Quiet Protector: Brandon's Story

by Shandi Boyes

  As I struggled to work through the debilitating weight Grayson’s call had placed on my chest, truth after truth smacked into me.

  I lost my parents.

  So did Brandon.

  They weren’t his biological parents, but they were his family.

  I was forced to attend a college I didn’t want to attend.

  So was Brandon.

  Browns was our first pick, but he didn’t want to go without me. I forced him to.

  I was victimized by Madden.

  So was Brandon.

  He trusted his brother. He believed I was safe around him.

  Can you blame him?

  He could have never predicted what would happen. I was cautious of Madden, yet I still struggle comprehending why he took it as far as he did.

  Brandon lost his brother.

  So did I.

  Once again, blood isn’t thicker than water.

  There’s only one thing we didn’t experience together.

  Brandon lost me.

  I never lost him.

  I tried to replace him. I tried to live without him, but I never truly lost him. He was always there, protecting my six as he’d been taught, but while he was doing that, who was protecting him?

  Could you imagine going through everything Brandon has been through the past eight years and not having anyone there to support and comfort you? I tried, but in all honesty, I only ever saw things from my side.

  That was wrong of me. So very wrong.

  Brandon pledged to protect me. He vowed to keep me safe, but he wasn’t the only one who made that pledge.

  So did I.

  It was before the crazy butterflies started taking flight in my stomach. Before friends’ prolonged gawks made my skin green with jealousy. And long before we made things official in a way that was remarkably mature for how young we were.

  We were only eight when we said our vows, but the words I spoke that day were the most honest I’ve ever spoken. Brandon was my friend, my light, my everything before he was ever my boyfriend. So, although my ego was bruised and my confidence faltered, for once in my life in that dark, cold room, I remembered the pledges I had made to Brandon instead of the ones he’d made to me.

  He needs me. There’s no doubt about that. If that’s only as a friend, I’m okay with that. Our relationship was perfect before we became boyfriend and girlfriend, and it will be perfect years after.

  I’ll make sure of it because my parents didn’t just teach me how to be strong, they showed me what love really looks like. It is ugly, it is messy, and it can be cruel, but if it is given to the right person, it can be the most fulfilling thing you’ll ever do in your life.

  38

  Melody

  I prick my ears to ensure Brandon is still in the shower before pacing to the front door of his apartment to see who’s knocking. I won’t lie, my steps are sluggish and weighed down even with our intervention being staged a little over five weeks ago. The first night was the hardest. It was rough pushing Brandon over the edge instead of guiding him off the ledge, but Grayson and I didn’t have much choice. If we didn’t force Brandon to crack, we may have lost the chance to piece him back together.

  I was never going to let that happen.

  Not in a million years.

  I had wondered during our days at the ranch if Brandon was depressed. He was more reserved than usual and somewhat withdrawn. Since he was an adult instead of the teen I once knew, I blamed the seven-year gap in our friendship for not being able to read him as I once could. In reality, I was scared. Scared of pushing him away, scared of being alone, and scared to face the truth that I still loved the man whose brother raped me.

  The last revelation was the hardest for me to overcome. I took Brandon’s rejection personally instead of assessing what it was really about. He wasn’t rejecting me, his head wasn’t even in the room with us that night. He was rejecting the pain eating him whole, swallowing it down as he had been taught.

  My dad was a brilliant, protective man, but he had his faults. Teaching Brandon and me to bottle up our emotions was one of his downfalls. He taught us it’s okay to be brave, to fight for what we believe in, and never give up no matter how bad the odds, but he didn’t tell us it’s okay to cry, to ask for help, and to admit when you’re drowning.

  Thank God the love my mother showered my father with ensured I learned those things without extensive training. My father believed he had hurt her, he took blame for what had happened to her, yet she loved him with everything she had. She never blamed him, not once. She loved him unconditionally as I do Brandon. That’s why it wouldn’t have mattered how rough it got, I bunkered down for the long haul, and I’ll continue being here for as long as Brandon needs me.

