Brant Page 5

“Then tell me. Tell me everything, Cherry. I mean it. Lay all your burdens down, and I’ll take them on with you.” Her hand still grips mine gently, and she squeezes it in acknowledgment as we walk slowly toward my truck. I love the feel of her skin touching mine, like tiny jolts of electricity.

  As I’m opening the passenger side door and boosting her up, I realize what a colossal idiot I am. I can’t let her go, not when I’ve finally begun to let her in. What we’re starting to build here is solid. She’s skittish, and what if me pushing her away again sends her running for the hills? She could transfer to any T&T store, and I’d be the one left behind to pick up the pieces of my own shattered heart.

  No.

  I will not push her away again.

  I’m going to be selfish for once in my life.

  I’m choosing to win the girl.

  The girl who tastes like cherries, loves giant pandas, likes sleeping in, speaks her mind, has ADHD, and loves fiercely—yeah, that one. Without a doubt in my mind, I know she will be mine.

  “I can’t,” she whispers into the air. “It’s not a question of me not wanting to let you in, it’s me not wanting to let any man in. A casual affair from time to time is okay with me, but those are few and far between. My trust in the opposite sex was obliterated years ago, and it’s never coming back.”

  “Let me earn your trust as a man.” I’m a drowning man begging her for air, and I’ll do whatever it takes to win a place in her heart. This back and forth inside my head stops now, this second. “I know without a single doubt we’d be amazing together. We’d love fiercely. We’d burn bright. I can feel it, and I know you feel it, too.”

  “Don’t you see it as a problem though? We’d burn bright and eventually burst into flames. What if you hurt me like Mick hurt me? What if you break me? I can’t take having pieces of my soul stripped away or my heart broken again, Brant. This time it’d kill me.”

  “Mick is the ex-husband?” I question. She’s mentioned his name once before but otherwise always refers to him as just her ex. I’ve wondered what happened to her but never pressed the issue. Now I’m questioning whether I should’ve. I spy her nodding her head out of the corner of my eye. “What did he do to you, love?”

  She continues to stare out her window. Taking a deep breath, she begins to tell me her truth. “He broke me down and eventually stripped my soul bare.”

  She doesn’t say another word, and neither do I. We continue on to the restaurant in silence, but it’s not an awkward silence. This one is filled with understanding. Her unspoken words are a promise to tell me more, and mine echo the same back. She may think he stole her soul, but I know it’s still there. It’s simply hiding, and I’m the man who’s going to find it.

  TESSA

  Once we’re seated in a corner booth near the back of the restaurant, I know I’ll tell him the rest of what Mick did to me. Instead of enjoying the romantic ambience surrounding us, I’ll be reliving my own personal hell.

  Brant’s steely eyes shine in the candlelight, and for a moment I’m taken aback by how devilishly handsome he is. His newly grown beard adds to his overall look, and I’ll admit it makes a certain neglected lady part of mine stand up and sing. His dark hair, jewel-toned eyes, tan skin, and muscular build all add up to my eventual downfall. All are equivalent blows to my defenses. When we first met, I wanted to fuck him…until he opened his frat-boy mouth.

  “It should be illegal for you to be viewed in candlelight,” I mumble, my frustration clear.

  Laughing, he leans back farther into his side of the high-backed plush burgundy booth. His eyes glitter with mischief.

  “I could say the same for you, Cherry. Not only are you gorgeous in regular light, but candlelight?” Biting his fist, he groans out in frustration. Join the club, buddy. “It adds this whole extra element. Your hair looks like black velvet, and I want to bury my face in its softness.”

  Our waiter picks this moment to come over and interrupt us. He introduces himself as Lee and proceeds to take our drink order. The moment we’re alone again, I begin to tell my story.

  “Mick and I started dating in the seventh grade. Our relationship started off normal, like any young relationship does, I suppose. We were friends for the most part and didn’t start experimenting as more until we were in high school. Then junior year happened. Things shifted slowly at first. He started telling me I wasn’t enough.

