by Lexi Ryan
“Brayden, would you come down here and cut the ham?” Kathleen calls up the stairs.
“Be right down,” he says, not taking his eyes off me. “Just give me a shout if you need anything, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Oh, and this box wasn’t labeled. Where do you want it?” He pulls open the flaps of the box he set on the bed when he entered. “Looks like there are some washcloths in here. And . . .” He lifts a stack of washcloths and peers at the contents beneath. His eyes go wide. “Oh.”
The moment my brain registers what box he’s looking at, I lunge for him and smack a hand over his eyes. I intentionally put that box in my car, separate from the others. And I forgot.
Brayden’s chest rumbles with laughter, and I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
Brayden Jackson just saw my entire vibrator collection.
He gently pulls my hand away, revealing eyes full of mischief.
I squeak. “Don’t look in that box again.”
His lips twitch. “But I really, really want to.”
I point a finger at him. “Don’t you dare.”
He presses his lips into a thin line, amusement dancing in his eyes. Then, as if he can’t help himself, he asks, “Are they all pink?”
“Shut up!” My cheeks are on fire.
His voice is the softest caress of a whisper when he says, “Molly, your cheeks are almost as pink as your vibrators.”
I smack both hands against his chest. “You did not just say that word!”
“Vibrators?” He grins. Not one of his smirks or half smiles, but a grin, and damn me and my stupid chemical attraction to this man, because it makes me want to slam the bedroom door closed and climb him like a tree. “If you don’t like the word, why do you have—”
I throw my hand over his mouth. “Don’t say it. We agreed we’d keep our relationship professional—that’s what we both wanted. So don’t say it. Don’t even think about it.” Then, because I realize his lips are pressed to my palm and it reminds me too much of our night in New York when his lips were everywhere, I back away.
The warm amusement in his eyes turns to heat. “First of all,” he says, his voice like silky steel, “those were your rules, not mine. I agreed for you, not because that’s what I want.” He drags his gaze over me, and my heart pounds so fast it feels like a hummingbird’s trying to escape my chest. “Second, even if I tried not to think about you using your little collection of pink toys, I’d fail miserably.” He dips his head, and I can feel his breath against my ear as he says, “I’m already thinking about it, and I will be for a long time yet.”
I swallow and try to ignore the heat pooling low in my belly, dipping lower. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
With a shrug that seems to say too bad, he winks at me and leaves my room.
As soon as he goes, I press my hands to my hot cheeks.
I take the box and hide it in the back corner of the closet, but I can’t stop thinking about the way Brayden looked at me, about his words. “I agreed for you, not because that’s what I want.”
What does that mean? Just yesterday, he was telling his brother he thought I was broken, but now he wants more from me? I don’t understand what he feels about me, but something tells me that trying to figure it out will put me in dangerous territory.
Mom’s on her way over with Noah, so I push my embarrassment and confusion to the side, head up to the attic loft, and put Noah’s Batman bedding on the bottom bunk. I make the bed and line his favorite stuffed animals up along the wall. The second I hear his happy screech of delight, I grin and rush to the stairs.
Noah’s already on his way up. “I want to see my room!” he shouts as he flies past me.
I let him go and smile at my mom, who’s making her way up behind him. “He certainly has a lot of energy,” she says, pride in every word.
“How was he last night?”
“Perfect, of course.”
I snort. Noah could be a holy terror, and Mom would still think he was perfect. I’m so grateful for that. For her unwavering adoration of her grandson. “Did he sleep through the night?”
“He got up around three for a drink and then went right back to bed. This morning, he helped me make muffins and ate three while they were still piping hot.” She glances down the hall toward my bedroom. “It’s nice of your boss to let you stay here.”
“It is.” Please don’t ask if this means something more. Please don’t make me talk about my feelings for Brayden.
“I’ll find a bigger house,” she says, surprising me. “As soon as everything’s settled with Nelson’s estate.” Her calm expression falters when my stepfather’s name passes her lips, and my breath catches and my eyes burn.
Originally, I planned to keep what her husband did to me a secret forever. I never wanted her to know about those years of feeling dirty and scared and ashamed—as if the abuse was somehow my fault. As if it was my fault when he raped me again, years after I thought I’d escaped him for good.
“I’ll find somewhere to live where you and Noah can come any time,” she says, her voice trembling. “I should have gotten a place of my own years ago.” Her eyes fill with tears, and I wish again that I could have saved her from the heartache of the truth. “I never want to fail you again,” she whispers, and the words tug on a loose thread inside me, unraveling emotions I keep locked up tight.
This has been such a hard year. My stepfather disappeared and was murdered—his dirty business dealings finally came back to get him. My stepbrother, Colton, was the prime suspect in the investigation, and as a result, I found myself coming forward and admitting that my stepfather sexually abused me for years.
As a teenager, I kept busy so I wouldn’t have to be close to him. If I wasn’t at a sporting event or volunteering with one of my groups, I was at a party like the one Brayden rescued me from that night—drinking and trying to prove my worth by giving myself to any guy who slid a compliment my way. When I left for college, I did everything I could to never return to Nelson’s house. I took internships and school trips and shitty summer jobs—anything to keep myself out of my stepfather’s reach. But the summer I graduated from college, I came home before starting graduate school, and one night he got drunk and held me down.
