by Brandi Evans
I'd meant my "you" as metaphorical, but Max had killed someone. His action still haunted him, but he'd learned how to live with it.
"It's not easy," he whispered, lips moving over my ear. "I told myself he was a monster, but all monsters throughout history have one thing in common: they're not really monsters. They're human. Taking a life leaves a stain on the soul, no matter the crimes or the sins of the monster put down. The only tears I will ever shed over Théo Roux's death are that I hadn't been the one to do it and tears knowing you'll have to live with this. That, and because this is my fault."
Careful of my injuries, I managed to sit up and examine him. "Stop blaming yourself for things that aren't your fault."
"But my past—"
"Is just that, my love, the past. There's nothing you can do to change it. Besides, your present is all that matters to me. Our present. You've stopped hiding from your past. Do you realize how much of a huge step forward that is?"
When he closed his eyes, I lifted a broken arm and traced my fingertips over his cheeks, his lips. There'd been a time in that basement when I'd feared I'd never see this face again, touch these lips, but I'd survived. I'd battled the devil and emerged scarred but victorious. The scars would stay with me forever. I'd done things I could never take back, but if this man was the prize, I'd figure out a way to live with the price.
"I thought I'd never see you again," I whispered, "and when I did see you again on that video—"
He flinched, his arms tightening around me and making me yelp. Broken ribs were a fucking bitch.
"God, Bree, I'm sorry. Are you okay?" He stroked gentle hands over the wrap around my middle.
I ignored his apology and the tingling aftermath of his embrace. "When I saw your face on that video, saw your grief when I realized what Théo intended to do, I knew I had to do whatever it took to save you from that pain."
Unshed tears swam in his eyes, making those Texas sky blues practically sparkle.
"You saved me, Max. You may not realize it, but at that moment, you saved me."
"No, my sweet, you saved yourself."
"I couldn't have done it without you, though." I thumbed away the single tear that broke free and began a downward trek along his cheek. "When Théo hit my knee with that mallet, you screamed at him to stop. I don't remember what exactly you said, but it made Théo turn his back on me. You distracted him and gave me the opening to attack. And the fury in that attack, in that kick, was the jolt I needed to finally break free."
"Bree, I—"
I placed my index finger over his lips. "And then, when I slammed into that concrete floor, the pain was absolutely blinding. I didn't want to get up, didn't think I could, but then, I heard your voice, heard you frantically calling my name. And somehow, I found the will to get up one more time. Without you, I probably would have given up."
"Without me, you wouldn't have been there in the first place."
"Without you, I'd never have found the love of my life."
That shut him up, and he kissed me long and deep. The saltiness of tears flavored our kiss, a little of mine, a little of his, and when he pulled back, his cheeks were as wet as his eyes.
"When I saw that body in the field," he said, voice deepened with pain, "I thought I'd lost you forever, and my entire life collapsed in on itself."
"I know. That bastard made me watch."
"He made you… watch?"
"Yes." Rage boiled again. "I couldn't hear anything as there was no audio, but I could see you, Max. Your pain. I'd never hated anyone as much as I did in that moment. I wanted nothing more than to escape, so I could show you I was okay."
"He made you… watch? If he weren't already dead, I'd kill him."
"Speaking of watching…"
I told Max everything. How Théo had overheard us talking in the garden, that he knew Max had killed his father. That Théo didn't have it recorded, though; he'd simply overheard us. How he had no immediate plans to use the information but planned to look for evidence.
"I hate that I took a life," I said softly, "almost as much as the life I took, but I'm glad he can't use the information to hurt you."
He stared at me as if he'd never seen me before. "I don't think I've ever loved you more than I do right now."
"I love you, too. More than anything."
"I could say the same thing about you, my sweet, or, if you'd prefer, I could start calling you my queen."
I laughed, even though it was watery, and I drew my fingers along his stubbled jaw. He looked rough and rugged but happy. I was happy, too. We had a long, steep road in front of us, but here and now, we were both happy.
"Actually, Max, if you still want, I'd rather you officially start calling me your fiancée."
He cupped both my cheeks between his hands and held our gazes steady. "Are you saying yes?"
"I am," I whispered. "A thousand times, yes."
He pressed his mouth to mine and swallowed my last yes.
Suddenly, he shot from the bed and hurried across the room. Using the control on the bedside, I inclined the head of the bed and found him rifling through a bag in the corner. A moment later, he pushed back to his feet.
He held something in his fisted hand but gave me no clue as to what it was.
When he returned, he knelt beside the bed and opened his fist to reveal the ring he'd given me. I gasped at its condition.
"What happened to it?" God, I wanted to cry.
"The paramedics had to cut it off because your fingers were so swollen that—doesn't matter. What matters is that the ring is broken, but broken doesn't mean unfixable. So, that's just what we'll do, okay? We'll fix this ring just like new because you and I, Bree, we're a lot like this ring. The past few months have broken us, but we're going to fix everything. We're going to be better and stronger because of it, too. No more secrets. No more lies. Everything out on the table."