  “No one likes your company but me, don’t you know that by now? They’re only your friends because of me. They feel sorry for you because you’re not beautiful enough. Tessa, no one wants to be around you because you’re a loser. It’s a good thing I love you. Those are just a few examples of the shit he’d say to me.

  “He took up all my free time, and I lost all of my friends except for him. I quit sports teams because he told me I wasn’t worthy enough, said I was a terrible team player. You pitched a horrible game—how could you have let the other team score? It’s your fault your team lost. You should do them a favor and quit. I left the choir for the same reason. A solo? You actually think your director is going to allow you to sing a solo? Yeah, sure. You sound like a bucket of strangled frogs. I’d quit if I were you.

  “Senior year, two weeks before graduation, my dad died of a heart attack. I was devastated. Of course, Mick was there to pick up the pieces. Since I was eighteen at the time, I was an adult and thankfully didn’t go into the foster system, but I was scared and alone.

  “We were married on his eighteenth birthday at the courthouse a few days after graduation.

  Why? Because he saw me as a weak pawn—a newly somewhat rich, weak pawn. When I went to register and pay for college courses, I was embarrassed when all my forms of payment were declined. I didn’t understand how because my school should’ve been covered by the money Daddy had left for me, but somehow, Mick stole it all. Every penny. He was in the office with me when it all happened. When we left, I confronted him, and he slapped me because, according to him, as a married man, it was rightfully his money, too.

  “Shocked doesn’t cover what I felt. I was embarrassed because we were in public, ashamed, broken, humiliated, shattered—but I picked up the pieces of myself and stayed. I stayed for six more years of his hands on me—his hands trying to choke the life out of me, his fists using me as a punching bag, his feet kicking my ribs until they broke, his words adding to the physical blows—until one day I saw the light and left.”

  Stopping, I gasp for air, the space closing in on me. Immediately I feel the coolness of a glass pressing into the palm of my hand. “Take a drink, love.” Following his instruction, I lift the glass with an unsteady hand and take a huge gulp. “There you go, now take a deep breath in.” Again, I follow his suggestion. “You’re doing great, Tessa. Now hold the breath in for a few seconds then let it out. Keep repeating that until you feel okay again.”

  His voice is the calm in my storm.

  Never before have I felt what I’m feeling at this moment.

  I’ve never told anyone what happened with Mick. Not a single person other than me and the monster himself knows what went on inside my marriage. I’ve always been too ashamed to say the words.

  Our waiter picks this moment to come back to ask if we’re ready to order. Of course he does.

  “As you can see, we’re going to need a minute,” Brant snaps.

  “No, no, it’s okay—order for me.” The quicker we order, the faster our food will arrive and the sooner we can leave. It’s not like I want to be rid of my company already, because truth be told, I actually do like spending time with him; I simply want this portion of our evening to conclude.

  “Fine. We’ll each have the house rib eye cooked medium, steamed broccoli, a baked sweet potato with cinnamon butter, and a Caesar salad.” The tone of his voice leaves nothing for debate, and Lee walks off without uttering another word.

  How does Brant know me this well?

  Pushing the glass into my palm again, he urges me to take another drink, the cool liqu
id instantly soothing my parched throat. I glance up at him and he smiles, his eyes shining with understanding. Could he possibly know what it’s like to be me?

  “Since I see the question in your eyes, I’ll answer it—no, I don’t know what you’re going through, at least not personally. I do, however, know what abuse looks like. I’ve been around it enough to recognize all the ugly pieces of it. What you’ve gone through, Cherry, makes me want to find this piece of human filth”—he spits the word out with disgust—“and rid the world of him. It’s taking all my control to stay on my side of this booth right now.”

  The words forming in my mind never reach my throat; I can’t bring myself to speak them. While I’d like for him to comfort me, I’m nervous. When I told him I didn’t want more than friendship from him, I meant it. More isn’t in the cards for me, ever, not only because I don’t want to fall in love again, but because I have issues when it comes to men touching me.

