Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
brIAR
My head is spinning, my heart breaking with what he’s shared.
Photos.
Letters.
Violations designed to scare, to break down, to separate us.
And it worked.
And…
The sip of hot chocolate sits heavily in my stomach and my head is spinning.
“Can we just…” I tilt my head in the direction of the couch. “…sit down?”
“Yeah, baby.” And just like always—or like almost always, I amend, my mind on that rainy mountaintop, my dress soaked through, my carefully styled hair hanging limply around my face, clinging to my cheeks, the chill seeping into my bones—he gives me what I want.
He walks across the open space, settles on one end of the couch.
Since he forgot it, I snag his beer, bring it with me.
“Thanks,” he murmurs when I hand it to him.
I nod in reply, sit on the other side of the couch, and look at my hot chocolate.
Mostly because I have no idea what to say.
As though sensing that, he fills in the emptiness with exactly what I need.
Not the painful past. Not the vast distance gaping between us.
He gives me something…light.
“You remember Jace’s wife, Marie?”
I nod. Jace had spoken a lot about his wife while we ate pizza (and carefully avoided everything to do with me being back in Brooks’s life and the way it all went so badly before). It was beautiful—the way his face softened, the tone of his voice.
I didn’t even need to listen to his actual words to know how much he loves her.
It’s clear as day.
And it made me ache and rage and…be so damned happy he had her.
That they had each other.
“I remember,” I murmur.
“Want to know how they first got together?”
I nod again and then he’s telling me a story about work rivals and a stolen Lyft and apartments on the same floor, about Marie’s place flooding and Jace winning her over with cookies.
“I love that for him,” I say when he finishes.
His mouth kicks up. “You’ll love her too,” he says.
As though I’m going to meet her.
As though I’m going to slot myself back into his life.
There’s no way.
I can’t let that happen.
“Brooks,” I begin.
He leans over and takes the mug from my hands, sets it on the table. I hadn’t even realized I’d been drinking it.
That it’s empty.
“Come on,” he murmurs after setting it in the sink.
“I need to get home.”
“It’s the middle of the night,” he says gently. “Why don’t you stay in the guest room and go home tomorrow instead?”
It’s tempting.
But I should go.
No. I have to.
Only…I’m so tired and if I go home they can get to me.
They can get to me here too.
They can get to me anywhere.
“Come on,” he says quietly, lightly touching my arm.
And though it’s definitely a mistake, I let him lead me down the hall and into the guest room.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he murmurs, opening one of the doors in the room, showing me a bathroom. “You’re safe here.”
I’m not safe anywhere.
But before I can say that or change my mind, he’s walking out the door, closing it behind him…and the last thing I hear before it clicks shut is,
“I’m just down the hall if you need anything.”
My feet move on their own volition, carrying me across the deeply masculine space and into the bathroom.
I gasp softly.
It’s beautiful—the huge steam shower and the double sinks, plush rugs on the marble floor. The walls are painted the pale blue of an early summer morning and the cabinets are white. The whole space is airy and light and…
“When my chores were done, sometimes I would climb to the top of the hay loft. There was a little window there, dusty and forgotten. One morning, I got the courage to go out on the roof, to wipe it clean, and it was worth it. I would lie there staring up through that window, pretending I was a cloud in the sky, floating away until I was free.”
He’d touched my cheek as he listened, his focus on me and only me.
And the blue on the walls is the exact shade I described.
I exhale, eyes sliding closed.
Hidden memories. Quiet mornings. Slivers of peace.
A man I thought would love me forever.
My eyes peel open and I move to the tub, unable to stop myself from being drawn to the sunken porcelain bath, unable to not I look up.
And feel something deep in my chest hitch.
Because there’s a skylight there.
A place to stockpile hidden peaceful moments with the freedom of the sky overhead.
“Dammit, Brooks.”
I really need to go.
I start to turn away but then my gaze catches on a glass jar sitting in the corner of the tub and I freeze, that damn hitch in my chest making itself known again.
The jar is heavy but the plastic seal has been removed, so I screw off the lid.
Untouched, though the familiar scent of roses and vanilla surrounds me, taking me back to another lifetime, another house.
“I love the way you smell.” He kissed my temple. “No matter what you’re wearing.” A nip to my ear that made me shiver. “Most especially when you’re wearing nothing at all and I’m kneeling between your legs, my mouth—”
I clamped my hand to that dangerous, delicious mouth. “Behave.”
A flick of his tongue to my palm before he peeled my hand free. “That’s what you say now”—his eyes burn into mine—“but later tonight…”
I rolled my eyes, put the jar of body scrub back on the shelf, and started for the front of the store.
“Why aren’t you getting it?” he asked, following me.
“Because it’s stupid expensive,” I said over my shoulder. “And I don’t need it.”
I wasn’t lying back then—I hadn’t needed it.
Brooks took care of me, spoiled me far too much and far too often.
Including that day.
Because when I went up that night to take a bath…
There was a jar on the edge of the tub.
And it was never empty.
It’s been five years since I’ve smelled it.
Five years since I’ve taken a bath.
I couldn’t make myself sink into the small tub in my apartment, the dingy ones at the motels I stayed in.
But tonight I can’t stop myself from reaching for the tap.
And filling the bath with hot, hot water.