For almost five years, I hid the results of that night from everyone in Jackson Harbor but my mother. But even though my mother knew I was pregnant, she didn’t know the child was Nelson’s until last month. Before then, I’d let her believe Noah was the result of a drunken night between me and Colton, and she believed I was keeping Noah a secret in order to shield my child from Colton’s addictions. I spent years lying to her and hiding from everyone else, just to protect her.
My eyes burn and my throat thickens. I squeeze her arm. “It wasn’t your fault, Mom.”
She opens her mouth to reply and is cut off by the sound of tiny feet racing down the attic stairs.
Noah darts around the corner and grabs his nana’s arm. “Come see my room!”
“Your temporary room,” I remind him. “We’re only visiting. Not staying forever.”
He ignores me and drags his nana up the stairs. Mom shoots me a smile over her shoulder as she goes.
With Noah occupied, I decide to use the time to unpack my room, but I don’t even get through the door before Shay is at the foot of the stairs, shouting at me to come down and join them for lunch.
“Be right there,” I call.
I head up the stairs to the attic. Mom is sitting in the middle of the floor with Noah, her legs crossed under her as she watches her grandson play. “Noah? Let’s go have some lunch.”
“I’m not hungry!” he says, his eyes on the Power Ranger he’s flying through the air.
I smile, knowing I hold the trump card. “I saw cinnamon rolls down there.”
Noah drops the Power Ranger and races out the door and down the stairs. Mom and I laugh and follow.
“Would you like to stay?” I ask her as we rea
ch the bottom of the stairs.
She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“The Jacksons always say there’s room for everyone.”
She pulls me into a hug. “That’s sweet, honey, but I need to run some errands. I’ll see you soon.”
I hug her back and kiss her cheek before pulling away.
Ava joins us in the foyer. “Are you leaving already, Jill?”
My mom nods at her stepdaughter before embracing her. “I’ll stay another time,” she promises. When she pulls back, her eyes are on Ava’s growing belly. “You look great. Are you feeling okay?”
“I feel great.”
“Mom!” Noah shouts from the kitchen. “Can I have two cinnamon rolls?”
I point at my mom before she can tell him yes. “Don’t you dare,” I whisper, then call to my sugar-holic son, “Only one!”
Mom laughs. “Love you both,” she says to Ava and me before heading out the door.
Ava leads the way to the kitchen, where Jake is helping Noah fill his plate with food from the massive spread. I knew the Jacksons would do their typical family Sunday brunch after the move, but I thought they might do something simple, since they were busy all morning. Instead, they’ve prepared a feast. The kitchen peninsula is crowded with dishes: cinnamon rolls, fruit salad, hash brown casserole, ham, eggs, sausage, and enough bacon to feed an army.
I think I must be gaping, because Shay laughs. “We’re gluttons on Sundays,” she says. “You get used to it.”
“More bacon,” Noah tells Jake, who’s already put two pieces on my child’s plate.
Jake musses his hair before adding another two pieces. “That’s my kind of kid.”
Noah heads to the dining room with his plate and takes a seat beside Ethan’s daughter, Lilly.
Jake hands me a plate. “Since this is your first Jackson family brunch, you’re required to stuff yourself until you feel mildly nauseated.”
I arch a brow and open my mouth to protest, but across the room, Nic shouts, “It’s tradition.”
“Well, who am I to buck tradition?” I fill my plate and follow the Jacksons to the massive dining room table. Within seconds, everyone is eating and talking. Noah’s smile grows and grows.
He’s never had this—a meal with a big, happy family like this. Until six months ago, the only family he knew aside from me was my mother, and she didn’t get to see him very often because I lived so far away. Now I’ve told everyone about my son and why I had to keep him a secret.
Even as my heart aches that I couldn’t give him this big family experience myself, I know I’ll never stop feeling grateful for the Jacksons for showing him what family should be.
“Come on,” Jake says, waving a plate of cookies in my face. “You have to try these.”
“They’re his best cookies,” Ava says.
They smell so good my mouth waters, but I just finished a big brunch-style lunch, and I don’t need to heap on the calories from one of Jake’s decadent cookies. I pat my stomach. “Did you know that in the few months I worked as a sales manager, I gained ten pounds? I still haven’t gotten that weight off.”
Carter looks me over. “You look fine to me.”
My cheeks heat, not because of Carter’s innocent approval, but because of the way his words make Brayden’s jaw twitch, something like a warning flaring in his eyes as he turns to his brother. It’s not the first time Carter has given me a compliment, only to have Brayden tense. Is it jealousy, or does he not want his brother involved with someone as broken as me?
“He means you’re curvy in a hot way,” Shay says. “Lucky bitch.”
I laugh. “Nevertheless, I have a perfectly lovely wardrobe, and half of it currently doesn’t fit me. I’d rather lose the weight than buy new clothes.”
“Why don’t you come work out with us?” Carter says.
“Don’t do it!” Shay’s eyes are wide, and she shakes her head vehemently. “It’s a trap!”
