by Mia Kayla
“Because it’s easier … it’s easier to give in to the darkness than wake up.” Her voice was so quiet, as though she were only speaking to herself.
In that moment of silence, where my brown eyes locked with her sparkling green ones, I felt close to her. I hadn’t felt a closeness like this with anyone in a long time. I understood her on an intimate level because those were the same exact words I’d almost said before she said it first—that sometimes, it would be easier to just let the darkness swallow you whole.
Chapter 15
Becky
During the weekdays, we fell into the motions of almost domestic bliss, where I made breakfast and he made the girls’ lunches. The other men of the house would file downstairs just as Mary and Sarah were at the table, and we’d have breakfast together, as a family.
Brad and Mason weren’t there often, but they were there enough that when one was missing, it was noticed.
I enjoyed my busy day, but what I looked forward to the most was the evenings … when the house was dark and I’d tiptoe downstairs and Charles would be waiting for me with my glass of water already on my side of the table.
We’d been doing this for the past week. It was like our secret time together, kinda like a date but not really.
Was it crazy that I looked forward to us talking this way, meeting this way, connecting in the darkness?
I slipped into my regular spot, and tonight, there was a ghost of a smile on his face. It was refreshing, and it put me at ease.
“What?” Now, I was smiling like an idiot.
“It’s like we’re sneaking out like teenagers, but we’re really sneaking downstairs to get water.”
“Yeah.” I laughed softly so as not to wake anyone else. “It feels forbidden in the same way, but there is no way we can get in trouble with parents.”
“Did you do that?” he asked, his voice light. “Sneak out of the house?”
My gaze dropped to the table. “No.” I placed the glass to my lips and took a gulp. “If I was missing, no one would look for me. I’ve been on my own since I was fifteen.”
He rubbed at his brow. “You said you were in and out of the foster system.”
I’d given him little tidbits on our evening dates, but I’d never given him the whole story. “I was. But I didn’t stay in the system.” My fingers tapped against the glass. “Let’s just say, my last foster home was a bad experience. Tim … yeah … he was a handsy guy.”
The muscle in his jaw twitched, and his one hand formed a fist on the table.
I shook my head. “It never got that far, but I could imagine it would have if I hadn’t left.”
His whole body stiffened, and it was as though he weren’t breathing.
“Charles … I’m okay.” I placed a hand on his, my thumb massaging the top of his fist. “The things that have happened in my life have made me who I am today—strong, resilient, a fighter.”
His stare flickered to where we were connected and then back up to meet my eyes. “You’re the bravest woman I know.”
If only those words were true. If I were brave, I wouldn’t have run. If I were brave, I would have stayed and fought, and that motherfucker would be in jail.
My gaze went to my glass as I played with a bead of condensation. “I wish I saw myself how you see me.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “And I wish I saw myself how you see me.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that. We were so alike that it was eerie. The difficulty, the tragedy, feeling all alone in the world yet having to be your own strength and getting through it, no matter what.
“Charles Brisken,” I said with a tip of my chin, “I see you how everyone in the world sees you. I see a man who has been through a lot, a man who has seen tragedy that would take the strongest of men down. But you … you stood up and have been fighting since day one. You have the most integrity and strength in any man that I’ve ever met or even heard of. So, take it, own it, and believe it because it’s true.”
He released a full-on breath, and the smile I rarely saw surfaced. “You are good for my ego, Becky.”
“Daddy …” Sarah called from upstairs, and we both jolted from our chairs and rushed to the bottom of the stairs.
A wailing Mary echoed from the second floor.
“Mary wet her bed.”
A second later, Brad appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a crying Mary. One eyebrow quirked up as he took us both in, and he held this expression as though we’d been caught sneaking out—together.
My first foot was on the stairs when Brad held up a hand. “Becky, it’s fine. Mason is already changing and disinfecting her bed. I’m going to get her changed.” He snaked one hand around Sarah’s shoulders, already guiding her to her room. “You guys just … do whatever you guys were doing.” He coughed at the end to cover up a laugh.
“We were getting water,” Charles said matter-of-factly, already making his way upstairs.
I followed right behind him.
Brad was almost to Mary’s room when he said under his breath, “Is that what we’re calling it now … getting water?”
My cheeks warmed at his words.
Charles grunted and took a sleepy, wet Mary from Brad’s arms. “I’ll change her. She’ll sleep with me tonight.”
We watched Charles walk to the far end of the hall and shut the door to his master bedroom.
The side of Brad’s mouth tipped up, and he pointed to me. “And you. Don’t get any ideas.” His voice was playful, typical Brad. “We will not be getting water together. Ever.”
I laughed because out of all the Brisken men, I swore it was Brad who’d been dropped on his head at a young age.
“Can we get coffee though?” I joked.
He furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t even know what that means.” He scratched the back of his neck and tilted his head, assessing me. “If coffee is anything like getting water, then no. But if you mean coffee, coffee, like straight-up coffee, then yeah.”
I yawned and half-laughed, turning to walk toward my wing of the house. “Good night, Brad.”
