by Maria Luis
His hand latched onto her wrist, immobilizing her when all she wanted to do was run. Because yes, dammit, she was scared. Scared that he could tear her to pieces without even blinking, scared that if he did, she would never be able to pull herself together again.
His touch turned soothing as his thumb caressed the pulse of her wrist. Her heart lurched and she stole a look at his face, surprised to find that his expression had shifted from anger to tenderness.
She couldn’t help but whisper his name, seeking, questioning.
“Sweetheart,” he said with a quick shake of his head, “let me speak.” Drawing in a large breath, he continued. “You’ve always been scared, Shae. I’m not gonna pretend to be a psychologist, but that fear never really left you. I’m sure it has to do with a more deep-rooted problem like not meeting parental expectations, etcetera, but the thing is: that fear carried over to your relationship with me.”
Still swiping his thumb against the sensitive skin of her inner wrist, he brought her hand to his chest. Beneath her palm, she felt the quick tattoo of his heartbeat. Her breath caught, her eyes seeking his face.
“I’m scared, too, sweetheart,” he told her. “I’m scared that I love you too much and that you don’t love me at all. I’m scared that one day my job will again put me in a position where there’s an ‘either or’ and not a ‘both’—which is probably why I turned down the job offer to make sergeant.”
Her hand jolted in his. “You did what?” She pulled at her hand again, but he refused to release her. “You’ve been waiting for that promotion for a year!”
Brady nodded, as though everything she said was undeniably true. Only, then he opened his mouth to say the words that made her heart soar. “But I’ve been waiting for you for much longer than that. See, I’ve been waiting since that day you skipped out of town and I went to your house to apologize and to beg for your forgiveness. I’ve been waiting since you didn’t come back, and I spent the first three years paralyzed with fear that I had finished us for good. I’ve been waiting since I went on that first date with a girl who wasn’t you—and how I went home that night sick to my stomach that I would never experience that feeling of rightness again.”
She whimpered, simultaneously tugging at her hand and also positioning her purse in front of her chest because his words were stripping her raw, naked, and she feared that he really could see into the depths of her soul.
“So,” he went on in that gravelly voice of his, “I’ve been living in fear for just as long. And I let that fear guide our relationship when you came back. I made plans—stages, really—of how to win back your love and how long it might take. But I’m done with stages, Shae. I’m done with planning.”
His other hand lifted, sinking into her curly hair, before shifting down to cradle the base of her head in his big palm. “I’m going all out here. I love you, sweetheart, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. The only fear that I want either of us to have is whether we’re missing Sons of Anarchy because we decided to have sex on every piece of furniture in the house, or whether we’re stuck between painting our house a buttery yellow or a bright pink to match the color of your sweats right now.”
Shaelyn’s mind halted on the “our house” part of his speech. “Are you asking me to move in?”
Brady tipped his head back and laughed. It was joyous and surprised all at once, and Shaelyn felt her own lips quirking when he met her gaze and then stamped a quick kiss on her mouth.
“Don’t you get it?” His blue eyes were bright. “I want everything with you. You are my best friend, Shaelyn Magnolia, but you’re more than that. You’re my lover, my confidante, my other half, and yes, my rock. I love you.”
The people passing by on the street seemed to get the idea that something momentous was happening because as opposed to yelling at them for causing traffic, a small circle had formed around them. And if she wasn’t mistaken, a tour group across the street had their cameras out . . . and they were focused on her. Brady.
Her eyes widened as she realized that behind him, Channel 5 News was still there, the camera rolling, the news anchor reaching up to wipe tears from her eyes.
One of her own tears fell, and she swiped at it.
“Shaelyn?” Brady murmured, his hesitancy drawing out the vowels in her name in his New Orleanian accent that was once again so familiar.
“You’re right,” she whispered. “You’re right. I have been living in fear. Or, maybe, I just haven’t been living at all. I ran away years ago, and I’ve been running ever since. When things in one city got to be too much, I took off and looked for something new, something that I had no name for. And”—she drew in a shaky breath—“maybe that’s why I stayed at Carla’s for so long. Because I had the chance to play other characters, and never had to worry about exposing myself. What I wanted, what I feared.”
