Freed (Bound Duet Book 2)

by Stephie Walls

  I heard her open the front door and greet Brett warmly. They chatted for a minute before she let him know I’d be right down, which I took as my cue to start my descent. I always hated this in high school. Walking down the stairs, dressed up, people anticipating my presence at the bottom, it seemed so superficial. Luckily, he had stepped into the living room and was unaware of my approach when I reached the foyer. He turned quickly when he heard my foot hit the hardwood floor at the base of the stairs.

  “Wow! Annie, you look breathtaking.” He took my hand, lifted it above my head, and encouraged me to spin in a full circle.

  “Thank you. You look pretty great yourself.” I was stunned I hadn’t seen Brett’s beauty in all the times I’d been at the distribution center. I had recognized he was good-looking but not this. From the moment I met him in his dingy office a couple years ago, until right now, I never saw it. It was like a blinding light early in the morning. He was far prettier than Gray, who had a much more rugged, country-boy look. Lynn was right; he could grace the cover of GQ and women around the world would swoon.

  The way his dark washed jeans hugged his hips had my mouth watering, and somehow the green cashmere sweater almost made his eyes glow somewhere between a forest and Kelly green, but they still had a seductive appearance. I wondered how anyone could be clean-shaven with perfectly disheveled hair. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’d rolled out of bed, but the product in his locks made it clear he’d styled it. Aware of my stare, and possibly a tad uncomfortable with my assessment, he raised his right hand to scratch his cheek. The light bounced off the face of his watch at just the right angle catching my attention. There was nothing special about the time piece other than the hand he wore it on. “Are you left-handed?”

  He looked confused, but stammered out, “Uh, yeah, I am. How’d you know?”

  “Your watch. It’s on the wrong wrist for a righty.”

  “Peculiar thing for a girl to notice,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

  “I might have an affinity for southpaws.” I winked at him, attempting to flirt and be playful, but I was a sucker for a lefty. There was no rhyme or reason it was just a quirk. I loved left-handed people. Truth be told, I was also fond of men who could pull off glasses, not sunglasses, but actual glasses, and those who drove trucks.

  “Well, in that case, would you like to see me write?” He laughed, and I swatted at him with my hand.

  “Maybe after a few drinks. Are you ready?”

  “Your chariot awaits, my dear.” He opened the front door and waved goodbye to Lynn, who had been silently standing in the foyer listening to our banter.

  I took his hand and allowed him to lead me out. As I pulled the door closed behind me, I gave my friend an enormous grin and stuck my tongue out at her for good measure.

  In a matter of minutes, I had already determined Brett was a great guy and easy to talk to. I hadn’t laughed this much in ages and couldn’t remember the last time I’d done it sober. In his presence, I felt like an adult as we discussed work and current events. The longer we talked, the more I realized we had in common. His qualities went far beyond just how attractive he was, he was incredibly smart, making him that much more appealing.

  We spent the evening mulling over our favorite musicals and ballets, college, our friends…the conversation was seamless, flowing effortlessly. I shouldn’t have been surprised that Brett and Dan were best friends, but somehow it had never registered in the time I’d spent at the distribution center. They’d always been together, but I assumed that was simply because they managed the facility. Their friendship ran much deeper than a working relationship.

  They’d met sometime in middle school, gone to high school together, and both ended up at Clemson and graduated with business degrees. Brett landed the job at 3 Tier just after graduation and managed to get Dan on a few weeks later. They’d fast-tracked through management and worked together ever since.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “That place is incestuous.”

  He agreed there were some really tight friends there, but thankfully, with only a handful of women employed in the facility, there were no relationships he was aware of. Realizing what had just come out of his mouth, he rushed to clarify, “I’m sorry, Annie. I wasn’t talking about you and Gray.”

  “Oh, no, I didn’t think you were.” I waved it off. It wasn’t a big deal. I never thought of my relationship with Gray as being part of the DC. I only worked there briefly as a contractor while we were dating and that was rather hush-hush for quite some time.

