Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
brOOKS
I watch Briar hurry down the hall and spare only a second for the confused expressions on the women’s faces before I follow her.
She rushes into my bedroom, closing the door behind her.
It clicks shut in my face and I spare another moment, this time longer, not wanting to invade her privacy, but also remembering another time, another life.
Too much.
Too fast.
She’s not used to it.
She’s spent far too much time isolated and alone and the last five years have only exacerbated that.
So, I turn the knob, open the door, and step inside, shutting it behind me.
My gaze searches the room, but it’s like I already know where she’s going to be.
Because my body is turning toward the corner—
And there she is, curled up beneath the blanket.
“Baby,” I murmur, moving over to stand next to her.
I don’t touch her this time, even though my greeting makes her go stiff. And quiet—for a long, long time.
“I’m fine,” she says from beneath the blanket. “Go back to your friends. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Despite the worry gnawing at my bones, speaking to her like this—her voice slightly muffled by the blanket—makes my lips twitch.
“I know you’re fine.”
But I don’t move, just settle on the carpet and lean back against the wall.
She goes quiet again.
I wait.
“If you know I’m fine, then why are you still here?”
“Ouch,” I say lightly, though my amusement just continues to grow.
More still. More quiet.
The blanket lowers enough for me to see those gorgeous blue eyes, the strands of her moonlight hair scattered over her face. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” I slowly reach forward, brush away a lock that’s clinging to her lashes. “Remember that charity event at the house?”
She freezes.
Then her mouth curves and it’s fucking beautiful, that smile. “We really shouldn’t have skipped out on the party.”
“But we had fun.”
“Yeah,” she whispers, eyes drifting from mine and I know her brain is conjuring up the same memories as I am—stealing a bottle of champagne and a couple of trays of hors d’oeuvres and sneaking up into our room.
That had been the first time I’d joined her in that big soaking tub.
But it certainly hadn’t been the last.
And by the time the party had broken up, I’d made sure every part of her body was thoroughly clean.
And she’d done the same for me.
“I thought someone would have missed us.”
“Nah, they were all wrapped up in their own conversations.” I wink. “Plus, Dolores was discreet—she probably shuffled everyone out the door the moment you started screaming my name.”
“I did not!”
“Only because I muffled your moans with my hand.”
She glares at me then shakes her head, her smile just beginning to tip up the edges of her mouth. “Maybe you’re right.” A beat. “Does Dolores still work for you?”
I shake my head. “She retired a few months back, but recommended her niece, River, to take over. She’s great.” I waggle my brows. “And she knows all of her aunt’s secret recipes.”
“Win-win.”
I nod.
Her sigh is soft, thoughts returning to the past. “That was a good night.”
“One of the best.”
The silence stretches and I watch her face change, her eyes clouding with the same knowledge I’m feeling—that it was one of the best…and one of the last. “Don’t,” I rasp.
She doesn’t pretend to not know what I mean. “We can’t go back to the people we were then.”
“I know.”
“And you don’t know me, not really, not anymore. Same as I don’t know the person you are now. We’ve changed and too much time has passed and…we can’t go back, can’t pretend it didn’t happen.” Her voice drops to almost a whisper. “As much as we both wish that things might have been different.”
“We don’t need to go back.” I pick up another strand of hair, lightly rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. Still so damned soft. “We just need to move forward.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Do you know that I kept the beanie you left behind the other night?”
Her brows drag together and she tilts her head to the side.
I get up, move to the nightstand, and open the drawer, pulling out the knit cap.
“Brooks,” she whispers.
I bring it back over. “I saw your hair and part of me knew. But I couldn’t accept it was you. Then I woke up with the hat in my hand, smelled you on the fabric, and I hoped. Now you’re here. Now we have this chance.” My heart starts thudding against my ribcage so damned hard I can barely breathe.
Something that becomes even harder to do when she shakes her head. “Too much time has passed. I…I want you to be safe, to not have these people messing with your life and I’ll do what I can to make sure that happens.”
“And you?” I ask, the question almost garbled from the rage that’s threatening to boil over. “What about you?”
“You said it yourself. I’m a survivor.” She shrugs. “I’ll be good. Speaking of which”—she pushes the blanket back and starts to sit up—“we should get back out there.”
“You’re just giving up?” I ask, not retreating.
Especially when her movements mean that she’s suddenly left mere inches between our bodies.
“I’m not giving up. I’ll stay until this is over, won’t do anything to upset Pascal’s investigation, especially when it might mean I can be free of…
” She wavers here, throat working before she exhales and lifts her chin.
“Especially if it means I can be free of it all, can make my own choices, live my own life for the first time.”
The without you part is unspoken.
But I still hear it loud and clear.
“And what if you could have that and still have me,” I murmur. “Still have us?”
She exhales, shakes her head. “Brooks,” she says and her voice is gentle—gentle enough to wound. “That time is over for us.”
“Is it?” I ask.
Her throat works again, and she nods.
But I see enough.
I see the heat in her eyes, the need, the hole inside her that only I can fill.
And yeah, that sounds dirty. But no, I don’t mean it that way.
Not right in this moment, anyway.
“It is,” she says. “There’s nothing between us aside from memories and a current safety crisis. Once that’s solved, you’ll move on and I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” I ask, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.
She stills, throat working again and I can’t miss that her pulse is fluttering at the base of her throat, so fast it’s like her skin is vibrating. “I’ll figure out what my next steps will be.”
“And if I say those next steps will involve me?” I drag my fingers over her jaw, down the column of her throat, lightly brushing her skittering pulse.
“I’d say you’re wrong.”
“You think so?” Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud.
Her chin lifts. “I know so.”
“Hmm.” I draw my finger along one collarbone. Then the other.
“Wh-what?” she asks.
“I think we should test that theory.”
Her eyes go wide. “T-test?”
“Yeah, baby. Test.”
“How are you—?” I lean in and she sucks in a breath, cutting off the rest of her question.
That’s okay, though.
I think we’ve spent more than enough time talking.
For the moment.
Which is why I lean closer and slowly, giving her plenty of time to stop me…
I brush my lips over hers.