The moment crystalizes in my mind’s eye, and I see it anew, the way Rye appeared shocked as Isabella reached for him. At my side, Isabella makes a sound of self-disgust.
“It was the worst thing I’ve done. I took advantage of a young man and dishonored my marriage. Xander and I went to counseling after that.”
“Does he…” I lick my dry lips. “Did you tell Xander about what happened?”
“Not that it was Rye. But, yes, I told him I’d kissed another man, and how I regretted it.” She sat up straighter, flicking her hair behind her shoulder. “Later, I tried apologizing to Rye, but he was so appalled by my even mentioning it that I gave up.” She laughs lightly. “I did not want to cause him more embarrassment.”
“Well,” I say weakly. “From what he’s told me, he doesn’t blame you.”
“Which means he blames himself,” she says darkly. “Dear foolish boy. Perhaps I should try again to speak to him.”
“I don’t think you’ll get a different reaction from him.”
Amusement lights her eyes for a moment before she sobers. “You and Rye are together now?”
I hadn’t expected that, and it takes me a second to answer. “We’re friends.”
“Brenna, the way that man looks at you is not that of a friend.”
“We barely look at each other.”
“And in those non-looks, everything is exposed. He is either in love with you or falling fast.”
My fingers clench convulsively on my thighs. Hope and uncertainty make for a fragile pain in my heart. I don’t want to acknowledge it. Not when I’m so tender-skinned. “He asked for a relationship. But I panicked. I said I needed time away from him, from the band.”
I blink rapidly, a heartbeat stuck in my throat, and pour out the rest of it. “He said it was the right thing to do,” I finish. “Ending things, I mean. He wasn’t actually ready. He wants to be friends. I have to respect that, don’t I? We promised each other honesty, so he has to have meant it.”
“Hmm…And you agreed as well.” Isabella’s eyes hold a world of skepticism. “That you only want to be friends?”
Biting my lip, I look away.
Her tone turns dry. “Maybe neither of you is as honest with your feelings as you believe.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s complicated.”
“Mami,” she says with affection. “It’s simple. Do you want this man as your friend or as your everything?”
A bubble of emotion pops within my chest, and I find myself huffing out a weak laugh. “Well, when you put it like that…”
She grins, leaning into my shoulder for a minute. I smile too, but it quickly fades.
She kisses me on the temple then sets my hand back on my thigh. “It isn’t easy to admit when you’ve been wrong. Especially for stubborn women like us. Then again, letting love in never is.”
“I thought loving someone was supposed to be easy.”
Isabella shakes her head slowly. “My dear, I was talking about loving yourself. If you don’t do that first, you’re always going to push away those who try to love you.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Brenna
Stella!!!: Emergency pajama party in the kitchen. 15 min
WhipIt: I don’t wear pajamas.
Stella!!!: Well, find some. No one wants to see your bare ass
So-Sophie: I want cocoa or it’s a no-go
WhipIt: You can’t make that judgment, Stells, without seeing the product first
JaxJax: Whip, you’ll be seeing my foot up said ass if you keep flirting with my woman
So-Sophie: See what I did there? Cocoa no-go? Eh? Eh?
Stella!!!: Yes, you’re very clever, Soph. Signed: John’s “woman”
JaxJax: Is this some sort of feminist thing I messed up?
Stella!!!: If I have to tell you, it doesn’t count. And why are you texting me? We’re in the same bed
JaxJax: :-*
Killer: Can you all please shut up? It’s one in the morning. I’m not in the mood for No-Go Cocoa
So-Sophie: No-Go Cocoa… :D
Stella!!!: You’ll have cocoa and like it, Mr.
Killer: No
Stella!!!: Libby
Libs: I’m on it.
Killer: I resent the idea that you women think you can
WhipIt: She took his phone, didn’t she?
JaxJax: Count on it. Scottie? I know you’re curled around Sophie like she’s your woobie, but we’ll need confirmation of attendance, because you’re evil and no one trusts you not to turn into a snake or something to get away.
MrScott: Sorry, must run. About to dematerialize.