His thumbs brushed away the tears slipping down her cheeks, and Shaelyn pushed forward. She had to get it all out now, or she never would. “I kept running,” she murmured. “I kept running until I ran into you at your grandparents’ BBQ. I’ve let fear guide me for so long, fear of disappointing people, of not ever being enough.”
“You’re enough, Shae,” he said, his voice low with encouragement. “You’ve always been enough.”
A hesitant smile tipped her lips. “I think . . . I think I’m beginning to realize that. I don’t want to run anymore. I want to be yours.”
“Oh my God!” someone in the crowd shouted. “Tell the poor guy you love him already!”
“No, not yet!” came a different cry. “Hold on! Okay, okay, go now—I’m totally adding this to my Snapchat storyboard. Guys, I love New Orleans.”
Beneath her hand, she felt the heavy pounding of Brady’s heart. Shaelyn let her purse fall to the ground between their feet. Gripping his hand that he held her head with, she led it to her chest and splayed his open palm to her own heart.
She saw his Adam’s apple dip as he swallowed. “Do you—I mean, could you love me back?”
Shaelyn flashed him a smile, knowing that she would remember this moment for the rest of her life. “I don’t think I could love you, Brady,” she told him, “I know that I do love you.”
The tense lines in his face eased as he grabbed her by the waist and yanked her close. “Thank God,” he muttered, raining kisses on her brows, her cheeks, her chin. “Thank God.”
“I love you,” she repeated, cupping either side of his face. “I’m so sorry that I—”
This time he cut her off with a hot, panty-dropping kiss that made the crowd go wild. “No more ‘I’m sorry’s’,” he told her. “It’s a rule.”
She arched a brow. “Since when?”
“Since right now,” he said against her mouth.
Shaelyn pulled back to look up at him, feeling that mischievous pull that always popped up whenever they were together. “And if I don’t follow the rules?”
That brilliant light in his blue eyes turned sultry, heavy-lidded, and his grip on her waist tightened. “You sure you want me telling you on TV?”
To be fair, Shaelyn was pretty sure that their little exhibition was going to be making it past the 5 on Channel 5 News today. She offered the man of her dreams—her other half, her rock—a secretive smile and yanked his head down to whisper in his ear: “You can tell me later. In full detail.”
His answer was a deep, throaty rumble. “I love you, Shaelyn Magnolia.”
For once, the use of her middle name didn’t make her shudder in revulsion. “I love you, too, Brady Taylor.”
And then, off in the distance, Shaelyn heard the ridiculous sounds of Sir Mix-A-Lot singing about big butts and anacondas, and she knew that Julian and Anna had forgiven them—and, more importantly, that they loved Shaelyn and Brady, too.
Epilogue
Three months later . . .
“Aren’t they sick of us yet?” Shaelyn demanded, shoving the paintbrush into the gallon of turquoise paint before attacking the wooden pla
nks with it. Turquoise because it matched the color of Brady’s Destin-blue gaze, and Shaelyn was a sucker for it—and also because when you lived in New Orleans, you might as well immerse yourself in the Euro-Caribbean culture.
Or so she’d told Brady when he’d looked at her in horror, turquoise paint chip in hand. But then she’d informed him that he’d lost the chance to paint their house when he’d invited her to move in. Well, her and Freckles, because although her cat hated her, they were still a team.
Brady gently nudged his phone close to her with his foot, then pointed at the black text on the screen. “According to The Huffington Post’s version of our reunion, I’m about to tell you that I can make all of your naughty dreams come true.”
Shaelyn paused, glancing at her boyfriend. “You never said that. I would remember.”
The right side of his mouth kicked up in a grin. “You sound so sure. But if I remember that day correctly, you were too busy crying and also trying to not let anyone see that you were braless. Let’s not talk about the Tweety Bird pajamas.”
