by HELEN HARDT
“How can there be no future? We love each other.”
He cups my cheek, trailing his thumb over my lower lip. “Love isn’t always enough, Skye.”
“Love conquers all.”
“You’re better than a cliché,” he says. “You’re smarter than that.”
I nod. I can’t fight the truth of his words. Love doesn’t always conquer all, no matter how strong it is. For whatever reason, he won’t bind me at the neck. And for whatever reason, I need him to.
“I will answer your question, Braden,” I say. “That’s why I came here. To figure this stuff out. But when I answer yours, I expect you to answer mine. I want to know why it’s your hard limit.”
He nods. “I always intended to.”
“Then I’ll hold you to it.”
…
Our backyard is large, and one of our fields juts up against it, separated by chain-link fencing. It is, of course, the field where I got lost. I was never allowed to go anywhere near the other fields, as there’s no access from the house.
I breathe in deeply, willing my heart to remain steady. It wants to race, but I won’t let it. If I can’t control my body, what can I control? Not much.
I lead Braden to the chain-link gate at the far side of the yard.
“Is this where you went into the cornfield?” he asks.
“Yes. The gate was open.”
“Did you know how to open the gate?”
“Yeah. But I never did.”
“Were you allowed in the field?”
I nod. “As long as my mom was nearby and as long as I didn’t go in too far.”
“But that day, you went in.”
“Yeah. I was chasing a praying mantis, remember?”
“Right. You liked bugs.”
I smile at the memory. “I was never a girly girl. I played in the mud. I never wore dresses except on special occasions. I didn’t even wear makeup until my senior year of high school.”
“Did you help with the farming?”
“Not the actual farming, no. But I helped Mom dry and can corn in the fall. I helped her with her craft fairs and baking. That kind of stuff.”
“Did you ever want to help in the fields?”
I shake my head vehemently. “Not after that day.”
“Okay. Where did you go from here?”
I point. “See that post in the distance?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s where the scarecrow used to be. It’s where I hit my head and knocked myself out.”
“That’s pretty far for a little kid.”
“Believe me, it seemed like miles, especially when you can’t see over the corn stalks.”
He looks around. “Praying mantises are green, right?”
“Yeah.”
He wrinkles his forehead. “How the hell could you chase it in here? Didn’t it blend in with the stalks?”
“Not really. It’s a different shade of green.”
“Ah,” he says. “Your photographer’s eye.”
“I suppose so. My mom actually asked me the same thing once I came to and told her what I was doing. To me, the greens are totally different.” I let out a breath. I’m feeling better. Talking helps.
“Totally different?” Braden says, one eyebrow quirking.
“Okay. Subtly different. But I can see the difference.”
Braden grabs my hand. “You’re cold as ice.”
“Am I? I thought I was feeling better.”
“It’s okay. Nothing is going to hurt you.”
“Because you’ll protect me, right?”
“Always,” he says, “but you don’t need me to protect you here.”
“I know.” I choke out a laugh. “I was kidding.”
“I know you were. Do you realize that you use humor when you’re nervous?”
“Do I?”
“You do.”
We walk through the plowed pathway, moving farther and farther out, toward the old scarecrow pole. We don’t seem to be getting any closer, though, until it juts out from the ground and stops me in my tracks. I resist the urge to cry out in surprise.
“Here we are,” Braden says.
“Yes.”
“Take this place back, Skye.”
“What do you mean?”
“Here it is. It’s an old pole. Nothing can harm you here. So take it back. Take back the power it stole from you all those years ago.”
“Have you ever done anything like that?” I can’t help asking.
“This isn’t about me. It’s about you.”
“But have you—”
“You have no idea what I’ve had to take back in my life.”
“Will you tell—”
“Damn it, Skye. Must you always be so obstinate?”
I let out a nervous laugh. “Isn’t that why you love me?”
He shakes his head. “God help me. You’re partially right.”
I smile. Sort of. “I understand what you’re trying to do, but I don’t need to take this back, Braden. It doesn’t scare me.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No. I admit to being reluctant to come here, but I’m fine now. Really.”
I’m not lying. My heart is beating normally, and my skin is no longer chilled. I’m okay.
“Then perhaps you’re wrong.”
“About what?” I ask.
“Maybe this isn’t what gave birth to your need for control.”
“No, this is it,” I say. “I didn’t realize until I got here, though, that this place isn’t anything to hamper my life. Besides, I gave up control. To you. Remember?”
“You did. Or rather you may think you did.”
“What do you mean?”
“Feeling out of control is related to anxiety. That’s how you feel when you lose control in a situation. That’s probably how you felt when you got lost here all those years ago.”
I nod.