BrennaBean: I’m joining Scottie aboard the mothership, away from you yahoos
Stella!!!: FUNNY. Now get your butts down here. All of you. RYE! I know you’re there. I can hear you breathing.
Rye-Rye: I was having the weirdest dream. You all were in it. No. Wait. It was a nightmare. Or should I call it a wakemare since I’m fairly certain I’m awake now, and you’re all still texting.
WhipIt: HUR!
So-Sophie: Cocoa, Rye-Rye. You love cocoa
Rye-Rye: I will not be swayed by a mere beverage
Stella!!!: And cookies. Lots of cookies
Rye-Rye: I’ll be down in 5
Groaning, I mute my phone, push my head under a pillow, and welcome the muffled silence. I flop onto my back and stare at the lavender silk canopy above my head. When I was a kid, I slept in this bed and called myself Princess Brenna. I wanted a prince to love me. I’m not going to even deny it. I did. And I wanted to be a knight who took on the world and won. I wanted it all.
Along the way, my definition of “all” evolved. It meant relying only on myself, no more risks to my heart. I would go after what I wanted, safe in the knowledge that I’d get it. I’d played it safe because I kept a part of me locked away. And that part of me has slowly withered.
Life is risky now. Uncertain.
I don’t know if I’ll get what I want. And I don’t like that. But I’m done playing it safe.
Muttering, I shove myself upright and push my hair back from my face. Stella and Sophie will march up here and sit on me if I don’t get moving. Besides, Stella is the best out of all of us at reading people’s needs. And while I selfishly ran and hid away in my room for the night, she’s trying to help Killian by having us all there for him. I know my cousin. He’ll grump and bitch, but he truly feels better when his friends are around him.
Ashamed that I didn’t think of this first, I crawl out of bed and slip on a black long-sleeve shirt and a pair of pink flannel pants with black French poodles dancing across them. It’s the closest I have to pj’s, and frankly, I’m tired of dressing up. Having stayed here many times and knowing how cold the floors can get, I have a pair of slippers on hand. I put them on and head downstairs.
As in many old English homes, the kitchen is located on the ground floor and away from the main rooms. The corridor is narrow and fairly dim. I’m not going to say I believe in ghosts or anything, but I’ve never felt any desire to linger in the hallways down here.
Hurrying around the corner, I nearly collide with Rye. His hands automatically grasp my arms to steady me, but he doesn’t let go. With the warm light of the kitchen barely touching us, he’s a shadowy figure, but I feel every inch of him, even with a foot of space separating us. He’s showered, his skin fragrant with the rosemary lemon soap they provide here. It’s never smelled so good. I have to restrain myself from burrowing my nose into the center of his chest.
“Bren,” he says, pulling me out of my scent-induced lust. “We need to talk.”
The dull, almost pained strain in his voice sends alarm skittering down my spine. His expression is serious, hard, even. “Bren, I—”
Killian’s annoyed mutter echoes from down the hall, and I jerk back, knowing he’ll round the corner any second.
“Okay. But not here,” I whisper, glancing toward the sound of Killian’s voice. “Not now.” What I
have to say isn’t for my cousin’s ears.
Rye grimaces, his brows knitting. Killian’s voice is closer, complaining loudly about cold-ass floors. The familiar gripe makes me smile despite myself. I touch Rye’s forearm, trying to reassure him and find it rock-hard with tension. He turns his head, checking the hall.
“Better go,” he says, stepping back to put space between us.
Flustered, I slip into the kitchen without another word. I expect Rye to follow, but he doesn’t.
Like the rest of the rooms in Varg Hall, the kitchen is super-sized. But with its wide plank, worn-oak floorboards, sage-green cabinetry, lime-washed plaster walls, and the great big masonry fireplace, it’s also cozy.
Whip is feeding kindling into the growing fire as I walk past. I ruffle his hair and then take a seat midway down the old pine farm table that stretches like a felled tree in the center of the room. Scottie, who sits opposite me and one chair down, grunts in greeting then sets his phone with the baby monitor app playing on the table. He’s wearing ice-blue Dolce & Gabbana silk pajamas.
My lips twitch. “Sophie got you those, didn’t she?”
