by JB Salsbury
I step inside to see Cameron sitting at his desk, and my God, the man’s shoulders are as wide as the table. His blue UFL T-shirt is pulled tight to accommodate his large body. He’s bent over a planner or notebook and doesn’t acknowledge us when we come in or when we move to sit in two empty chairs in front of his desk.
I didn’t know Layla would be joining us for the meeting, which is going to make the second half a little awkward, but I feel comfortable enough around her that she won’t pass judgment. Hell, if Jesus himself were in Layla’s place, I’d still say what it is I came here to say. I refuse to pass up what could be my last opportunity to find Braeden.
Mr. Kyle finally finishes whatever he’s writing and throws the notebook shut, drops his pen, and peers up at me. “Miss Pines, what can I do for you?”
Alright, no pleasantries. I can get behind that. Gotta respect a man who doesn’t waste time, even if it does make him scary as shit.
I reach into my purse and pull out an envelope. “I have the winners of the silent auction from Saturday night here.” I pass it to him, he opens it up, fingers through the pages, and then slides it to Layla. “That’s great, but you didn’t have to drive all the way over here to hand that off.”
Shit.
My face warms slowly. “No, but I wanted to take the opportunity to thank you again for the UFL’s involvement. Because of your help, we were able to raise one hundred and ninety-three thousand dollars for the Injured Heroes Foundation.”
“Wow,” Layla whispers.
Cam merely nods, his expression blank as he silently waits for me to continue because, again, I could’ve communicated that information via email as well.
I clear my throat and find it hard to hold his gaze. “I also wanted to personally apologize for my behavior.” I don’t know how much he knows. I wouldn’t think he knows anything about what transpired in the back hallway just before I left, but he was at the dinner table with me when I was making a complete ass out of myself. “I have no excuse for how I acted, and I hope my behavior doesn’t affect your opinion of the Kairos or the IHF.”
He rocks back in his chair, making the hinges creak. Then forward. And back. Each whine of metal on metal makes my pulse kick a little harder until he deflates the tension in the room by speaking. “It was a party. It’s not unheard of to have too much fun at a party.”
I smile and my cheeks get even warmer, knowing that having too much fun isn’t exactly what I’m apologizing for. “Right. Thank you for understanding.”
“Is that it?” His question is challenging.
I look over at Layla, who grins encouragingly. She’s obviously completely unaffected by this guy, which only makes me respect her more.
“Actually, there is one more thing.” I clear my throat. “I was wondering if you’d be able to pass along a message for me to one of your fighters.”
If it’s possible, the man’s eyes pull tighter.
Is it too late to change my mind? To grab my shit and run out of here pretending none of this ever happened?
Yes. I’ll hate myself forever if I don’t at least try.
“Um . . . if you could pass my phone number along to Blake Daniels—”
“I’m sorry, what?”
I lean away from the venom in Layla’s voice, the sweet smile she once wore replaced by a fire that I never thought a woman of her size was capable of. They always say be careful of the little ones . . . or is it redheads? “Do you know him?”
She tilts her head with a whole lot of fuck you rolling off her body. “Blake Daniels is my husband.”
No freakin’ way! Hope swells in my chest. “That’s great! So, you can help me.”
“What the fuck?” Cameron mumbles, but I keep my eyes on Layla.
“Please.”
She closes her eyes, shakes her head, then focuses back on me. “You’re asking me, his wife, to give him your phone number? Are you insane?”
“Yes! No! I mean . . .” I look between Layla and Cameron, hoping one of them will bail me out, but they’re both staring at me, happy to watch me drown. “I’m not interested in Blake. It’s his brother, Braeden. I need to talk to him.”
“What do you need to . . .?” Layla’s eyes grow wide. “Oh my God, it’s you.”
“Me?”
“The girl Blake caught crying over Braeden.”
“I was not . . .” I pinch my lips closed to cut off the lie. “Okay, maybe I was, but you have to understand I never thought I’d see him again.” I paraphrase my history with Braeden in a rush of words that I don’t even know make sense, but judging by the way Layla’s face softens, I think I got my point across. “So? Will you help me?”
She looks to Cameron, who merely shrugs; then she looks back at me. “He hasn’t been out of bed since that night.”
That’s strange. That doesn’t sound like Braeden at all. “Is he sick?”
“I think he is, Adeline.” Layla’s eyes glisten. “More than any of us even know.”
My legs hurl me out of my seat to standing. “I need to see him. Right now.”
“I can’t do that.” She shakes her head. “I’ll need to talk to him first.” Her dark eyes drop to her lap where she flicks at a few pieces of invisible lint.
“Why do I get the feeling that if you ask him he’ll refuse to see me?”
She tugs repeatedly on her bottom lip, and if we were in a cartoon, I bet I’d see wheels turning in her head as her thoughts run wild. “Because he probably will.”
I drop back into my seat, and the weakness inside me, the possibility that Braeden will deny me, is deflating. I chuckle, earning a glare from both Cam and Layla. “I didn’t think I had any of these left.” I point to the tears building in my eyes.
Cameron reaches for his phone, hits a button, and barks into the mouthpiece. “Daniels. In my office. Now.”