I remember so vividly when he puts the situation in those words. My heart thumping, fear flowing through me. My little legs trying to run but tripping, and then the pole springing up just as it did today, breaking my path.
Hitting my head.
Then waking up in bed.
“But,” Braden continues, “is that how you feel when you’re not in control now?”
Is it? “No,” I reply. “Not really.”
“So you see, Skye, your need for control isn’t really who you are at all, is it?”
Is he right? Is that how I was able to succumb to his mastery so easily?
“I… I don’t know.”
“What you define as being a control freak is really just a preference. You prefer to be able to think clearly. That’s why you don’t get drunk.”
“You think?”
“It’s possible. In fact, your willingness to give up control to me in the bedroom may be because it’s nice not to have to think sometimes. It’s nice to let someone else be in charge.”
My mouth drops open.
He’s right.
He’s exactly right.
“Tessa says I don’t let my hair down enough.”
“You seem to let it down with me.”
“Yeah, I do… In fact…”
“What?”
Say it. Just say it. “I want to let it down farther than you’re willing to let me.”
“That’s true.”
“So…what do we do now?”
“You have to figure that out for yourself, Skye. I can’t help you.”
“But you just—”
“I just got lucky on a hunch. Most self-professed control freaks aren’t actually control freaks. For example, you don’t micromanage.”
“How do you know?”
�
�Addison wouldn’t have let you.”
He’s not wrong. “Since you brought her up—”
“Nice try.” His lips tremble, as if he’s trying not to laugh. “We’re not talking about me yet.”
I huff. “Fine.”
“You also didn’t change yourself or your situation for me.”
“I would never do that.”
“That’s exactly my point. You are who you are. You don’t change yourself to control the situation.” He pauses. Then, “Let me ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“Were you attracted to me from the beginning?”
“Of course.”
“A true control freak would have attempted to manage my impression of her. You didn’t do that.”
I cock my head. Is he onto something? I want to hear more.
“Did you want to sleep with me that first night?”
“Of course!”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, I—”
“See what I mean?”
“But I was controlling the situation.”
“No, you weren’t. You gave up something you wanted that you could have had. How is that being in control?”
“It was… It was too soon.”
“According to whom?”
Good question. “I don’t know. According to the rules I set in my own head?” I laugh nervously.
“Bingo. That’s your illusion of control—those rules in your head. But that’s not what makes a true control freak. You control only yourself. A control freak takes charge of others.”
I drop my jaw. His words make an eerie kind of sense.
“What did you gain by controlling yourself?” he asks.
“Nothing. I mean, I made you wait, I guess.”
“You did. You made us both wait for something we both wanted. But you know what?”
“What?”
“I never doubted you’d come to my bed. And I never doubted you’d eventually yield to me.”
I cock my head. “You said I was a challenge.”
“Yes, and you were. You are. But I never back down from a challenge, and there’s not one thing I’ve gone after that I haven’t gotten.”
“So you’re saying…”
“I’m saying there’s only one true master of control standing here, Skye, and it’s not you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Braden’s voice has gone dark once more, and my knees weaken.
As wonderful as last night was, I will always crave the darker side in the bedroom…and thankfully so will he.
“What if I said I wanted to fuck you right now, Skye? Right here, against this pole that frightened you so long ago. I’d like to blindfold you, tie you to it, and take you from behind hard and fast while forcing you to stay quiet the whole time.”
I don’t even have to think about my response. “I’d say do it.”
He groans. “You have no idea how much I want to.”
“No one’s stopping you that I can see.”
“Only you.”
I widen my eyes. “Did I not just tell you to do it?”
“You did, and I’m tempted.” He grabs my hand and leads it to the firm bulge below his waist. “You feel what you do to me? What you always do to me?”
I nod, shaking.
“But if we go back there—back to that place we both desire—you will still want things I can’t give you. Until you can tell me why you want those things, I can’t go there.”
“I can live without it.” I gulp.
“Can you?”
“For God’s sake, Braden, I’ve lived without all of this for the first twenty-four years of my life. I’ve had sexual relationships before. Satisfying sexual relationships.”
He wraps his arms around me, pinning me to the scarecrow post. “As satisfying as ours?”
My body is jelly. Total jelly. I’ll yield to him any way he wants right now. “Well…no. But that’s because I love you. I didn’t love any of them.”
“Is that the only reason?”
I don’t reply right away. Instead, I reach forward, squeeze and rub his erection.
He whisks my hand away. “Stop it, Skye.”
“We both want it.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Why? I can live without the choking, okay?” I gasp back a sob. “I don’t know why it spoke to me so much. Maybe if I knew why you won’t—”
He places his fingers over my lips. “Knowing my story won’t change yours.”