There is a certain model featured in a Dolce & Gabbana perfume ad campaign that could be Scottie’s twin. We’re never allowed to speak of it or him. But Sophie likes living dangerously. That, and she has her man twisted around her clever little fingers.
A dark brow wings up as he sniffs. “Early Christmas present.” His steady stare dares me to say anything.
I smile blandly. “I have just the cologne to go with that. Light Blue, I believe it’s called.”
Jax snickers as he sets a mug of cocoa down before me. His idea of pj’s consists of soft gray drawstring pants and a ratty green Henley. Scottie eyes it with annoyance, clearly feeling he’s been punked by having to wear actual pajamas.
But before he can complain, Sophie bounds over swathed in matching pj’s with an ice-blue silk robe trimmed in white feathers. “Isn’t this cute?” She kicks up a silk-clad leg and shows off little white feathered slipper mules with kitten heels. “I feel like some ‘30s Christmas starlet.”
With her platinum-blond bob floating around her face in a silvery cloud and her lips done up in fiery red, she certainly looks the part.
“Love the slippers.” Mine are boring flannel, not at all like my usual heels. Not with these drafty floors.
Killian, Libby, and Rye show up together. Killian and Libby are dressed much like Jax, but Rye surprises me. I hadn’t gotten a good look at him in the hall. I’m looking now. I can’t help it. A white thermal-underwear top stretches over his broad shoulders and packed muscles. Red flannel pants with white cotton fleece leg cuffs hug his lean hips and thick thighs.
“Look who’s playing the role of sexy Santa,” Sophie says with a grin.
Rye grimaces, a cute flush running over the bridge of his nose. “My mom got them for me.”
And I die. I’m pretty sure all the women in the room sigh as one.
Sophie isn’t wrong either. With his beard and that outfit, I’m suddenly flush with naughty thoughts of sitting on his lap and telling him what I want for Christmas while slipping my hand down his pants…
Wrapping my fingers tight around my mug, I order myself to calm the hell down. It isn’t easy, especially since he takes the seat opposite of me. His gaze settles on me like a hot palm between my breasts, and I meet his eyes. He gives me a searching, slightly uncertain look that I return with a tiny smile as if to say everything is fine. But I don’t think he believes it. His jaw bunches, and he moves his attention to Killian, who’s taken the seat at the head of the table.
“You all suck,” Killian mutters, but his posture is easier now. His dark eyes pin Libby. “I can’t believe you stole my phone.”
“You liked what I did after I stole it,” she drawls, clucking her tongue.
“Lord deliver us all,” Scottie pleads to the ceiling.
“Here.” Stella plunks a tray down before him. “Have a cookie.”
She sets an identical tray at the other end of the table. Aside from shortbread, there’s a selection of treats that has Whip, who sits next to me, making noises of delight. “Are those Mexican wedding cookies?”
“We always called them snowballs,” Sophie says.
“I thought they were Russian tea cookies.” Jax grabs one.
“I call them ‘get in my belly’ cookies,” Stella says. Jax happily pops the cookie into her mouth. She smiles as she chews. “Thanks, baby.”
“Sure thing, button. You want another one?”
“Can we stop talking about cookies?” Killian snarls. Okay, he’s still in a mood. I don’t blame him. Dinner sucked.
Libby gets up and sits on his lap. With a sigh, he wraps his arms around her waist and snuggles her close. “Sorry,” he says to all of us.
“It’s okay,” Stella says gently.
He sighs again, his fingers tracing the line of Libby’s waist. “I’m just…fuck. I’m tired of the people in my life keeping important things from me.”
A jolt goes through my center, and I hold my gaze deliberately away from Rye.
“I’ve no right to demand people tell me their secrets,” Killian goes on unhappily. “But it’s a kick to the teeth when someone drops a bomb on my lap without warning. I’m a grown man. I can handle my parents splitting up, but I thought they would at least talk to me before giving that ammunition to Neil and Patricia, of all people.” He glances my way. “No offense, Bren.”
