Chapter 9 Brody #3
“God, I don’t really know what to say here.
This is messy and complicated and probably way above my pay grade.
But I’m asking—please be with Robert. Lay a healing hand on him, Father, and give him strength for whatever comes next.
” My voice suddenly feels raw as I continue.
“And be with Brody. Give him peace. Help him know he’s not alone.
Please, Lord, help both of them know they’re loved.
Even when things are hard. Especially when things are hard. Amen.”
The room feels quiet, still. My eyes feel heavy when I finally open them.
Robert is staring at me, eyes shining.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
“You’re welcome.”
Brody is looking at me with this expression I can’t quite read.
I reach out, thread my fingers through his, and squeeze. You are not alone, Brody Kane.
Another heavy beat passes, and suddenly I remember—
“Oh, the hot chocolate!” I retrieve the mugs I’d set down on the nearby table and hand one to Robert. “I know it’s a little adolescent, but there’s something about hot chocolate. A good warm mug in my hands can make any moment feel bearable.”
Robert looks at the mug with curiosity, turns his gaze back to me, his eyes twinkling. “I can see why Brody was so smitten with you after Barcelona.”
Brody’s head snaps up, no longer focused on his mug of cocoa.
“You are the Chloe from Barcelona, aren’t you?” Robert asks.
“How do you—” I turn to Brody. “How does he know about Barcelona?”
A mortified look washes over Brody’s face. “You know what, Dad? I think it’s time for you to get some rest.” He gives his dad a look as if to add Before you stir up any more trouble.
“Right,” Robert says, apparently taking the hint. “I’m all set here. Why don’t you two get back to your date. I’m sorry I held you up.”
Brody places a hand on my lower back, heat immediately soaking through, and leads us toward the door.
“Good night, Robert. It was really nice to meet you. Get some rest.”
“Thank you, Chloe.”
The house feels quiet, the old floorboards creaking beneath our feet as we move out to the front hall. Brody takes a seat on the carpeted stairs, cupping his mug. I sit down beside him, our shoulders brushing.
“So…” I say, looking into my milky-brown mug. “How is it that your dad knows about me?”
Brody smiles, shaking his head.
“Did ya tell him all about me?” I tease, bumping his shoulder.
“Well, I sort of had to,” he admits. “The only reason I was in Barcelona was to bail him out at the casino, which I was spectacularly late for. Because I was with you.” He finally looks up. Sheepish.
I let out a gasp. “Brody! You left him waiting that whole time?”
“I had to! I was with this amazing girl. Beautiful. Funny. I wasn’t going to pass that up.”
I give his shoulder a little smack, laughing. “You’re terrible.”
Brody is smirking, the hard lines of his face melting away. “I am. But luckily for me, my dad sort of owed me one, so when I told him about the girl whose laugh made me completely forget where I was supposed to be, he gave me a pass for being late.”
He’s really smiling now, his gaze dipping to my lips, and my breath hitches.
“I know I already said it, but I’m really sorry about Barcelona, Chloe.”
My eyes find his, those ocean-storm eyes. Blue, gray, blue again. We could have had something real…“I really thought that night didn’t matter to you. That I didn’t matter.”
“Chloe.” He sets his drink down, turning his body toward me. “You have no idea how much you mattered. I left because my life was a disaster and you deserved better. Not because you didn’t matter.”
He’s leaned in closer, his fingers grazing my chin, tilting my face back to look at him. “I never forgot about you. Not for a single day.”
Vaguely, I’m aware of sirens going off inside my head. Wee-ooo. This is bad.
This is so bad.
Because he’s looking at me like the man I knew in Barcelona. Which is bad in itself, if you’re trying very hard NOT to think about dancing by the fountain. Kissing under the orange trees. Then again…the contract didn’t say I couldn’t think about the kiss.
Except I know without a doubt that I’m looking at him the same way.
“Chloe,” he says again. Softer this time.
His thumb grazes my jaw, sending my brain into a full meltdown.
His gaze drops to my lips again, and he leans in.
And I don’t pull away. In fact, I think you could construe what I’m doing (with my hands apparently moving of their own accord to touch his face) as leaning as well.
His fingers thread through my hair, pulling me closer—
A car horn honks outside.
We both freeze.
Brody blinks. Pulls back slightly. “Who’s that?”
“Jessa.” The words come out breathless. “I texted her to pick me up.”
“Why?”
“Because you should stay here.” I pull back. Put necessary space between us. “With your dad. And maybe it’s not a great idea for me to…” I trail off. The weight of what I’m not saying hangs heavy in the air. “…also stay.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes.
“Chloe—”
“Thank you for tonight. For Barcelona the restaurant. For trusting me with”—I gesture around—“all of this.”
I step down from the stairs, my knees still a little weak, and move toward the door.
He catches my hand. “Wait.”
I stop. Don’t turn around. Can’t turn around.
Because if I look at him, I’m going to kiss him.
And that’s not in the contract.
That’s real.
And real is terrifying.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “For coming. For staying. For praying. For being here when I—” His voice catches. “When I needed someone.”
“Anytime,” I whisper.
The horn honks again.
“I have to go.”
“I know.”
I pull my hand free. Head for the door and run down the front steps to Jessa’s waiting car.
“Drive,” I say the second I’m in the passenger seat.
“Are you okay?”
“Drive first. Questions later.”
She pulls away from the curb. I watch Brody’s house disappear in the side mirror.
We drive in silence for three blocks.
I press my hands to my face, my palm cold against my super-heated skin.
Jessa glances over, does a double-take. “Oh no…”
“Don’t.”
“Do you need me to go over the contract details with you again?”
“Probably.”
“Section Four: No romantic involvement outside of public appearances. Section Seven: Relationship terminates after final wedding event. Absolutely one hundred percent no falling for him allowed.”
“It might be too late,” I whisper.