Oh shit . . . now the whole family is involved.
~*~
Braeden
“Mom, please stop. You’re making me feel like an invalid.”
She ignores me and continues to fluff my pillows, including the one under my head. “Stop acting like one and I’ll stop treating you like one.”
I blink up at the woman who raised me. Back in the day, she wouldn’t say shit if she had a mouthful, but after The General passed, she’s full of ’tude and throwing sass. She’s spending too much time with Layla and starting to act just like her. “What. A man can’t take a day to lie low?”
She punches the pillow next to me, and fuckin’ hell, that blow had some heat on it. “A day, yes. You’ve been a mess for months.”
“How can you say that? I’ve been working out with Blake, and I’ve been out and doing shit.”
“Getting drunk.” She lifts her thin eyebrows and waits for me to deny it.
I can’t.
“I’ll be alright, Mom. I might look like I’m doing nothing, but I am. I’m trying to figure out what I’ll do with the rest of my life.”
“You could start by staying sober for longer than an afternoon.”
I wish I could. I fucking hate drinking. Hate the taste. Hate how it makes me sad and pissed off. But the alternative is reliving the memories and facing how far I’ve fallen.
She shoves my dirty clothes into a hamper.
“Mom, stop. If you do my laundry, you might as well hack off my balls and shove those in your pocket.”
“Gross, Brae.”
“Well, it’s true.” I push up from the bed and cross to her, taking the bundle of my dirties from her hand. “Stop it. I’m fine.”
Her eyes tear up and she shakes her head. “You’re not fine.”
“I will be. I swear.” As soon as I figure out who the hell I am now that I lost everything I ever wanted. My military career is gone, and I’ve got nothing to fall back on, never had a secondary because failure wasn’t an option.
And the girl. Fuck. I lost her too.
Seeing her the other night brought back feelings I haven’t felt since the last ti
me we were together. My chest stirred with a longing to be close, to hear her voice as she talks about her goals and dreams. I was reminded of what it felt like to laugh with her, the way being with her was easier than breathing. Anything and everything she needed from me was so fucking easy to give. But I’m not that man to her anymore. She’s replaced me with someone better.
Someone who doesn’t have nightmares of war.
Who can function without being shitfaced.
A successful, hard-working guy, someone who can take care of her.
Not the freeloading bastard who lives in his brother’s pool house.
“Knock, knock?” Layla’s voice comes in through the door as it simultaneously opens. “Can I come in?”
I throw my good hand up in defeat. “Grand Central Station up in here. May as well.”
Mom and Layla exchange a few whispered words before my mom leaves. Oh great. If Layla’s sending her away, she’s gearing up to rail me for something. I pick up the remote, drop down on the couch, and hit power.
She sits in front of me on the coffee table but off to the side enough so I can still see the screen. “Don’t hate me.”
I peek over at her then go back to the tube. “What did you do? Put glitter in my toothpaste?”
“No.”
“You kicking me out?”
“Never.”
“Then what—”
“Hey, Braeden.”
At the sound of AJ’s voice, I glare at my sister-in-law, thankful my right side is facing away from the door. “What the fuck is she doing here?”
“She came to the training center, searching for you. Blake and I figured since you’ve been getting kicked out of the Kairos looking for her, you’d be okay with a visit.”
I dart my eyes over to AJ as she stands just inside the door, wringing her hands. “Some notice would’ve been nice.” At least then I’d have had time to put on a long-sleeved T-shirt and maybe a hat to cover some of this shit up.
“I’ll leave you two alone.” Layla leaves, and when she does, she forgets to take all the awkward air in the room with her.
“May I sit?” AJ says.
“I guess.” With my left side to her, I keep my eyes forward as she drops down on the opposite end of the sofa, and I can feel her studying me.
“Braeden, I know this seems weird, but I can’t get through another day without some answers.”
“I don’t have any for you.” The scent of jasmine wafts off her, and though it’s the same, it’s subtly different, as if she’s traded in her old soap for some fancy fucking body wash. Long gone are her leggings and sweatshirts; she now looks like she’s been plucked straight from a designer clothing catalog.
“Where have you been?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know. Why won’t you look at me? It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other and you can’t stand the sight of me?” Her voice is boarding on hysterics. “What did I do to push you away?”
“AJ, please—”
“You’ve been back for months, and I haven’t heard a word from you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? Tell me why you’re sorry. My God, put me out of my misery because I can’t stand sitting this close to you and feeling so far away.”
Without warning, she reaches for my chin. I dodge her and jump up from the couch.
“So that’s it? You have nothing to say to me?”
Why can’t I bring myself to talk to her?
“Whatever this was between us is really over,” she whispers almost as if she’s talking to herself, her words tinged with shock and hurt.
“Guess so.”
“You won’t talk to me at all?”
I don’t answer.
She huffs out a frustrated breath. “You’ve changed.”
No shit.
Silent seconds turn to minutes as I stare at the blank wall while listening intently to her breathing.