  Period.

  End of story.

  Brant may touch me all the time, but it takes a lot of trust in him for me to be able to allow him to. Yes, I do enjoy it most of the time when he does, and we all know I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the fuck out of his kiss the other day, but I can’t allow it to happen again. If I let my walls down, I’m allowing him in the same way I let Mick in.

  Feeling like a fraud, I stare at him in silence until our food arrives. He doesn’t say another word, and neither do I. My thoughts are enough company for now.

  When I told Averill about the guy I was seeing before her wedding? Most of it was a lie. He wasn’t the dominant one—I was. He didn’t take control of me—I took control of him. It’s the way I’ve been ever since Mick. Every single encounter I’ve had since my divorce has been one where I have the control. They don’t touch me—I touch them. If I can’t bind their hands, nothing happens between us.

  The silence continues until Lee approaches to ask how we like our meal. If not for his interruption, I’m positive the quietness would’ve continued until we left the restaurant.

  “Would you like another lemon drop?” he asks me, completely ignoring Brant.

  “No, I’m fine with the one, but I will take more water, please.” I’ve had more than enough liquor for the night. No matter what others think about me, I truly don’t drink much. Since I had a surgery a few years back, it only takes one to two drinks to make me feel drunk. It’s cheap when I decide to go out on the town, but it can make me look like a lush to others.

  “I’ll take the check, please, Lee,” Brant states before the waiter briskly walks away.

  “We’re barely halfway done with our meals—why did you ask for the check?”

  “Because you’re picking at yours like a bird, and I’m done. Admit it, you want out of here as much as I do.”

  He’s not wrong; I do want to leave. I’ve wanted to leave since I uttered the last words about the horror Mick put me through, but I didn’t realize my discomfort was shining through. I mean, I guess deep down I knew it was, but still, I wanted Brant to at least feel like I was enjoying my dinner.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble.

  “Cherry, you don’t have a damn thing to be sorry for. It’s me who’s sorry. I’m sorry you had to live through hell. I’m sorry you were married to a piece of scum. If anyone sitting here tonight is sorry, it’s me. You should never be sorry or make any apology because you’re a victim, honey.”

  It’s the first time anyone has called me a victim. Averill knows my marriage was unhealthy, but she doesn’t know the full extent. It’s my own fault she doesn’t know everything. I’ve only hinted to her how damaging matters were. My not opening up to anyone is why I’ve never been labeled a victim.

  Why does the word seem freeing?

  It could be that the word itself isn’t freeing, but I feel free because I’ve finally told someone my truth—most of it. At least some of the ugliness has shifted off my shoulders.

  Could what Brant is offering me be the key to my future?

  Should I trust him enough to let myself go?

  Maybe not to fall in love, but enough to let him in at least to the point where I can trust him with my body.

  I’ll still keep true to myself and guard my heart.

  It’s something to ponder tonight when I’m back home and alone.

  For now, I’ll give him the piece of myself I seem to have given him already when I let the words flow from my lips. I’m trusting he’ll keep it safe.

  “Okay. I’m not sorry then. How about we go somewhere else for dessert?” I don’t know about him, but I’m more than ready to sweep this conversation under the rug. “I could go for a cone of triple fudge ripple.”

  “I have a craving for cherries, myself,” he declares with a completely straight face. He’s a real comedian. Quickly looking up, I see his gaze is filled with humor, and something else. Could it be lust? If he’s feeling lust toward me after all I’ve revealed, he must mean what he says.

  He does want more than friendship.

  Is this one of those times in my life when I should trust my gut? Because my gut has led me to make some awful choices, and I’m not only talking about marrying Mick or staying with him for as long as I did.

  Throwing a couple of hundreds on the table, he pushes his chair back and proceeds to stand up. “Come on, Cherry, let’s go grab us an ice cream cone.”

  “I know the perfect place,” I say while grabbing the hand he offers. He twines our fingers together and briskly leads me out of the restaurant, a stunned Lee watching as we walk by.