It was everything I'd ever wanted with him. A life with Maxwell Penn that was as open and as beautiful as the man himself.
Epilogue
Max, four years later…
She was everything to me.
I held my right hand out, and my daughter placed a cream-colored stone onto my palm. "This is perfect, Sweet Pea. Mummy and I will love painting it with you."
"Blue, Da!" she said in the almost-there speech pattern of the young and innocent.
"You want to paint it blue, huh?"
Grinning, she nodded, her blonde curls bouncing.
"I think Mummy and I can make that happen."
"More!" Without waiting for me, Amelia Karen Penn skirted off in her pale blue sundress, a beautiful girl with her mother's smile and, heaven help me, my temperament.
I loved her so much.
I'd spent so much of my life scared that I had too much of my father in me, that I'd be a lousy excuse for a father, but the first time I'd held Amelia, I'd fallen so fiercely in love that I couldn't imagine doing anything to harm her.
I followed after her as she ambled to the pile of rocks at the end of the garden my mother had begun so many years ago. The pile was the same one I'd started as a child. I liked that Amelia was finding joy in the garden her grandmother had loved and labored over.
After Bree and I had learned she was pregnant, we'd begun talking about where we wanted "home" to be for our child. Of course, she'd wanted a home in Dallas. That was her home, after all, but she'd surprised me when she'd said Amelia needed a home here, too. She was a child with dual citizenship and, as Bree had mused, should have a home in both her homelands.
We'd talked about building near the White Cliffs of Dover, next door to the home I'd built years before, but then, my wife had made an interesting proposition: build a brand new house in the spot where Tricia's house had once stood and then turn my childhood home into a child's wonderland.
My first response had been a staunch no, but my wife had painted an intriguing picture. Like when she'd asked me to make love to her in that house, to banish the ghos
ts of my past, she'd suggested turning the cottage into a place where there'd be only good memories, and I had to admit, with every new memory we made here, she'd been spot on.
I knelt next to Amelia where she examined the pile of rocks and looked for a new treasure, but when I heard my wife's voice growing steadily louder, I looked back toward Amelia's cottage as Bree stepped onto the back patio. The big black dog that'd adopted us after we'd moved in padded at her feet. I hadn't been keen on the dog hanging around, but now, the adorable mutt had her own collar, her own bed at the foot of our bed, and her own name: Dahlia, after the dog I'd lost as a child.
Bree had her phone in one hand and the pink and blue container that held Amelia's finger-paints in the other. At a few months' shy of two, my daughter's joy came not from the painting itself but the mess she made while doing it. At least, given the way she squished globs of paint between her fingers, that was the opinion I'd always gotten, but it was okay. Painting Amelia's "treasures" was a back-porch activity—and it was such for a reason.
When Bree finished her phone call and had deposited the paint box on the patio table, she sauntered toward us. She so little resembled the nervous woman I'd met all those years ago on the top of Reunion Tower. She'd impressed me during that interview, and every day, she managed to impress me just a little more.
When my wife reached us, I pushed to my feet and greeted her with a kiss. "Are you finished giving away all our money for the day?"
She rolled her eyes in the way I adored, but she was all smiles. "For the day, yes, but there are so many files still left on my desk, so many people and organizations in need. I want to help them all."
I'd expect nothing less from the CEO of Sweet Pea Charities. "That's why I put you in charge. I knew you'd disperse the money where it most needs to be."
"Oh, and here I was thinking you put me in charge because you wanted to live in abject poverty. Hmm. Who knew!"
I chuckled. "I doubt we'll be living in poverty anytime soon."
"Fingers crossed."
God, I loved her more every day, and every day, I was amazed at my capacity to love her even more.
The shadows of Théo's vendetta still hovered over us, and I suspected they always would. But we were surviving. My nightmares had pretty much gone away again, and for the most part, so had hers. Close to a year had passed since either of us had had one. We still saw Dr. Marcus once a month, either in-office or via video. Bree and I both felt it important; we had no more secrets from one another.
"Ma, wook!" Amelia held up another rock, this one large enough she needed to use both hands.
"Wow." Bree dropped to sit beside our daughter. "This'll make a beautiful treasure! Where would you like to put it once it's painted?"
Amelia handed the rock to her mother before pointing to someplace in the garden only she knew before returning to the pile in search of her next treasure.
I sat beside my wife, and she rested her head on my shoulder. We didn't speak; we didn't need to. We simply watched the child we'd created as she frolicked happily from one side of the rock pile to the other, searching for that perfect treasure to call her own. I, on the other hand, had already found my perfect treasures.
Bree
As I watched my daughter rummage through the pile, I wondered what criteria a rock needed to meet to achieve her lofty standards. She looked so intently at each one she picked up. She reminded me of her father when he was reading through financial documents. They both flattened their lips, and a cute little wrinkle formed in the center of their foreheads.
God, I loved them so much.