  When I peek through the peephole in Brandon’s front door, my heart flutters out an extra beat. Grayson is standing on the other side. His visits have been scarce the past five weeks. He hasn’t gone back undercover. I just asked him and Phillipa to steer clear of Brandon’s apartment until I could work my magic. I didn’t know at the time exactly what my magic would entail. I just knew Brandon well enough to know he’d rather it occur without an audience.

  We’ve done pretty much nothing the past five weeks. We ate in every night, watched movies, we even recommenced our Monopoly championship. It still caused us to snicker at each other as we did in the footage my dad captured of us when we were seven. It wouldn’t be so bad if Brandon didn’t always buy-up Boardwalk and Park Place. Without fail, I land on the damn things every time I circle the board.

  When we were kids, our game always ended with me tossing up the board and storming off to sulk. Although my dramatics weren’t quite as bad this time around, I’m ashamed to admit the sulk-fest still occurred.

  It wasn’t all bad. That night was the first time Brandon laughed in almost a week. It wasn’t his full-hearted laugh, and it was quickly killed by Dr. Avery, Brandon’s counselor, doing a house call to check up on him, but it was perfect.

  I don’t know if it was the words Dr. Avery spoke during their forty-five-minute session, or the fact Brandon accepted my offer to stop sleeping on the couch by sharing his humongous bed, but whatever it was, things changed for us that night. We still act as if the other has cooties when we stuff pillows between us, but the tension that was there the first night all but eradicated last night.

  This morning, I woke up with my leg hooked around Brandon’s waist and his fingers knitted in my hair. It honestly killed me untangling myself from the web we had weaved throughout the night, but I did it. Barely.

  I didn’t have much choice. I can’t issue Brandon a no-intimacy clause to our friendship then hump his leg in the middle of the night. That’s just asking for trouble.

  For me, not Brandon. He was a remarkable boy, but he’s an even more remarkable man. I can see why Phillipa has developed a crush on him. He’s impossible not to love.

  I stop listening to the voice in my head telling me a true friend would give Phillipa her blessing when Grayson waves his hand in front of my face, drawing me from my somber thoughts. “You with me, Melody? You seem to have spaced out.”

  “Sorry, I’m here. Long night.” When Grayson purses his lips, I backhand him in the chest. “Not like that.” I’m tempted to hit him for the second time when his smile grows at the disappointment in my tone. “Are you here for a reason, Grayson? Or just to stir me?”

  “I had come for a purpose, but I’m kinda thinking I should stick to teasing. I thought BJ was the only one whose face lit up like a Christmas tree when he was embarrassed.” After tracking his fingers down my bloomed cheek, he mutters, “My bad.”

  I whack him in the stomach for the second time before dragging him into the entryway. I’m in a nightie, so I don’t want Brandon’s neighbors seeing me in a state of undress.

  With Brandon’s fireplace keeping his apartment super cozy, Grayson slips out of his jacket before tossing it over one of the chairs in the dining room. His face reveals he wants the
details on why we’re keeping things super warm, but with the removal of his coat announcing why he’s arrived here at eight in the morning, he’s interrogation will have to wait.

  “You found it?” I pace closer to the silver box Grayson placed onto the dining room table a second after removing his coat. It’s the time capsule Brandon and I buried years ago. It’s covered with red dirt and has rusted a little, but the initials my dad engraved on the top ensures it will never be mistaken.

  “Yep.” The ‘P’ pops from Grayson’s mouth. “It was exactly where you said it would be. Right under the tree you got married in front of.”

  As I lift one of my mom’s old jewelry boxes into my hand, tears well in my eyes. “Did you open it?”

  A pfft noise vibrates Grayson’s lips. “Do I look like a nosy-body?” When I arch my brow, he rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I didn’t snoop.” A smile stretches across my face when he mumbles under his breath, “The damn thing is locked.”

  His reply is as humorous as it is disappointing. “I forgot it was locked. I don’t have the key here.”

  Grayson offers to jimmy the lock at the same time a third person joins our conversation. “I do.”