  “I left plenty of cash on the table, as well as a hefty tip, Lee.”

  I’ve always admired a first-rate tipper. In the early years of my marriage, to actually pay for college, I waited tables. Trust me, what companies get away with paying the wait-staff should be considered a crime. If not for my tips, some nights I wouldn’t have made enough to cover a cup of coffee, let alone put groceries on the table.

  “You meant it when you said you wanted to get out of there.”

  “It wasn’t a matter of wanting to leave, it was my ability to read you well enough to know you were uncomfortable. The surroundings were nice, the company perfect, but the air around us was tainted. You didn’t deserve to sit there another minute.”

  Holy shit. Talk about taking a girl’s breath away. The words he’s saying seep into my bones, hitting the marrow and truly sinking in. For the first time since my awful marriage, I believe in someone again. Without a doubt in my mind, I know he means what he says. Why it’s taken me this long to realize what was always in front of me, I haven’t a clue.

  The next words I say will forever alter my life.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?” he volleys back, because I chickened out and said one solitary word.

  “Okay, I’ll give you a chance to be more than my friend,” I whisper. If I say it low enough, maybe it’ll get carried away on the wind and he won’t hear me.

  “Did I hear you correctly, Cherry?”

  “Um, it depends on what you heard.”

  “Well, I think I heard you say you wanted to be more than friends, but I couldn’t have possibly heard those words because I’m not dreaming.”

  Staying silent, I walk ahead of him and lead the way to his truck. He clicks his key fob to unlock the doors, and I begin to let myself in.

  “Oh no, sweetness, I’ll get your door and help you inside—and don’t think I’m letting you get away with not confirming what you said,” he says as he moves to open my door.

  “I know you won’t let me deny what I said, but I’m a coward. It’s hard for me to say the words again. It was hard for me to say them at all, but you heard correctly.” I grasp his hand as he attempts to buckle me in. Who does such a thing? I give it a gentle squeeze before releasing it. “If we try this, I have rules—a lot of them—and I mean it when I say they can’t be broken. If they are, we quit this ‘more’ thing straight away, no questions asked.”

  He
swallows, and his damn Adam’s apple is sexy as fuck. I’ve never paid attention to that part of a man before, but suddenly I feel like licking his. Once I’m secure in my safety belt, he places a hand on my cheek, softly moving his thumb in a soft caress.

  “I’ll take whatever I can get from you. If you need rules, we can have rules. If you need time, I’ll give you time, but I’m in this for the long haul. I’m not trying to sleep with you and move on. I want you to be in my life, Cherry…forever, if you’ll let me.”

  I’ve made vows of forever before.

  The only vow I’ve sworn to since is the one I made to myself. Suddenly, I find myself breaking it by saying I want to be more than his friend. My thoughts are running rampant. I feel like it’s too much too fast.

  “Brant?”

  “Yeah, sweetness?”

  “I can’t promise forever.”

  “I never asked you to.”

  “What if I can only give you a few days? What if I can’t even give you those?” Because let’s face it, I’m horribly moody and am used to flying solo, not to mention my severe trust issues.

  “How about we cross that bridge when we get to it?” he suggests.

  Swallowing, I reply with the only affirmative word I can seem to come up with tonight.

  “Okay.”

  Chapter Five

  Brant

  “Okay.”

  The single word gives me hope.

  Hope for our future, a future together, one where I’m free and she’s not afraid of anything, where all of her dragons are slayed, where our children run around catching fireflies at dusk.

  It’s an incredible picture. Hopefully, it’s not a dream but a reality.

  After dropping her off and leaving her with a simple kiss on the cheek, I make a promise to her, letting her know she’ll hear from me over the next few days while I work for Martinelli. I plan on becoming a permanent fixture in her life going forward. She has rules—big deal. What fun would life be without slight complications along the way? It’s all about the journey in the end anyway. How we get there doesn’t matter.