably talking about me and what a fuckup I am. They’re not goddamn wrong.
I stand up, keys already in hand, and make for the door, calling out over my shoulder, “Heading out. I’ll call you later.”
I hear Mom call my name, but I slip out before she can catch me, practically jogging for my truck. When I’m safe behind the wheel, I palm my phone, but my earlier message to Gracie still hasn’t been read.
Hands shaking, I pull up Marjorie’s contact. It rings three times before she answers, “Good morning, Braxton.” There’s an unimpressed air to her voice, and it makes me feel about three inches tall. “I’ve been trying to contact you.”
“I know.” My voice is a thread of sound, and I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. It’s been a messy couple of weeks.”
There’s a pause before she sighs. “Braxton, I told you I could only hold the house for so long. The owners were hopeful they could sell before Christmas, and I had an offer on it yesterday. Two, actually. It was my professional responsibility to present those to the owners, and they’ve accepted one. ”
“But—”
“I’m sorry, but you’re too late. If you had gotten back to me yesterday, you might have had a chance to counter the offer, but now…” I can almost see her shaking her head. “The papers are being drawn up to be signed later today.”
My mouth is dry, despair filling my chest, every word I could say catching in my throat.
I was the one who found out about the house potentially being put on the market, but Gracie had been reluctant, unwilling to pin her hopes on it being hers.
She was so prepared to be disappointed that she hadn’t even wanted to try.
I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering her wide eyes as she walked around the house, envisioning a future—our future—within those walls.
I think I found a home here, Brax. And I’ve never had that before.
Bile surges into my throat, and I throw open the door of my truck, hunching over the curb as my mouth pools with saliva. I spit onto the road, desperately fighting back the urge to heave.
Marjorie is calling my name through the phone, and when I think I’m safe, I sit back up, a cold sweat dampening my skin. “I’m sorry for wasting your time, Marjorie,” I rasp.
“If there’s any other houses you’d like to see…” There’s a hesitance in her voice, and I don’t blame her for it.
“I’ll let you know.”
She says goodbye, and I hang up, dropping the phone onto the passenger seat. I rest my wrists against the steering wheel, hanging my head down, trying to work out what the fuck I’m going to tell Gracie.
A throat clears, and I turn to look at my father, his hands tucked into his pockets and his expression neutral as he watches me. I step out of the truck, leaning against it as my heart pumps erratically.
“I fucked up, Dad.”
“Yeah, you have,” he says, not bothering to sugarcoat it. “What the heck’s going on, Brax?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is it about Paisley?”
My eyes flare, sick of hearing her name. “No. It’s never been about Paisley. I mean, she said something to me on Thanksgiving, but I told her that the past is in the past. This…It’s all on me. I never should have dropped the ball—”
He slashes a hand between us. “It’s not about you dropping the ball, Braxton.
You went through something traumatic, and you didn’t deal with it.
” He props his hands on his hips, shoulders bunched tightly with tension.
“You know how this job works. We lean on each other, and we lean on our support systems. You should have been talking to Gracie about it all, giving her the chance to be there for you. She’s your partner, isn’t she?
” I open my mouth, but he’s still going.
“What if something happened to her? What if the worst thing you could imagine happened to her, and she didn’t say a word to you? ”
“It’s different,” I argue. “I chose this career—”
“And she chose you.” Dad’s staring at me like he doesn’t know me, and that stings.
“You think my marriage to your mother has been all sunshine and rainbows? We lean on each other, Braxton. We share our burdens. You’re choosing to cut Gracie out of something important, and then acting like that doesn’t matter.
” He huffs out a frustrated breath. “Why didn’t you tell her about the accident? ”
“She’s busy—”
“No.”
He cuts me off so quickly that I glare at him. “She’s stressed—”
“No.”
I fall quiet, not knowing what he wants from me, and he looks away, his shoulders sagging.
“Braxton, what the hell are you doing?”
“I’m figuring it out,” I say defensively. “I went to the counselor, and I’m going back. I’m working through my shit, no matter what anyone says. Gracie…She’ll get past this. She will. We will.” If I say the words enough, I might even believe it.
“Christmas is next week,” Dad suddenly says unnecessarily. “You make sure Gracie is here. You get that? You’re not taking that from her as well.”
Pain shoots through my chest as I stare at him. “You’re acting like I did this on purpose.”
He finally looks back at me, his expression one I’ve never seen before. “Didn’t you?”