Charles
Mary was in the grocery cart while I pushed it down the aisle. Becky had two grocery lists in her hand—hers and then there was Mason’s with his organic and gluten-free items.
I’d fallen into this routine with Becky—a comfortable, more than enjoyable routine. It was almost as though we were a family, married. The only difference was, we weren’t together.
I really hadn’t changed the routine we’d had with Patty. I had always helped get the girls’ breakfast and lunches ready in the morning. But there had been a big difference with Patty, the big difference being that I hadn’t been attracted to my former nanny.
I had never really gone grocery shopping with Patty, but here I was, pushing the cart behind Becky, like she was the mother of my child.
Remember when I’d said I didn’t lie to myself? Truth was, this was an unhealthy habit that would end badly.
I’d told myself time and time again, as long as I didn’t cross that line, we’d be fine. But our late-night dates at the dinner table over water and the light brushes of our arms as we prepared the girls’ lunches every morning were barely walking that fine line.
I couldn’t help it. I craved it, this closeness with another human being that wasn’t simply sex, but something more, sweeter … intimate.
She placed a hand on my arm, getting my attention. That gentle gesture had me leaning toward her, taking in the intoxicating smell of her shampoo.
“Brown rice pasta is okay, right? That’s gluten-free.” She lifted the box toward me, quirking an eyebrow.
Mary grabbed it, already placing it in the cart. “Yep. I love pasta.”
I nodded, answering her question, “That’s fine, Becky.”
Her hand remained on my arm as we moved farther down the aisle. A stronger man would have moved away, but I’d learned that, with Becky, any self-control I had would continually get tested.
“You said we could get cookies.” Mary peered up at me with an evident pout and expectation in her eyes.
“It’s the next aisle over. A promise is a promise.” I touched the tip of her nose with my fingertip.
“But I want to go to that aisle now.” She crossed her arms over her chest, pushing out her pouting lip.
“Charles …”
I heard my name being called from a distance, but before I turned around, I already knew who that voice belonged to.
Vivian.
I turned and swallowed, watching her walk stealthily in her four-inch heels. She must have been coming from work because she was in a fitted black skirt suit.
My whole body stiffened as she approached.
The smile on her blood-red lips diminished as she took Becky in.
Becky pulled away from me, dropping her hand that she’d just had on my arm to her side.
“Hey.” Vivian’s voice oozed a sophistication few women had, bred from an elite family, learned and practiced at an Ivy League school.
“Hey, Vivian.”
She had called a few times, but I’d been ignoring her calls, and she never left messages.
It’d been almost a month since I’d seen her, and one thing I wasn’t lying to myself about was that I wasn’t interested in seeing her anymore. I should have broken up with her properly, but my mind had been preoccupied.
“It’s been a while,” Vivian said, her words laced with curiosity.
“Yeah. I’ve been—”
“Busy,” she finished my sentence, her eyes flickering toward Becky. “And you must be Miss Mary.”
She stepped toward the cart and ruffled Mary’s hair. In turn, Mary’s frown deepened.
“Mary, say hi,” I tried to coax her.
“Hi.” She turned her frown to me. “I want my cookies, Daddy.” She wiggled in the cart, patience running thin.
“And we will get them,” I answered her.
Vivian extended a manicured hand to Becky. “And you are …”
Becky smiled politely, shaking her hand. “I’m Becky.”
“Nice to meet you.” She paused, examining Becky with a look of disdain from her blonde hair pulled high into a ponytail to her long-sleeved gray crew shirt, to her jeans, to her gym shoes. “So, you must be Charles’s …”
“Nanny,” Becky said, her tone defensive and sharp. “I’m the girls’ new nanny.”
“Oh.” Vivian nodded, her arms lightly crossed against her chest. She pointed to me first and then to Becky. “So, you two are …”
I gripped Vivian’s elbow and pulled her farther down the aisle, momentarily leaving Becky and Mary. This was so out of Vivian’s character—catty, jealous. It wasn’t in her.
“What’s going on here, Viv?” I kept my voice discreet.
She swallowed and reeled back. “No, Charles.” She pushed a finger into my chest, getting into my face. “Do not put this on me. I know what this is and have never pretended it to be anything more. You are not one to bullshit me. Until now.”
I blinked. “Bullshit?”
“Is this how we’re going to end? No phone call? No conversation? Ghosted like we’re in high school?” She tsked. “I thought you were better than that. I can handle the truth.” She placed one heavy hand on her chest. “Of all women, you know I can handle the truth very damn well. All I need is a little respect and straight-up honesty.”
I exhaled a heavy sigh. She was right. I wanted to tell her I had been preoccupied with other things—Patty leaving, Becky settling in. I had meant to call her back. I wasn’t afraid of confrontation. In my line of business, confrontation happened daily. I’d hurt her when that was the last thing I’d wanted to do.
She shook her head condescendingly. “I wasn’t important enough to call. That’s what it comes down to.”
“Vivian …”
When I gripped her wrist, her eyes narrowed, and she shrugged me off.
“I know we’re just fuck buddies.” Her tone was low and menacing. “But the least you could have done was called me to tell me that you were now fucking the nanny instead.” She spat out the words, hard and low, as though she wanted them to hit me.