  When Brandon walks out of his room, drying his soaking-wet hair with a towel, my eyes drop to take in the generous ridges of his body not covered by his sweatpants. This is the exact reason my steps are sluggish and slow. It has nothing to do with the minimal sleep schedule we’ve been working the past five weeks, and everything to do with how many times I’ve pressed my thighs together. Just like when he was a teen, Brandon’s body is divine. No amount of ogling will ever have me grow tired of eyeballing it.

  Furthermore, the last time his abs contracted and released while he paced my way was the first night we slept together. That night was painful, but it was also beautiful. It has highlighted my dreams many times the past eight years.

  While lifting my jaw back to its rightful spot, Grayson lets out a chuckle. “Now I understand why the fire is over-stacked.” I pout like a child when he tosses his coat to Brandon. “Put a shirt on, punk. Your girl is about to get drool on my shoes.”

  I’m about to lay into him for the third time in the past five minutes, but Brandon’s laugh stops me. It’s an exquisite thing to hear even with the appreciation of its arrival being shared between Grayson and me. However, the fact he doesn’t deny that I’m his girl may be even more beautiful.

  Once Brandon’s laughter settles down, he dumps Grayson’s jacket onto the dining room table, presses his lips to my temple, then paces to a safe hidden behind a torn painting. I don’t know what happened to his pricy artwork and the glass that once wrapped around his fireplace. My emotions have been too high to ask—even more so when he removes a shoebox from inside his safe. It’s our shoebox. The one we stored all the precious things we refused to bury in the ground in case they got lost.

  When Grayson spots the tears welling in my eyes, he takes them as his queue to leave. “I’m out.” He throws his arm around Brandon’s shoulders to give him a quick man-hug before he makes a beeline for the door. “Call me when you’re ready to dive back in, punk. I’ve got a few cases lined up for you.”

  He’s out the door before Brandon can reply. It’s for the best. Brandon’s mindset isn’t ready for the slaughtering the Bureau will hit it with. I’m sure he’ll get there one day, just not today.

  When Brandon stuffs the bent key from the bottom of our shoebox of treasures into the time capsule’s lock, I curl my hand over his. “Breakfast first. You haven’t eaten since dinner.” He almost argues with me, but my quick, snapped comment stops him. “Peanut butter directly out of the jar doesn’t count as a meal, BJ.”

  My steps into the kitchen wobble when he mumbles, “That’s not what you said that night in your dorm,” but I pretend not to hear him because as much as this sucks to admit, he’s not ready for that stage of our friendship yet either.

  “What do you want? Pancakes, eggs…” I roll my eyes when his light up. “Peanut butter on toast it is.”

  Several hours later, I snuggle into Brandon’s side before burrowing my head into his neck. I have my consumed Ring Pop candy ring on the finger where a real engagement ring once sat, my favorite scrunchie wrapped around my wrist, and the love letter I wrote Brandon is resting on his coffee table next to our ‘marriage certificate.’

  Brandon read my love letter, smiled, then read it again. It’s the biggest fluff piece you could possibly imagine, but give me a break, I was ten and convinced Brandon was going to divorce me so he could marry my mom. I would have said anything to convince him to stay married to me. I even agreed to ride Socks, who, in case you’re wondering, is still at the ranch.

  It wasn’t just Kwan’s dropped lip when Socks was loaded in his new owners’ horse trailer that caused my change of heart, it was remembering how Brandon pledged to help me clean the horse stall every weekend when I begged my parents to buy me a horse. I was in love with the Saddle Club and convinced I was set to compete in dressage at the Olympics.

  By the time my parents agreed to buy me a horse, I fell out of love with the Saddle Club and realized horses’ backs aren’t as close to the ground as I thought. Brandon kept his promise, though. He was in Socks’ stall every Saturday morning at dawn. He’s never forgotten a promise he’s given, not even the one we put in writing when we thought we were more grown-up than we were.

  When Samara from The Ring commences crawling out of the well in the misty woods, I burrow my face even deeper into Brandon’s neck. We’re supposed to be watching the horror movies our parents wouldn’t let us watch back in the day. However, I’ve spent the majority of our day with my head buried in some region of Brandon’s body.

