by KJ Reed
Whoops. Well, that was his problem. He had a hand. He could fix it later himself, in nice, controlled strokes.
She could run. Between not having his shoes on yet and still having to deal with a zipper imprint on his dick, she’d win. It wasn’t all that far. But that wouldn’t be the mature thing to do. Satisfying, but not mature. So she waited in silence as he slipped on a pair of running shoes and grabbed a hoodie before holding his door open for her.
They walked together, not talking, the muffled night sounds surrounding them. Feeling like the only two people in the world. It could have been romantic.
Could have. If he wasn’t such a stubborn ass and she wasn’t pissed.
Yeah, other than that…
They reached the door to her cabin and she took her key out from her pocket. “Thanks.” She turned away from him but he closed a hand over hers before she could unlock the door.
“Why is this so important to you?”
“I’m not a follower.” She spoke quietly, for some reason not wanting to disturb the somber night peace. “That’s just who I am. I can play at it for a while, but then I need my own chance to lead.”
He sighed then let go, let her walk into the cabin and close her door without a word. She rested her back against it, wanting to scream.
Was this just it? He wouldn’t give up control, ever, and she wouldn’t be permanently controlled. So they were at an impasse.
Give it time. The rational part of her said to just give it time. It’s not over. It’s just halftime.
* * * * *
Mary Ellen managed to avoid Brice for the rest of the week. Wasn’t too hard. She stuck to her stables and her babies and let him do his thing. The only real risk was during meals, but she knew exactly when Brice ate every day, so it wasn’t that hard to sneak down, grab some food and run back to her office.
And how sad was that, sneaking around her own home? Camp truly was home for her, despite her parents living not so far down the country road. But she just wasn’t ready to deal with it. Or him. Not yet.
“Knock knock.”
Mary Ellen’s head shot up from paperwork. “Ariel! You’re back.” Jumping up, she gave her friend a big hug. “And you’re tan. Hey lady, you look good.”
Ariel grinned and shooed her back into the office chair. Hopping up on the dusty bench, she let her legs swing. “Honeymoons agree with me, what can I say? So what have I missed?”
Oh, nothing much. I just got in a fight with your brother at the reception, then I had sex with him. And then we did that again, and it was great. And I’m pretty positive my serious longing for him for the past decade has morphed into actual, tangible love. And I don’t think he feels the same way back. And I’m mad. And he’s mad. And I’m staying out of his way because it’s easier than hearing that final “we’re through” speech.
“Oh, nothing much.” She shuffled a few papers. “Actually…do you wanna take a ride?”
“Great!” Ariel hopped down and out the door and was halfway to the stable before she yelled, “Gonna change into jeans and boots. I’ll be right back. Saddle Rachel for me.”
* * * * *
Brice debated, for only the thousandth time that day, if he should take the walk up to the stable. The elemental pull to be where she was, to just be around her, watching her even from a distance, was uncomfortable. The dull ache in his stomach as every day passed that they weren’t talking—even in snips or swipes at each other like before—was worse.
“You look like crap.”
He didn’t even have to look up from his computer. “Hey, Trav. Bring back my sister in one piece?”
“More or less.” The other man flopped down on a chair and hitched his boots up on the desk. “You know, it’s amazing how much I was looking forward to getting out of here for a break. Thought I was getting antsy after being so used to moving around with the Marines. Being settled in one place, I didn’t think it’d agree with me. But while we were gone, I was ready to just come home and start living.”
Brice gave up the appearance of work and sat back, lacing his fingers over his stomach. “You already had the townhouse set up to move into, right?”
“Whenever we’re not here. Which, during the summer, will likely be often of course. I couldn’t drag her away from this place with a crowbar. Not that I’d want to.”
No, he wouldn’t. In the camp—and the Winstons—Trav found the same thing Brice had…family. Besides his sister, Trav had only ever known the Marines as his family. Some people might have been a little intimidated by the tight group the Winston clan made, and how easygoing they were about adopting—formally and informally—people into their fold. But Trav seemed to soak it up like a sponge.
He was good for his sister. And Brice was glad she found the guy, however randomly it happened.
“What’s been going on around here? Anything new, any fun stories?”
Oh, where to begin. Or did he even go there? Thanks to the isolating nature of his job, friends outside of the camp were few and far between. So the odds were, if he went to anyone, they were going to know Mary Ellen too. There’d be a bias one way or another.
“You’re struggling with it, that much is obvious.”
Brice glanced up, saw the smirk on Trav’s face. “Struggling with what?”
“Whatever’s on your mind. I’m guessing it’s not camp stuff, since you always have that under control. Almost scary, actually, how you keep this place organized.”
“Someone has to,” he bit back.
Trav raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m not complaining. I agree. Someone has to hold the reins. A place like this has a lot of love to give. But you can’t do that without a plan and someone running things.”
He blew out a breath. After so much criticism of his control from Mary Ellen, he was jumping the gun on anyone who brought it up. “Sorry. It’s just been a long couple of weeks.”
“Has she had a long few weeks too?”
“Who?” His instinct to play dumb where his feelings for Mary Ellen were concerned were too ingrained to fight.