  “I know things were hard for you when the two of you split. I shouldn’t have brought up any reminders.” The concern in his eyes was heartfelt but unnecessary.

  “Brett, seriously, you’re over thinking this. It’s not a big deal.” I offered him a grin and then leaned over and placed a peck on his cheek to reassure him. The conversation flowed all night, never letting up.

  We strolled the streets of downtown Greenville after leaving the restaurant. I couldn’t help but admire the historical renovation the city had done over the last decade managing to keep the old charm. The street lights reminded me of a Charles Dickens novel, but they were illuminated with electricity versus gas, and there were cars instead of horses, but I could imagine how fantastic the city would have been decades ago. Even with the restaurants, little boutiques, art stores, and gift shops, it was somehow still uniquely Greenville. In the twelve short years I’d lived here, it had captured my heart, and I considered it home.

  When we finally made it back to my house I admired the place I now called home. Things had been so drab after Gray, I needed a change of scenery and bought myself a house as a graduation present. When we walked to the front door, I was thankful no other man had ever stood here with me. As we said goodbye around midnight, he told me he’d had a wonderful time and squeezed my hand as he kissed my temple. Frozen by the moment, I watched him walk to his car, and thought about how different this date had been compared to any I’d ever experienced with Will or Gray. The evening had been fantastic, he’d treated me like a lady, and somehow it was the first adult date I’d ever been on. Brett considered me his equal and led me to believe he wanted to get to know me the person, not become intimately acquainted with my body. Maybe I should be taken aback that he made no physical advances other than to hold my hand, but something told me he was giving me time to heal. I didn’t know how much he knew about my past, with Gray or Will, but for the first time in years, I didn’t feel quite so damaged.

  With a lazy and contented grin on my face, I leaned my head against the doorframe and watched as he pulled out of the driveway. Just before I lost sight of him, he waved. My arms hugged my body as I pushed myself off the house, and rolled my body through the opening of the door.

  That first night set the tone for all of our dates. They weren’t always so formal, thank God, or I would’ve had to replace my entire wardrobe and hire a hairstylist, but they were always filled with intellectually stimulating conversation and mutual respect. Books, current events, the opera, theater, foreign films, Brett never ceased to amaze me with his knowledge or love for the arts. I was fascinated by the things Brett had an interest in—things we shared in common. I was an avid reader, voracious by any account, and he rivaled my knowledge of literature; he’d seen just as many musicals and plays as I had and rattled off a list of his favorite soloists he’d seen at the symphony. He had a vast collection of foreign films and frequently attended the opera in Atlanta—neither of which I knew anything about. Time would slip away from us, and we’d find ourselves closing down restaurants or walking sidewalks long after everyone else had gone home for the evening.

  The night he let me take him to my favorite little hole-in-the-wall, the Book Nook, a piece of my wall started to come down. I’d never been able to share the bookstore with Gray, but somehow Brett seemed to get its significance. The collectibles, rare finds, first editions, autographed manuscripts, this place was a little slice of heaven tucked into
the streets of Greenville, South Carolina. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the scent of worn pages touched by hundreds of people who had admired them soothed my soul in the most tender way. Walking through the doors was like being sucked into a black hole; time ceased to exist while I spent hours poring over books, touching the bindings as my eyes roamed the shelves, lost in the fantasy of being surrounded by black words on aged and tattered paper. For me, it was heaven on Earth, a little slice of euphoria served up during their hours of operation, whenever I could escape to it. Gray wouldn’t have appreciated my enamored view of this treasure, but Brett soaked it up. He took note of the things that were important to me, the integral pieces of who I was. He wanted to understand the nuances of my life, including my favorite coffee spots and bookstores.