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Shaelyn went back to painting the side of their house. She liked the sound of it. Their house. So official. “Danvers.”
That stopped Brady. He paused mid-paint-stroke. “What do you mean, ‘Danvers’?”
“I mean that your bestie has taken to sending me different clips of our French Quarter reunion on an almost daily basis to, and I quote, ‘make sure I never lose sight of what I have.’”
Brady let go a loud groan. “That is so cheesy.”
Shaelyn nodded happily. She liked Danvers, especially because he never let Brady get too serious now that he’d made sergeant. Lieutenant Cartwell had finally worn Brady down about taking the job. Brady had walked around their house for a total of week, all the while pretending he didn’t want to take the offer, until Shaelyn had reminded him that he’d lived for having that job for months. There wasn’t a single good reason that he should turn it down. And when she’d brought up the possibility of Summers getting the job . . .well, Brady hadn’t needed any further convincing.
The new position was an adjustment for them both. Anna had offered Shaelyn the title of Design Consultant at La Parisienne, which Shaelyn figured her cousin had made up but actually fit her to perfection. In her new role, she dealt almost exclusively with their providers by custom designing the boutique’s lingerie down to the smallest bow and tie. After all, Shaelyn had spent a few years wearing lingerie almost exclusively while working for Carla Ritter—she knew what was comfortable, what wasn’t, and how to make the body look its best.
“Danvers told me about the kidnapping yesterday when you were outside grilling,” she said offhandedly.
“Really.” Although she didn’t look Brady’s way, she knew that he was brooding in that classic Brady way of his. Blue eyes hooded, fingers dug into his pockets, mouth in a tight line. “Did he also tell you how I almost shot Luke?”
“No.” This time Shaelyn did glance his way. “How is Luke, by the way?”
One of Brady’s muscular shoulders inched up and then fell. “I don’t know. He’s back on base. Probably getting deployed again soon.” There was a minute pause where they both stewed in their own thoughts. Although Luke had always been Brady’s friend and not hers, she’d known Luke since they were kids. The thought of him getting hurt worried her.
Sensing that Brady’s mood was dipping due to the conversation, she cleared her throat. “I’ve got something to tell you. A secret.”
“Yeah?” he murmured, voice dipping low. “I thought we agreed on no more secrets?”
“Mhmm.” Shaelyn put down the paintbrush and he did the same with his. Reaching up, she brushed his hair back from his face. He was always forgetting to get it cut, but that was another thing she loved about him.
“What’s your secret?” he asked, his hand following the curve of her waist.
She leaned into him, loving the way he always touched her as though it might be his last time. Or as though it was always his first time doing so. “Technically, it’s two secrets.”
Wariness filtered through his blue gaze. “Yeah?” he repeated.
“Mhmm,” she said, trailing her fingers up and over his bare chest to the abstract tattoo that still turned her on. “One or two?”
“I don’t think I’m going to like this.”
Laughing, she pinched his side. “C’mon, baby, choose one.”
He dropped a kiss to her mouth. “All right, all right, give me number two first.”
“I think Ellen is picking up our story.”
His brows furrowed in confusion. “Ellen, who?”
Good Lord, the man lived under a rock. “Ellen DeGeneres, Brady. You know, the talk show host who just happens to be from Metairie, fifteen minutes away from here?”
To her delight, his mouth dropped open. Then he uttered about three different four-letter expletives that would have made Mary Taylor turn fire-engine red. “I’m never going to live this down,” he said. “I’m going to forever be known as Sergeant Love Me Dirty.”
Shaelyn couldn’t help it. Her hand shot to her mouth as she let out a peel of laughter. “I still can’t believe Danvers got that name to spread around the NOPD.”
With a glower that would scare lesser people, Brady grumbled, “He’s a dead man.”
“You say that every day.”
“I mean it this time.”
“You say that, too.”
They shared a grin, his hands coming up to her biceps to hold her still as he claimed her lips in a deep kiss. “What’s number one? Tell me we’re about to shock Crazy Shirley right now and have sex on our front porch.”