My eyes narrowed. “I’m not—”
“Shut up, Charles. If you’re not now, you will be soon. I see the way you look at her. I’m not stupid.” She straightened and adjusted her suit jacket. After pushing her hair back, she composed herself, stone-faced but pleasant, as though seconds ago hadn’t just happened. “Have a nice life, Charles.”
“Vivian, I’m sorry. I never meant—”
“Shut up, Charles. It’s a little too late for any of that.”
I blew out a breath and ran both hands through my hair, watching her walk away.
That had needed to end a long time ago. I had known it’d eventually end, but I hadn’t expected it to end this badly.
Chapter 16
Becky
After the grocery store, we drove home in silence. The only sounds in the car were of Mary singing “Old MacDonald” and her happily chomping on her cookies like the cookie-monster champ she was.
I hadn’t asked Charles about Vivian. I had no right to his past or his current life that had to do with anything other than the kids. What he did with whoever he did it with was not my concern.
But, boy, had my heart sunk when I saw her. She was beautiful with her Pantene-slick, dark hair, her olive skin, and tall, slim figure that only belonged to models. And when Charles leaned into her and placed his hand on her wrist, I couldn’t take any more. I’d about-faced and walked Mary toward the other aisle to get cookies. I didn’t know why I had assumed Charles was single.
Maybe it was because, for the past few weeks, when he wasn’t at work, he was home with the girls.
He didn’t have people calling him other than his secretary and his brothers.
For the most part, his life was chill, laid-back, and routine.
But I should have known better. He was a good-looking man, who exhibited strength and a force like a god. Above that, he had a kind heart. Every sane, single woman in the vicinity was probably calling on him, and I didn’t even know it.
He didn’t owe me an explanation, and I wasn’t going to ask. So, I hadn’t expected him to shut the fridge after we emptied the groceries and corner me. His hand was heavy on the stainless steel as he towered over me, my back against the fridge.
He was so close that I could smell the mint on his lips, and his chest was only inches from my face.
“Vivian is someone I used to have relations with, but that’s done. It wasn’t anything serious, and it’s over.”
I pressed a hand to his chest to stop him from speaking further. “Charles, you don’t owe me an explanation.”
His heartbeat picked up speed underneath my palm, and the heat from his body radiated off of him in waves. “I know.” He held my gaze, and then his stare flickered to my lips. “But this is me. I don’t have the mental energy to let things fester, and not telling you bothered me all the way here.”
He was so damn beautiful; it hurt to look up at him. My next words came out as a breathless whisper. “But why?”
He let out a shaky breath, and his eyebrows furrowed, as though my question confused him. “I … I don’t know why.” He sounded lost, his voice soft, vulnerable even.
When someone cleared their throat, we peered up.
It was Brad, smirking, walking in with Mary. He raised both hands. “You guys getting water? Okaaayyy,” he drawled out.
He turned and was about to walk out of the room when Mary charged toward us, encompassing both of us in an embrace, forcing me and Charles even closer together. “Bubble of love,” she squealed.
My eyes met Charles’s, and he picked up Mary and squeezed her into him. “Two or more people in a hug is a love bubble,” Charles said almost apologetically, answering my unasked question. After he placed her on her feet, he patted her back. “Go get washed up. Dinner will be ready soon.”
/> We’d picked up a pizza on our way back because Mary had begged for it, so luckily, it was ready on the kitchen island.
I still didn’t know what had transpired at the fridge, but all I knew was that my cheeks were on fire, and I most likely looked like a red chili pepper.
“Let me go get Sarah,” I said, practically running out of the room, up the stairs, and into the bathroom.
I was right. My cheeks were red, as though I had applied too much blush and not stopped. After turning the faucet on, I ran my hands under the cold water and splashed my face. What I really needed was a cold shower.
It seemed as though I needed one frequently around Charles. I might as well prune up and stand under the cold water indefinitely.
That night, it wasn’t my cries that woke me; it was that of a young girl. My nightmare hadn’t taken me under because I wasn’t fully asleep yet. When I registered Mary crying, I jolted from my bed and ran to her room. Usually, Brad would be in there, consoling her, as his room was closest to Mary’s, but he’d gone out, and he wasn’t home yet.
I opened her room, and the night-light shone on her face. “Mary … did you wet your bed?”
Her answer was a muffled, “No.”
When she stretched her arm toward me, I padded over and sat at the edge of her bed. Pushing her hair from her face, I said, “What’s the matter?”
“There was this ghost, and he had teeth and a wand and a crown.” Her words came out in short, broken puffs.
“Aww … come here.” I crawled on the bed, resting my back against the headboard, and pulled her against my chest, rocking her in my arms. “I know all about nightmares.” My fingers threaded through her light-blonde locks. “But this is the thing—nightmares aren’t real.”
She peered up at me with her electric-blue eyes, eyes that were Natalie’s. The rest of the Briskens held dominant brown ones.
“But, Becky … they seemed so real.”
I pulled her closer and cupped her cheek. “They always do, honey.” I knew this statement on a personal level, more than anyone. “When I was younger, you know what I did when I was scared?”