  I continued to work with my therapist on my trust issues and my inability to identify healthy relationships although I hadn’t told Brett much about any of it. He knew I went to counseling but never questioned my motivation or the necessity. Sometimes I wondered if I should give him an explanation, but my shrink assured me that when I no longer felt I owed it to him, it would flow freely and be received in the same manner. So, Brett and I took our time—we weren’t hot and heavy like Gray and I were. The attraction was there, mutually, but he followed my lead without pressure. Each day he gave me free of expectation was another day helped rebuild the foundation of my self-esteem. Each week was a brick in the mortar toward becoming healthy enough to love someone the way I wanted.

  Sex brought me a connection I couldn’t undo, and for me, that connection had been tied to abusive circumstances and my inability to take care of myself before I worried about another. As weak as I sometimes felt, I fought against the days I wanted to ravage him, in favor of an unbreakable friendship—I couldn’t handle a sex life that defined us—not now. We messed around, and I confessed my worries to him. He knew I was terrified of how that connection would change us and my anxiety over what would happen if I never conceded. But he still never crossed the line or indicated he was frustrated by my self-imposed celibacy. With each conversation came a little more detail of my sexual past and his understanding.

  I’d promised myself a year in therapy without clouding my judgment by a relationship with anything more than what we were doing, and he knew that. I’d held him off with an abundance of petting, but damn, he could wet my panties with a simple kiss, and there were nights it took every ounce of willpower I had not to break the covenant I had with myself. My imagination ran wild with thoughts of Brett completely naked consuming me.

  To avoid the temptation, we often found ourselves struggling to resist, we frequented restaurants I loved and others Brett wanted to introduce me to, burying our carnal desire with rich food and delicious desserts. Recently we’d starting running into Gray and his date for the night, usually a different girl, each one younger than the last. It was odd, he’d never been one to dine at restaurants that took reservations, but I knew he wasn’t following us either. He always stopped to say hello and introduce whoever he was with, but he no longer acknowledged who I was to him, only that Brett was a manager at the distribution center, and I was Brett’s girlfriend. The word unmistakably left a vile taste in his mouth, but he was always outwardly respectful.

  Gray had approached Brett at the distribution center some time back about our relationship. But Brett didn’t seem to care about Gray or his desire to show some odd display of ownership he no longer had. I no more belonged to Gray than Brett did. The only thing that concerned Brett was my happiness—he said he’d deal with Gray if needed, but I hadn’t heard anything else about it. He was the antithesis of my ex in every way, but most importantly, he wasn’t absorbed in his own contentment; mine always came first. He protected me ardently, both emotionally and physically. He never pried for information from me, but I found that I gave it to him freely.

  With each passing day, Brett and I got closer and when my self-imposed year of celibacy came and went, and then our one year anniversary passed, and we still hadn’t had sex, I wondered when he’d tip the scale and start making demands. But the day never came, he had positively indicated he was ready whenever I was but had never made an issue of it. He continued to ask me out, we continued to date, and life continued without pressure. I had seen Gray with a countless number of women, but tonight, when Brett and I were sitting at dinner, a cozy little Italian restaurant with private booths, soft candlelight, and fantastic food, he asked me if I had heard from him.

  “Heard from who?”

  The question came out of left field until Brett dipped his head toward the door. Gray walked in with a short, buxom, blonde girl. She was cute with a little frame but not someone I had seen him with before.

  “No, why?”

  “No one’s told you?”

  “Told me what?” A heavy weight rested on my chest, making it difficult to get air, and I wondered just how soon someone was going to kick the life out of me. I waited for him to respond, but I could tell from his hesitation he had hoped someone else had imparted whatever knowledge was on the tip of his tongue. “Brett, what is it?”

  “Gray’s getting married.” His voice was uncertain and almost shook.

  “Really? That’s great. Who’s the girl?”

  “I can’t remember her name.” His face contorted into something resembling disbelief. “What…you’re not upset?” He seemed shocked.