“Are you going to arrest us for public nudity?”
Brady nudged her with his hips, and she wasn’t surprised to feel that he was fully erect and ready to go. “How ‘bout I arrest you and then use those pink furry handcuffs Josie Beveau bought us a few weeks ago when they found out she and Ben were pregnant?”
Somehow, the four of them had become friends. Despite the fake engagement and the fact that Josie loved to over-share about her marital festivities. When she’d discovered that Shaelyn and Brady had never done it with cuffs—Brady being a cop and all—Josie had taken it upon herself to purchase them a pair. Her nose crinkled. “Only if I handcuff you first,” she said.
“Done. Now tell me number one.”
“I overheard Meme Elaine and your grandmother planning your proposal.”
Brady didn’t say anything. Instead his expression momentarily froze as he stared at her. “You have got to be kidding me,” he exclaimed. “They already got you a fake fiancé to get us back together. They don’t need to help plan my proposal when I already know what I’m—”
He cut off abruptly, glaring down at her as though it were all her fault. “You did this on purpose.”
Grinning widely, Shaelyn assured him, “No, I can promise you that I didn’t.”
“Uh-huh,” he muttered, a devilish glint gleaming in his blue eyes. “I think you did.” He backed her up toward the front door, and just the hot look in his gaze was enough to turn her on. “You know what happens to naughty girls, sweetheart.”
She glanced up at him, running her tongue over her dry lips. Wrong move. His gaze zeroed in on the flick of her tongue, and his hands snuck out to wrap around her thighs and lift her up, silently urging her to wrap her legs around his lean hips.
Next to her ear, he murmured, “They get cuffed to the bed with pink, furry handcuffs.”
A startled laugh escaped her. “No, not that,” she mock-begged. “Please.”
His fingers tightened on her butt. “Begging won’t get you anywhere, Shaelyn.”
“Not even if I do this?” she asked silkily, and then tilted her hips to brush where his hard erection pressed against her.
“No, not even if you do that,” came his throaty reply, just before they heard a shout from next door. “I’m sending this to Ellen!”
Shaelyn an
d Brady’s heads whipped around to see Crazy Shirley standing on her front porch, cell phone in hand.
“Shirley, I’ll confiscate your phone,” Brady said sternly.
Shirley sniffed and sashayed backward to her front door. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law, Sergeant Love Me Dirty.”
“Good Jesus,” grunted Brady.
“I’ll be posting this on the YouTube,” she yelled just before her screen door flapped shut.
“No one is going to ever take me seriously.”
“Sure they will.” Shaelyn patted his cheek sympathetically. “Now, about that handcuff thing . . . ”
Brady swooped down to capture her lips in a kiss that foreshadowed all the naughty things he planned to do to her in their bed, in their house. “I love you, Shae.”
She tugged his head down for another kiss that she suspected would make her wild until they were both old and grey. “I love you, too, Brady.”
Dear Fabulous Reader
Hello there!
Thank you for joining me on this journey with Brady & Shaelyn. I have to tell you, their story has been with me for years, ever since I watched a TV show on Reelz. It followed this family (a mother and her three daughters) who ran an Infidelity Business much like Carla Ritter. It’s been long off the air, but for the months that it was on, I became addicted.
Why did they choose to expose cheaters in such a way? How in the world did they tell their family and friends that, “hello, I was sitting on a married man’s lap while his wife watched from the bar’s second floor last night.” I don’t have answers, and it’s quite likely that the entire show was a hoax created for rankings, but it stuck with me anyway.
Shaelyn was born from these questions that I had, though her and Brady’s love story became so much more entwined and more complicated that I envisioned it being when I first sat down at my laptop.
The writer’s muse is a weird thing, y’all.
As for the story’s placement in New Orleans - well, it is a bit of a homage to my second home. Since 2008, I’ve been living on and off (mostly on) in the Crescent City. It is just as vibrant, just as unique, as in Say You’ll Be Mine.