“But—”
“It won’t, and it shouldn’t.”
I don’t reply.
“This place doesn’t scare you anymore.”
“No.” I give him a mischievous smile. “It would scare me less if you fucked me here.”
He touches my cheek. “Nice try. Let’s go back now. I’ll buy you lunch in town, and then I need to get on my way to New York.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too. Take some time for yourself. I’d like you to be able to answer my question when you return to Boston.”
I nod. “I will, Braden. I promise.”
It’s a promise I’m determined to keep.
…
After a delectable lunch of pasta at Luigi’s, Braden’s ride came for him and he drove off. I stood on Main Street in front of the red brick hotel and watched the car until it was no longer visible.
Hope fills my heart. We can work this out. I know we can now, because I know he wants it as much as I do. I just need to give him an answer to his question. I stroll along Main Street for a few minutes, taking in the sights. Two years have passed since I’ve been here, and though it still looks like a small town straight out of the 1950s, I notice one small change. What used to be the Tabor Brooke Law Office now has a different tenant. Rosa Brooke, Family Therapist. Tabor Brooke’s daughter.
Hmm.
I know Rosa. She and I went to high school together. She was a townie. One of the beautiful people and a cheerleader, but she was always nice to me despite my being a rural kid. Maybe she’d be willing to chat about my…issue.
I gather my courage and walk through the entrance.
A small desk sits between two closed doors. “May I help you?” the receptionist asks.
I sigh. “No.” I turn.
Then, almost as quickly, I turn back to her. “I’m sorry. I don’t have an appointment.”
“Mr. Brooke isn’t in today. He’s in court.”
“I was actually hoping I could see Rosa.”
“Oh. She’s with someone at the moment, but they’re almost done. What’s your name?”
“Skye Manning.”
A teenaged girl walks out through one of the doors. She waves at the receptionist. “See you next week, Mary.”
“Have a great day,” Mary replies. Then she picks up her phone. “Rosa, there’s a young woman here to see you. Skye Manning.”
A few seconds, and then out walks Rosa, still as blond and beautiful as she was in high school. “Skye, how nice to see you!”
“Hi, Rosa. I was walking by and saw your sign.”
“When did you get into town?”
“Just yesterday. I’ll be here all week.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you since graduation. You look amazing, but then, you always did.”
I smile. Yeah, she was always nice to me. “Thank you. You look amazing as well.”
“We should do lunch while you’re home.”
“That’d be great. I’d love to talk.”
“Of course. We’ll catch up. I hear you’re a big photographer in Boston.”
I nod. “I wouldn’t say big, but I’m at least taking pictures.”
“Wonderful. I can’t wait to chat. Wha
t’s your schedule like?”
“Well.” I clear my throat. “I’m free now.”
“I have a half hour. Sure. Let’s go get a soda.”
I twist my lips. “Rosa, when I said I wanted to talk, I meant…professionally.”
“Oh!” She widens her eyes. “Of course. Come on into my office.”
I follow her, and she shuts the door.
“Have a seat.”
I choose the couch, and she takes the wingback chair adjacent to me.
I clear my throat again. “I have insurance. I can pay you.”
“I’m not worried about that. What can I help you with?”
God, where to start? “I’m in a relationship. Sort of. With… With Braden Black.”
Her eyes nearly pop out of her head. “You are?”
“We’re kind of off again at the moment.”
“Seriously? Braden Black?”
“Just for the past few weeks. I guess the tabloids didn’t get here yet.”
“Liberty’s the last to get any kind of news. So tell me all about him.”
I fold my hands in front of me to keep from fidgeting. “That’s kind of why I’m here, actually. We have an issue that I need to resolve.”
“I’ll try my best to help, but if you’re only going to be here for a week, there’s a limit to what I can do.”
“I understand. If you tell me I need further guidance, I’ll find a therapist when I get home.”
“One session of therapy isn’t usually enough.”
“I’m here all week. I can come in more than once.”
“If there’s room in my schedule, I’ll be happy to see you. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. What brought you in today, Skye?”
“It’s Braden,” I say. “He and I have a rather…unconventional relationship.”
“How so?”
“Our sex life is”—my cheeks warm—“kind of…” I swallow down a wave of nausea. “This is all confidential, right?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t be a very good counselor if I blabbed my clients’ stories all over town.” She smiles.
I know she’s telling the truth, but her words make me edgy. Maybe this was a bad idea.
She seems to sense my apprehension. “Skye, something’s obviously bothering you. I assure you that you can trust me. I’m a professional and I’m bound by the ethics of the profession.”
I sigh. “Okay. Our sex life is… He’s into BDSM.”