  It could be worse. He could discourage my closeness instead of encouraging it. Every time I get frightened, he tightens his grip around my waist. One more scare, and I’ll be sitting on his lap.

  “Is it over?” The rich tomato paste on the chicken parmigiana I made from scratch for dinner bounces off Brandon’s neck before filtering into my nose.

  He pulls me in closer. “Not yet.”

  I take the quickest peek at the flat-screen television, feigning bravery. When I spot Noah bleeding as he crawls across glass to get away from Samara, I return to counting out the beeps of the vein in Brandon’s neck. “I can’t believe we wrote this list. What was wrong with us?”

  “It’s almost over,” Brandon assures me, tightening his grip some more.

  When Naomi Watts, who’s playing Rachel in the movie, screams, I jump out of my skin.

  Mercifully, the terrifying film ends only a few short minutes later.

  “That’s it? She’s going to pass on the tape to another poor, unsuspecting victim?” Would you listen to me criticizing a movie I barely watched. I’m the worst critic.

  “It was either help her son make a copy, or Samara would have killed him. She chose her son over anyone.” The blanket curled around our waist falls to the floor when Brandon stands to his feet. It’s not an easy task since I’m all up in his business. “It’s kind of commendable when you think about it.” Just like him holding out his hand to help me up. “We still have another two movies on our list, but I’m kinda beat.”

  “Me too,” I admit, shadowing his walk to his room. “I’m also a little scared, so please don’t push me away if I end up on your side of the mattress tonight. I don’t want Samara, or Freddy, or Jason to pull me under the bed, so I better sleep in the middle of the mattress.”

  Brandon’s chuckle has me forgetting the reason my veins are hot. “Any excuse to hog the bed.”

  “I’m not a hog.”

  “Yeah, you are,” Brandon argues, folding down the bedding. “You have been for as long as I’ve known you. For someone with a teeny tiny body, you certainly need a lot of space for sleeping.”

  “I like to stretch out.” I poke out my tongue to add some playfulness to the intimacy firing in the air. If I don’t, I might misconstrue the looks he’s been giving m
e all evening as lusty ones. He was just protecting me. It’s naturally ingrained in him. His pulse was spiking because of the scary movies we were watching, not my closeness. Right?

  Ignoring the voice in my head screaming out a resounding ‘no,’ I snatch up my retro alarm clock from the bedside table, then spin around to face Brandon. “What time is your appointment with Dr. Avery tomorrow? I don’t want you being late again.” When he remains quiet, confusion twists in my stomach. “You do have an appointment, right? It is Wednesday.”

  I stop seeking an invisible wall planner when Brandon confesses, “I canceled my appointment.”

  “BJ—”

  He cuts me off with a confident tone. “I don’t need to go anymore. I’m good. I’ve got my head screwed back on.”

  Although I want to believe him, I know depression isn’t something that’s cured in a matter of weeks. It may never leave him.

  “I agree you’re doing better, but I still think you should attend your sessions. Talking helps, and Dr. Avery has a weird knack for getting people to open up.” I’ve been in therapy for years, yet I’ve never been as open and honest as I have been with Dr. Avery during my joint sessions with Brandon.

  Brandon dumps the spare pillows off his bed onto the floor before slipping between the sheets. Since he’s so worked up, he’s forgotten about the pillow barrier he usually places between us each evening. “Can’t I just talk to you?”

  “You wouldn’t open up to me, BJ. Not for what you need to get off your chest.” When he scoffs like I’m lying, I hit him with straight-up honesty. “Okay, then tell me why you read the report about my rape?”

  His eyes snap to mine in an instant, and just as quickly, they fill with remorse. “Because I… I thought…” He drags a hand over his head as his eyes float down to his sleeping pants. “I thought if I knew what he did to you, I could make sure I didn’t hurt you the same way.”

  Wow. That wasn’t what I was anticipating for him to say. I assumed he’d close up on me again, or that he’d lie to ensure he didn’t hurt me. I’m pleased he didn’t, but I’m still shocked.