“I came here looking for something.” The sound of her moving off the leather couch puts me on alert, but her voice only becomes more distant. She’s leaving. “Either hope or closure.” The door opens, and it takes everything in me not to run to her and beg her to stay. “Alright, Braeden, you win. Have a good life—”
“Wait.” I don’t know where the word came from, didn’t feel it coming, and couldn’t act fast enough to stifle it. “Don’t go,” I whisper.
I can’t tell if she’s still there, if she heard me at all. The silence in the room is so thick it’s hard to breathe. Either she’s feeling it too or she’s holding her breath, or maybe she’s halfway to her car.
There’s only one way to find out.
Slowly, I turn around, and when I bring my gaze to the door, it locks on the pair of golden-brown eyes I thought I’d only ever see again in my dreams.
Those eyes widen with delight. Her lips tip up on the ends in a gentle smile until she sees me.
Until she really sees me.
And this time, I don’t hide.
The happiness drains from her face, the pink fire in her cheeks fading to a ghostly white. Her gaze travels down to my arm that’s tucked to my gut, my hand curled up there. Her lips part, and her chest rises and falls until the sound of her labored breathing fills the space between us.
“Braeden . . .”
I don’t know why her first response to seeing my damaged arm and face is to say my name, but my guess is she’s trying to convince herself I’m still me.
“What happened?”
I shake my head. No way I’m filling that beautiful mind with stories of death and war.
She comes toward me, and with my back to the wall, there’s nowhere to run. I tell myself to allow her to see me. Let her see for herself what a mess I’ve become. Then, after she’s fully repulsed, she’ll be able to walk away with a clean conscience. If she doesn’t walk away, there’s no fucking way I’ll let her go of my own free will.
Once she’s up close, she studies my jaw. I close my eyes and tilt my head, exposing the damage for her to inspect. The skin there pulls tight, and I’m thankful I can’t see what’s sure to be horror in her eyes.
I jump at the tender brush of her fingertips against the mangled flesh.
“I’m sorry, does it hurt?”
“No, I just . . .” My heart slams against my ribs, and heat swirls in my gut. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s touched me like that.”
“Let me?”
Fuck, yes. Please. Touch me.
I nod and offer her my damaged side.
Her fingers brush tentatively from my temple down to my chin, and I shiver at the barely there contact. “Is this okay?”
She continues down my neck, and my eyes dart open when I sense her moving closer. I lean back against the wall and drop my chin to the side as she lavishes my wounds with sensations. Her breath feathers across my neck as her touch moves back up my jaw.
“Feels good.”
Her fingers sift through my hair as if she’s searching for scarring, and I moan at how fucking great it feels to have her hand on me. Dancing the soft pads of her fingers back down my neck, she slides them over my T-shirt to my chest, brushes them along my nipple, and my hips jack forward of their own accord. I feel like a virgin being loved by a woman for the first time and damn near ready to explode. Her touch continues to my forearm; her fingers shake as she moves up to my elbow, my bicep, and back down.
I focus on my breathing and force myself not to consider what might be going through her head. She touches me with care, but I know what she’s seeing is what nightmares are made of. I’m ruined. Revolting. Soon enough she’ll run, and I won’t blame her when she does.
She feathers shaking fingers against my knuckles. Then I feel the first drop of her hot tears against my skin.
“Don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry.” She covers her face with her hands, and I don’t know why I do it, but I reach for her with my good a
rm and pull her to me, making sure I turn my head and give her my undamaged side as she buries her face in my neck.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s a normal reaction to . . . all this.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t know. I should’ve been there for you. I should’ve . . .” Her voice breaks on a sob. “I didn’t know.”
So, these tears aren’t tears of disgust? Damn if that doesn’t puff my chest.
“Who did this to you?” Her shoulders shake. “The bad guys?”
I rub her back and smile into her hair. Fuck . . . I’ve missed this woman. “Yeah, muffin. The bad guys.”
She leans back, sniffing, and wipes all that black shit off her cheeks. “You called me muffin.”
I shift uncomfortably and drop my arm from her back. After all, I have no business touching another man’s woman. Sure as fuck have no business calling her a pet name. “Yeah, sorry ’bout that. Habit.”
She blinks as if she’s realizing for the first time that she’s in my room and crying in my arms. “It’s okay. I don’t hate it as much as I used to.”
I scratch the top of my head and nod. Yeah, well that shit won’t be happening again, so . . . “I’m glad you came by.”
“Me too. So, uh, maybe you’ll stay out of trouble now, huh? No more stalking the amphitheater for your wife?”
Realization hits me like a two-by-four to the gut, and the fire of anger sparks behind my ribs. “Ah, so that’s what this is about. Daddy Warbucks sent you here to fend me off.”
What little humor she had dissolves instantly. “No.”
I tuck my good hand into my pocket to keep from physically pushing her away. “Whatever you say, Adeline.”
She scrunches her nose at the sound of her own name. “Don’t call me that.”
“My bad. That name reserved for the high-class?” Fuck, I need a drink. I move around her and swipe a bottle of vodka from the cabinet, working the top of with my teeth.
“No, I just don’t like it—what are you doing?”
I pull the bottle from my lips and offer it to her.
“No, thanks.”