Trav squinted at him, then shook his head. “We both know who. What I don’t know is why you fight it so hard. The two of you love to act like there’s nothing going on, and yet put you both in the room together and it feels like there’s a contest to see who can burn the other one’s clothes off with their eyes the fastest.”
Had it seriously been that obvious? “She annoys me,” he muttered. Which was true.
“So does Marge. But you don’t stare at her like you do Mary Ellen.”
Marge the cook? “Marge is knocking on the door to ninety.”
“Lies. She couldn’t be a day over eighty-five.” There was a teasing light in Trav’s eyes, and Brice was tempted to toss his keyboard at him. “Look, we’re brothers now.”
“Brothers-in-law.”
He waved that away. “Whatever. The fact is, what you tell me in confidence stays there. Ariel and I are married, and I love her more than life itself. But we’re perfectly capable of keeping things quiet if it’s asked of us. We share a life, not a brain.”
Brice thought about that for a moment.
“Just answer this…what’s stopping you from making a move with Mary Ellen?”
Ha. “Funny you should ask…”
* * * * *
“Holy shit. I still can’t believe you slept with my brother.”
Mary Ellen’s eyes darted around, seeing nothing but trees on either side of the trail. “Keep it down, will you?”
Ariel glanced around her as well. “What, like there’s some nosy blue jay eavesdropping, just ready to break the story on Perez Hilton? Come on.”
Okay, when she put it like that, it did sound stupid. “Someone could ride up the trail behind us,” she mumbled.
“And be heard coming a mile away. You know we’re alone back here.”
“Were you this smart when you left? I think I miss my dumber friend, can I have her back?” Mary Ellen ducked
the handful of leaves Ariel threw at her, righted herself in the saddle again. “Yes. I did. And you can stop looking so surprised. You knew I had a…” A what? Crush seemed a little juvenile. But using the word lust to Brice’s sister was a little bizarre, even if it was her best friend.
“Thing. Let’s use the word thing and call it done. And yeah, I knew. I was encouraged by it. But sweetie, I’m not mad. I’m just shocked that he actually let his guard down enough to go for it.”
“That would make two of us.” She breathed in, let the scents of flowers and fresh, damp earth and leather seep through her, calm her. “But as it turns out, he didn’t let anything down. He just created this little box to put me in.”
“I’m not following.”
Mary Ellen urged Ross until he was even with Ariel riding Rachel. “It’s like, he only let me in a little bit into his life. He created this special box, labeled Mary Ellen. And as long as I stay in this box that he’s decided I belong in, then everything is fine. But if I want to step out, then it all goes to hell. He’s so…controlled.”
“That’s Brice.”
“Yeah, I know. And sometimes I like it. But other times, well, you know me. I like to be in charge too. But that’s not acceptable to him. He’s like a junkyard dog with a bone and nobody gets to share his bone with him.”
“He earned it fair and square,” Ariel said, surprising her.
“The bone?”
“The control.” Ariel bit her lip, eyes darting a little. “Has Brice talked about life? Before he was a Winston.”
That sounded ominous. Whatever she was about to say, Mary Ellen instinctually knew she wasn’t going to like it.
Chapter Eight
“You used to say that he was born a Winston and the stork just got lost,” Mary Ellen tried to tease. But the fact she really didn’t know much about Brice’s live B.W.—Before Winstons—made her shift in the saddle. Not that it was her fault, he just never spoke about it. And it’s not exactly something she was going to bring up out of the blue, in case it really wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. There were enough barriers in their relationship. No need for him to toss up more because he was aggravated at her asking questions.
Ariel rolled her eyes. “I was six when I said that. The point is, he didn’t have a great life.”
“He came to you guys from foster care. I didn’t assume it was all roses for him,” Mary Ellen pointed out. She was dense sometimes, but not a complete moron. She hoped.
“His dad was nonexistent. And his mom was an alcoholic. Probably still is. When she was on a bender, Brice was the responsible one. Didn’t matter his age. He told me his first memory was at age three—he thinks. Pushing a chair to the pantry to climb up as high as he could to look for food. There was nothing. And his mom had been either passed out or just plain asleep for almost days. So he ate stale dog food.”
“Oh my God.” She closed her eyes, but had to open them again as her imagination took over and started forming the picture.
“He had to bathe himself, feed himself, get to school himself. Nobody was going to do it for him. The most complimentary thing he could say about his mom was that she wasn’t a violent drunk.”
“Brice doesn’t drink,” she murmured, more to herself than Ariel.
Her friend nodded.
“I thought it was because he didn’t like to give up control to anything, even a drink.”
“That’s part of it. But he spent the first ten years of his life watching his mother hit the bottle and then hit the floor, face-down. His life was in a constant state of chaos, and he couldn’t do anything about it. For a kid like him, naturally quiet and thoughtful, that sort of life is a certain kind of personal hell.”
Her heart hurt for him. Of course she knew Brice was adopted. She was Ariel’s best friend, and she remembered first meeting him. Tall, gangly, too skinny she’d thought. But his eyes intrigued her, even as such a young child herself. They saw everything, absorbed. Wide, knowing, like they’d seen so much.