“None taken.” My ears have started to ring. “They’re horrible. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.” Rye’s firm insistence has me locking gazes with him. He’s utterly serious, the muscles on his wide shoulders and thick arms bunching. “That shit is on their shoulders. You aren’t them, and you never will be.”
I don’t want to be like my parents. He knows how deeply I feel this. What he doesn’t know is that finally, finally, I understand the truth of his words.
I blink in acknowledgment.
“He’s right,” Killian says with fervor. “You’re the best part of them, Brenna Bean.”
“Stop,” I protest lightly, even though my voice has gone froggy. “You’ll make me weepy.”
Rye’s gaze is a living thing, and I know he’s all too aware of how close I am to actually weeping. This is what happens when change is thrust upon the unprepared; there is no time to shore up any defenses, and well-worn armor crumbles like so much rust.
Stella takes the seat to my right, curling up with a mug of cocoa. “None of us are responsible for the shitty actions of our parents. And thank God for that.”
I touch her knee in solidarity. Stella’s cool fingers brush over mine in response.
Killian runs a hand through his hair, the epic scowl still twisting his features. “Look, I know we all have a right to our private lives, but can we agree to tell each other the big stuff? Can we do that at least? Because it seems to me that we’re stronger when we come together, as opposed to going it alone.”
Jax taps out an idle rhythm on the table. “I’d like that. Being more open about shit, I mean.”
This is somewhat of a surprise, given that he’s very private. But Jax has been changing too. His relationship with Stella opened him up in ways none of us predicted.
Rye remains painfully silent while everyone else talks being open and honest. That’s my fault too. I forced silence on him, made him keep secrets. I recall with shattering clarity the frustration and pain in the words he spoke in California. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to lie to our friends.
Out in the hall, I told him to wait. Wait for a perfect time to talk. Wait until I find my courage.
Wait.
A thick, choking feeling of wrongness fills my chest, my throat. Everything about us is wrong now. I can’t shake it. It’s like my skin is too tight and my insides too full. The pressure bubbles and builds, a force that refuses to be ignored.
“When I went to LA, it was to see Marshall Fau
lkner about a job,” I blurt out.
A log cracks in the fireplace, punctuating the awful silence. I glance around to find my friends gaping at me. Well, everyone except Rye and Scottie. Rye’s expression is one of pride tinged with sadness. Scottie simply looks thoughtful.
I swallow thickly. “I’ve been…flagging with my job, not finding joy in it. And Marshall offered me a position with him at his Los Angeles firm.”
Rye’s stare is a palpable touch on my skin. He gives me a small, encouraging smile. He doesn’t want me to go. But he’ll support me every step of the way.
Never be afraid to fly, Bren. Even if it takes you from all you know.
I hear his voice so clearly, remember the way he pressed his lips to my head as he said it, that lingering touch like he was memorizing the moment in case I left him. Heart aching, I tear my gaze from his and look around at my shocked friends who have begun to argue.
“This is your fault.” Sophie wags her slim finger under Scottie’s nose.
“Mine?” He raises a brow. “How do you figure, darling?”
“You introduced her to stupid Marshall.”
“I thought she might fancy a date with him, not run off to live in LA.”
Jax makes a noise of annoyance. “Why the hell were you trying to set her up with a tosspot like Faulkner? Who lives in LA.”
“Los Angeles isn’t that far,” Libby tries.
“It’s far enough if she’s quitting.”
“I’m not going to take it,” I cut in before they get any more worked up.
Another sharp silence falls. This one doubtful. I can all but feel my friends vibrating with uncertainty.
Killian tries to speak, croaks, then tries again. “You can, Bren. If you want. Don’t…Don’t stay because of guilt or anything. We wouldn’t want that for you.”
I really do love my cousin.
“I was going to go. But I just can’t. Although the idea of juggling more accounts excites me, leaving you guys doesn’t.” I take a deep breath, pressing my palms on the worn wood table. “So. I’m going to start my own public relations agency. You’ll still be my top priority, but I’m going to expand, take on more clients, hire people.” The idea expands and my words trip out with growing excitement. “Women, actually. I want to create a safe space in the industry that’s run by women for women.”
Exposed (VIP Book 4) Page 32