I wouldn't have this if I hadn't done what I'd done in that basement. At least, that was the rationale I kept telling myself. Maybe it was true; maybe it wasn't. Killing Théo had almost killed me. The nightmares that followed were the worst I'd ever experienced. Nothing but time, Max's constant presence, and Dr. Marcus' steady understanding and guidance had been able to lessen their effect.
Over time, the dark shadows of that terrible time lessened. I liked to think it was because I simply had more light in my life than ever before. Mine and Max's relationship had never been stronger, and Amelia brought so much joy to my life that, sometimes, I wondered if I'd really died in that basement and this was my own personal heaven.
Not long after our wedding, Max and I had launched Sweet Pea Charities. Together. I liked knowing the organization carried the name of his mother's favorite flower—and that he'd given our daughter the same pet name. I missed working at Red Light, but more than that, I missed getting to see Chad and Aimée. Aimée was the only one of us still working there, but with my recommendation, Max had given her the position of manager.
I never knew where Chad was from month to month. He and his husband traveled a lot and were never in the same place for too long, but we all kept in touch and got together for coffee whenever we could. Once, when Chad had emailed to say he'd be in Paris for the month, Max had sent his jet to the States for Aimée, and the three of us had had coffee and crepes beneath the Eiffel Tower.
Amelia found her third treasure and brought it to us. "Paint!" she announced and then scurried up the path before we'd so much as moved.
"I'm getting too old for this," Max grumbled as he got to his feet, but a thousand-watt smile lit his face.
"Stop complaining, Grandpa," I teased, "and help me up." I wasn't getting too old for this, but my knee still gave me trouble from time to time.
With a chuckle, he offered me his hands and pulled me, laughing, into his arms. He kissed me thoroughly but quickly, and when he pulled back and the smile I loved lighted his face, I knew there'd be no better time to tell him.
"I spoke to Karen this morning," I said as we walked, hand in hand, along the path our daughter had just taken—although not with her speed or enthusiasm. "She and Uncle Garrett offered to babysit tonight. Karen said she's dying to see her goddaughter and namesake again. Her words."
And if it was like Amelia's last visit, my baby girl would likely come home covered in paint—covered. Karen had bought this enormous piece of canvas and let Amelia go to town on it. Then, when all was said and done, she'd found three beautiful squares and framed them. One hung in hers and Garrett's home, one in ours, and the other we'd auctioned off as a fundraiser for Sweet Pea Charities. I was still flabbergasted at the sum someone had paid for something created by a sixteen-month-old.
"Funny," Max said, looking sideways at me, "I spoke with Garrett this morning, and he said he and Karen were going out for a date night."
Busted.
I shrugged. "Okay, fine, I asked her if she could babysit, but she did say she was dying to see her goddaughter and namesake again. And us, too," I added with a wink before pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder. "Garrett made a comment about what he wanted to do to a certain part of my anatomy that I shouldn't repeat with young ears nearby."
Max chuckled as he leaned close, his voice almost a purr. "And what, my sweet wife, did you have in mind for us tonight?"
"Pretty much whatever you wanted, Sir—however you want it."
"Mmm." He nuzzled my temple before nipping at my earlobe. "I like the sound of that, little sub."
"I thought you would. I was hoping to play in our dungeon one more time before using the flogger or the crop or anything else on my abdomen might get, shall we say, dangerous. Although, if I'm being honest, it's already about eight weeks too late for that anyway. We'll just have to settle for hot, sweaty, slow-fucking instead." I said the last bit as a soft, low purr in his ear so as not to scar Amelia for life.
My husband stopped mid-stride, his mouth stuck in an "O" shape, his blue eyes widening. After the shock wore off, however, that "O" slowly transformed into a stupid grin. Not that the grin was stupid, but a stupid grin. I liked his stupid grins; there were so many of them these days.
"Bree, are you… are you pregnant again?"
"Yes! Which explains yesterday's moodiness and today's craving for eggrolls and fried…”
He swept me into a fierce hug and spun me around, smothering my face in kisses. I squealed, a sound of pure love and happiness. My Max. My Sir. My husband. My children's father.
My everything.
The End
Brandi Evans
Brandi Evans was raised by a caravan of traveling Gypsies. She spent her days learning the ways of her people and her nights lost in legends as old as time. Okay, not really, but that's way more interesting than the truth!
In reality, Brandi grew up the oldest child of an ordinary family. Grade school, middle school, high school. Nothing extraordinary happened until she left the nest. She joined the military, went to college, got married, and became a mom. And somewhere along the way, she discovered she liked to read—and write!—stories hot enough to melt eReaders.
Visit her website here:
http://www.brandievansauthor.com/
Visit her blog here:
http://www.brandievansauthor.blogspot.com/
Don’t miss these exciting titles by Brandi Evans and Blushing Books!
Red Light Fantasies
His for the Taking - Book 1
A Hot Mess - Book 2
All Maxed Out - Book 3
Restrained Fantasies Series
His Forbidden Submissive - Book 1
Reading His Submissive - Book 2
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