She didn’t know at the time, and hadn’t thought about it since, that what they’d seen hadn’t been worldly and mature, but possibly horrifying and traumatic.
And things started to line up.
His need for control. Why he would fight it so hard. Why her asking him to give it up caused him a serious problem.
“Oh crap.”
She’d asked something of him he very well might not be able to do. She didn’t know, she rationalized. If she’d heard that story before, maybe she would have been more understanding. Less pushy.
Maybe. But the odds were, she still would have fought for control at some point. Wanted to be given the chance to lead, to be the one in charge. Stretch her wings. But at least she would have gone about it a different way.
I don’t just sit in corners and wait for others to do for me. I want to lead sometimes. If that’s not something you’re capable of, well…
The words, even though she’d said them as kindly as she could, echoed harshly in her mind. She halted Ross, let Ariel move on ahead and sat for a moment, the quiet sounds of the woods soothing her racing heart, her panicking mind.
What if he really couldn’t though? Give up control. If it was all or nothing, what did she want? Nudging Ross on, she was determined to figure the answer out by the end of their ride.
* * * * *
Brice slipped into Mary Ellen’s cabin, his new familiarity with the room guiding him in the pitch black. After shutting the door softly, he waited for some booby trap to trip. It’d be just her idea of fun to set something to catch him sneaking into her place. But that was Mary Ellen. She would always keep him on his toes.
And that was okay. He was coming to terms with that, slowly but surely. The exhaustion of fighting their feelings for each other combined with the thought that if he didn’t give a little, he’d lose a lot, was starting to make the whole idea of compromise and giving up a hint of control less painful to consider. Not comfortable. But not as painful.
Time to step out of the comfort zone.
Walking to the bed, he stood for a moment and watched the rise and fall of Mary Ellen’s chest. Her limbs were sprawled in some ungraceful way that made her look about two feet tall. She was so tiny, the instinct to procure and protect welled inside him.
She, of course, would hate that with every beat of her little independent heart. But he’d fallen for her despite their differences. Or maybe because of them. Hard to say anymore. But Mary Ellen had slowly wormed her way into his heart, starting at an age younger than he’d like to admit. She was there now, fully, completely. And losing her would be the same as ripping out his own heart.
He sat on the bed and waited for her to recognize his presence. She did almost immediately, turning to him with sleepy awareness.
“Brice.” Her voice was rusty with sleep, giving it a deeper, sexy quality that didn’t quite match her pixie-cute looks.
“I’m not going to apologize for coming in.” That was not at all what he intended to say.
She smiled a little, closed her eyes again as if the effort to keep them open was too much. “I didn’t expect you to.”
“I’m sorry. For before.”
At that, she sat up, more fully awake. Her hair stuck up every direction, and her lids still dropped in a way that said she badly needed the sleep he was interrupting. But they had to get this out.
“I’m the one who’s sorry.” She played with the edge of her sheet, not meeting his eyes. “Ariel told me. About, you know. The time before you were adopted.”
He sucked in a hard breath. Dammit, Ariel. He waited for the damning pity to show in her eyes.
But there was none. Just patience, maybe some nerves, as if she wasn’t sure if she should bring it up.
“That wasn’t her story to tell.”
“She was pretty general. Not many details. Enough to give me an idea though. If you want to tell me more, I’ll listen.”
He shook his head. “Nothing gained from
going back over it again and again. It sucked, it’s over, I have a new family. The one I was always supposed to have.”
She nodded. “That’s true. But I just wanted to say…I understand. I get it. And I don’t want to give you up. So if being in control of things, like us in bed, makes things manageable for you, then…” She smiled tentatively. “Then that’s fine with me.”
“But it’s not fine with me.”
The emotions played over her face one at a time in quick secession. Shock, confusion, hurt. He rushed to explain.
“I like being in charge. Of my life in general, at work, in relationships. It’s good for me. Keeps me balanced, or at least it feels that way. When my control over something starts to slip, I start feeling like my balance is going. And the fear is it’ll just be a domino effect from there.”
She reached out and touched his arm, rubbing up and down. “You don’t have to explain.”
“I do. Not just for you, but for me. I need to say this all out loud, get a grip on it.”
She giggled.
He raised a brow. “What?”
“Nothing. Just…you’re controlling your control.”
He laughed. “Okay. Hard habit to break. But the point is, I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing. Everyone has a thing that works for them. And this is it for me.”
“I get that. I really do.” Her voice was soft, understanding. Good. It made this easier.
“But what good is feeling balance in my life if there’s nobody next to me? Nobody there challenging me and throwing me off a little, making me think, keeping it interesting?”
Her breath caught, a little feminine sound that went straight to his gut. And his cock. Now really wasn’t the time to get horny, so he pushed back on the rising lust.
“I’m willing to try. Letting you lead sometimes. Not always,” he added quickly when he saw her start to smile. “I can try.”
She shook her head, then nodded, then brushed a hand over her cheek. “That’s enough for me.” She gave a laugh, and it sounded a little watery. “Wow. That was sort of mature for us, huh?”