  “You sound disappointed by my response. Brett, why would I care if Gray gets married? We broke up well over a year ago, and I’m happy where I am.” I squeezed his hand across the table; then leaned forward to plant a kiss on his luscious lips. “Don’t do that. Don’t disregard what we are to each other because it’s not the same thing I had with Gray.” I hoped he hadn’t heard the air escape my lungs or seen the sadness that crossed my eyes; I certainly didn’t want to communicate that to him because it was a fleeting and natural response.

  I very much cared for Brett, not the same way I had loved Gray, but in my opinion that was for the best. I had been devoted to Gray. But Brett was everything Gray could never be. Brett was security, Gray had been passion. I needed safety and stability, someone I was attracted to, but not necessarily someone I had to devour every time I saw him. Brett had become my best friend. We talked about everything, and over the course of the last year, I had divulged all my secrets going back to childhood. He knew me inside and out, warts and all, including those with Gray’s name all over them. He also knew Gray had been an all-consuming relationship but didn’t begrudge my having had him. There was no denying I had once had intense feelings for Gray, but we were toxic together—nothing about us was healthy. And while I want to say it had been love, the truth was, I wasn’t ready to admit it wasn’t.

  Love wasn’t destructive and abusive—it was everything Brett has been to me. He hadn’t tried to compete, which was good because he didn’t need to. There was no denying Brett felt the level of intensity toward me that I’d once felt toward Gray, only his was selfless. He made no mistake in showing me the kind of love I’d tried to show Gray, but I’d fallen short because of my own issues. I’d given Gray a damaged shell addicted to work and drugs.

  Chapter One—Annie

  It had been several hours since Brett left for the wedding. Gray’s wife…fiancée…whatever she was now, had sent out invitations; she’d invited everyone at the distribution center. Brett felt obligated to go since he and Gray had worked together in management for years. He thought it was the right thing to do and not showing up would send a negative impression to the rest of the staff. I didn’t disagree, but I had wanted to go with him. But after talking to my counselor, I couldn’t come up with a single productive reason for my presence. And in the end, it had been the right decision. Had I been in the church when he called, had he been able to physically reach me, things might have gone differently than they had. I didn’t want to be with Gray, but I wasn’t dumb enough to believe he didn’t still have some weird power over me—just like I wasn
’t sure I could ever be near drugs again. Both were addictions, and both wreaked havoc on my life for far too many years.

  I replayed the phone conversation with Gray over and over in my mind. It didn’t matter how bad he was for me. I cared about him, always would, and I never wanted to hurt anyone. I knew he was in a bad way, but it wasn’t my problem to solve. I hadn’t had the courage to turn my phone back on and refused to do so until Brett walked through my door. I didn’t want to deal with the repercussions of whatever Gray’s choice had been, and I sure as hell didn’t want to be implicated. I’d tried to honor Brett in my refusal to give Gray what he wanted, but it terrified me Brett wouldn’t see it that way. My feet wore paths in the hardwood floors of the living room waiting for my boyfriend to walk through the door.

  By the time he finally entered, he appeared weary and didn’t notice the anxiety that had to be visible on my face. I tried to ask him about the ceremony, but he had little to say other than, “It was nice.”

  Men.

  I wanted details—loads of them—everything from her dress to Gray telling her publicly he didn’t love her and couldn’t marry her, but Brett didn’t give me any of that. All I knew was my boyfriend watched my ex marry the Slut Muffin, and then he’d been overly affectionate all evening. The realization hit—he might believe today’s events had hurt me—hence the lack of information and the additional attention. There was a part of me that was sad but not because Gray married another woman—it saddened me he married another woman he knew he didn’t love. That alone made my heart break for him—he’d repeated the same mistake he had with Abby to please someone else.

  I craved the focus he’d shown me all evening, but the secret I was keeping kept me from enjoying it. I’d never needed to hide things from Brett, and this should be no different. I had to come clean, but I couldn’t find a way to ease it into the conversation.