Carter chuckles. “It’s no trap. My brothers and I like to work out together. It’s all in the name of good health.”
Shay snorts. “They treat their workouts like competitions. They think they’re professional CrossFit athletes or something.”
“It makes what would otherwise be a tedious hour in the gym a good time,” Jake says. “Come on. Join us.”
I turn to Shay. “It can’t be that bad.”
She folds her arms. “It’s your funeral. The last and only time I worked out with them, I couldn’t walk down stairs for a week. I had to grip the handrail like a ninety-year-old woman. And sitting on the toilet to pee? Lord help me.”
Carter bites back a smile, but Brayden looks at me with a cocked brow. “What do you say? Join us?”
I hesitate. I didn’t realize Brayden works out with his brothers. I always imagined him working out alone for some reason—maybe because he’s so private about everything else in his life—but backing out now will make it look like I’m avoiding him. “You wouldn’t mind?” I ask Brayden. He sees me at work, got stuck giving me a place to stay, and now he can’t even work out without facing poor, broken Molly.
But Brayden shrugs as if it’s nothing. As if he didn’t tell Ethan how much he regrets hiring me. “I think it’s a good idea. Just ease in slowly so you don’t hurt yourself.”
“When do we start?”
Carter grins. “Can you meet us at the gym at eight tomorrow morning?”
I nod. “Sure. I’ll come after dropping Noah off at preschool.” I turn to Shay. “Will you come with me? Please?”
“No. Just . . .” Shay wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “No. And when you can’t walk in two days, don’t come crying to me.”
Molly
Shay was right. Working out with her brothers was a terrible idea, and my Monday morning started with fifteen minutes of utter hell. Only fifteen minutes, I thought when they described the workout. How bad can it be?
I drop the barbell and collapse to the floor. My lungs are on fire, and every muscle in my body is screaming at me about my bad decisions.
Note to self: You can die in less than fifteen minutes. And I’m pretty sure I almost did.
“Are you okay?”
I open my eyes and find Carter grinning at me. I would scowl, but even my face hurts. “Do I look okay?”
He hands me my water bottle and chuckles softly. “You did great.”
“Don’t condescend to me,” I mutter, pushing up. “You guys did way heavier weights and twice as many reps.”
“We’ve been working out like this for a while,” Jake says from his spot across the room. I feel a little better when I see he’s on the floor too. He’s lounging against the wall, chest heaving as he catches his breath. Brayden and Levi are already wiping down our barbells, like they just went for a light jog or something. “I promise, when we first started, we weren’t going this heavy or moving this fast.”
Shay was right. The brothers are competitive. And they all pushed to beat each other in the workout, trying to get the most repetitions, but Levi ultimately won today. If the quivering in my legs is any indication, I’m guessing she was right about the other part too, and I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.
Groaning, I push myself off the floor. “You’re all evil. I hope you know that.” I sense Brayden watching me but avoid his gaze. I’ve been avoiding him since I moved in yesterday. It was easy enough to do, since I had to unpack last night, but tonight I might not have an excuse. “I need to go shower,” I say to no one in particular.
“Will you be here tomorrow morning?” Carter asks.
I’m not even sure I’ll be able to get out of bed tomorrow morning, but I say, “Wouldn’t miss it.” I turn into the back hallway and am pushing into the locker room when Brayden calls my name.
He hands me a towel.
If my heart weren’t still racing from that torture they call a workout, it would speed up at the sight of him—shirtless and sweaty, his athletic shorts hanging low eno
ugh to reveal the indent of muscle by his hipbones.
I mutter a thanks for the towel and pull my gaze away. He thinks you’re broken. Everything he does for you is out of pity.
The reminder makes me nauseated. Or maybe I have the workout to thank for that.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m not dead, so that’s something.”
He runs his gaze over me—quick, assessing—and I’m glad he can’t see just how much my quads are burning right now. My pride couldn’t handle it. “I told you to take it slow.”
I shrug. “I’m fine. You don’t need to protect me.”
He narrows his eyes, but I push through the locker room door before he can say anything else.
Brayden
Ralston & Taylor Investments is two blocks down from Jackson Brews. Far too convenient for me to pass up the opportunity to apologize to Jason Ralston on Monday morning. Unfortunately.
I don’t want to apologize for shit. When Jason arrived at the party on Saturday night, Molly was already drunk, and whether she willingly climbed into the backseat of his BMW seems like a moot point. Drunk women can’t consent. My father taught me that before I ever had a sip of alcohol. Sure, those lines get a little blurry when you’re dating or when you’ve been drinking too—hello, night in New York—but it’s a rule of thumb I’ve stuck by, and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to judge this asshole for not giving it a second thought, for plying her with more beer when I already warned him she was drunk, then for taking her to the back of his car in a cold parking lot, of all places.
Molly might not know she deserves better, but I do, and I’m going to make sure Ralston knows too.
Molly’s been distant, and my reaction with Jason is no doubt part of the problem. I’ll apologize for her sake. If that means we still have our new investor, that’s just an added bonus.
The receptionist beams at me as I walk through the front entrance. “Good morning. How can I help you today?”
“Good morning. I’m here to see Jason Ralston.”