He looked so small, in his stained tank and baggy jeans. I couldn’t summon a modicum of pity for him. He ran his hand under his red nose and looked between Six and me, probably stupidly deciding if he could come after either of us.
“Do you understand?” I asked again. “If she ever decides to grant you a relationship with her daughter, you will fall to your knees with gratitude and never, ever lay an unkind hand upon her. But for now, she is gone. You won’t talk to her. You won’t know where she is.”
“Who the hell are you?” he asked again, but I detected more fear.
“It doesn’t matter,” Six said. “Tell her you understand what she’s told you.” He held up his tape recorder. “That you won’t hit Brooke again. You won’t try to contact her. You’ll let her have some peace.”
The man swallowed hard but repeated the words.
“What’s your name?” Six asked.
“Troy.”
“Cool.” I leaned around Six. “Fuck you very much, Troy. Bye.”
I turned around and marched toward the car with Henry in my arms. Brooke was in the backseat, her arms wrapped around herself as she shook like a leaf.
I was struck then by how much I fully, completely, trusted Six. I’d turned my back on a man who wasn’t a stranger to hitting women, and I hadn’t worried for even a second that he’d come after me, knowing Six was there if I needed him. I climbed into the passenger seat and watched Six retreat from the house, slinging Brooke’s bag over his shoulder like he was heading off on a vacation. When he climbed into the car, I reached back and gave Brooke an assuring squeeze of her knee. “Brooke, this is Six. Six, this is Brooke. Brooke with an E. Not like the kind of brook that trout swim in. Right, Brooke?”
She lifted her head, blinked a minute, and nodded. Her face was devoid of color, her eyes surrounded by dark circles—these ones from exhaustion. But based on the number of layers she wore, I had a feeling her bruises were hidden for the moment.
“We’re going to Six’s flat. It’s pretty sweet. Even has a little courtyard. One of his neighbors has one of those yappy little dog things, the kind that try to act like they could take you down, but you know you could punt them two blocks over if it came down to it. Avoid it, but if it comes after you…”
“Mira…” Six warned.
“Chill, old man. I was going to tell her just to come back inside.”
“Right,” Six said, but a smile tugged at his lips. He moved his hand from the gear shift to clasp mine and when he moved to let go, I squeezed hard. He met my eyes at the red light, and even though we remained silent, something passed between us. Understanding. Love.
Sometimes, in moments like that one, I wondered at all the love I held for him. Love that seemed too big for me to contain behind my ribs.
“You okay, Brooke?” I asked when we were just a few blocks away.
She nodded, glancing between Six and me. This was a much different Brooke than the one I’d first met at Dry Run, and then again at the coffee shop. This Brooke was in some kind of shock.
So, I kept talking.
“Six is really good at making eggs and bacon. Like, the best.” I pinched my fingers together and kissed them. “And he has a guest bed that no one has slept in because he’s pretty damn antisocial, right?”
She still didn’t say anything. And neither did Six. I hadn’t really told him my grand plan, not because I thought he’d tell me no necessarily, but because I was imposing, and I hadn’t asked permission to do so.
When we made it in front of Six’s building, Six grabbed Brooke’s bag and mine, and ran his hand down the back of my arm, looking at me meaningfully before he jogged up the steps to the door.
Brooke looked around, like she was trying to recognize the place or something. “Where are we?”
I adjusted Henry’s tank in my arms. “Six’s.” In general, I didn’t like touching people unless I had a relationship with them, but she needed some grounding, so I led her with a light hand against her back up the steps, into the house, and did a brief tour before we stopped at the room off the kitchen, the bedroom with the fluffy white duvet. It’d been Six’s mom’s touch, which didn’t surprise me but did surprise Brooke. She looked at me with question in her eyes, and because she looked like a cat bracing to run, I sat on the edge of the bed and patted it with my hand, settling Henry’s tank between my knees.
Reluctantly, she made her way to the bed, sat beside me, but didn’t look me in the eye.
“It gets good light,” I said, pointing to the large window that overlooked the courtyard. “So, if you ever paint canvas, this is a good spot to do it. I have some stuff here,” I quickly added, realizing that she couldn’t have packed many—if any—supplies in her small bag.
“Uh huh.” There was the shock again. I didn’t know how to handle this. It was hard to make me feel awkward, but Brooke was succeeding. I didn’t think now was the best time to congratulate her for doing so. She was meek, like a mouse. If I was a wicked sea witch in Six’s eyes, she was a mouse.
“I’ll leave you to get settled.” I stepped toward the door but before I left, I turned. “You like Chinese?”
“What?” Her eyes were hazy; she was either on the verge of crying or falling asleep.
“Forget it.” I waved it off, vowing to order a bunch of random shit—shit I definitely liked, so that if she didn’t, at least I’d eat it.
“Mira?”
“Yeah?” I turned around again, one handle on the doorknob.
“What’s that?” She nodded at the tank secured in my arm.
“It’s a fish tank, of course.”
Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something more, but with an expression of uncertainty, she nodded. “Right.”
I closed the door and stepped into the hallway and waited a moment. To hear her cry or make any kind of sound. But all was silent, so I ventured into the kitchen with Henry, in order to finally give him a break from all the moving.
“So.”
Six raised an eyebrow and nodded at the closed door.
“What? You wanted me to get a hobby.”
“That’s what she is?”
I shrugged. “You keep pushing me to get a dog. I got a person instead.”
He shook his head and laughed as I moved the tank into the center of the countertop.
“Is he still alive?” Six asked, nodding at the tank as he brewed coffee.
“Yeah.” I tapped the glass. “You’re not that crazy of a driver.”
“It wasn’t my driving I was worried about.” He raised one eyebrow and pulled down a mug from the cupboard.
“Ah. Well, he survived my man-handling of him. He’s probably happier here anyway.”
“Is he?” Six’s back was to me as he poured coffee into the mug.
“Well, yeah. At least he won’t be forgotten here.”
“I would never forget about him.”
“I know,” I said softly, thinking of all the times Six was pretty much Henry’s only caretaker. Henry did a loop in the tank. “He’s already looking better, just by being in your space.”
“Is he?”
I rubbed my hand along the cool granite counter, not missing my peeling countertop in the least. “Yes. It’s a great place.” I looked out the windows, at the courtyard that was pitch black.
“Are we still talking about the fish?”
I reared my head back. “Uh, yeah. What did you think we were talking about?”
“Never mind.” He poured milk into his coffee and leaned against the counter.
“Did you think…” I scrutinized him. “That I was talking about me?”
He waited a minute before answering. “Maybe I didn’t think, necessarily, but hoped.” He hadn’t looked at me as he said that until he’d delivered the very last word.
“Look. I’ll be here as long as Brooke’s here. But I have to keep my old place.” This was my compromise to him. “I can’t feel pressured.”
“I’m not pressuring you
.” He set the mug down gently, but his jaw was clenched. “I’d like to be with you, Mira. Day in and day out.”
“I know.” My heart rate picked up. I could practically feel my independence taking flight into his hands. “But it’s too soon.”
“That’s what you always say. I’m quite convinced that five years from now, it’ll still be too soon.”
“You are pressuring me.” I stepped so that the island separated us, giving me the illusion of having some protection. “I’m not ready.”
“What part are you not ready for?”
In the back of my mind, Lydia’s name echoed. I still hadn’t been able to shake the worry that he was only with me to save me from myself.
And I was too much of a coward to speak that concern, for fear that if it wasn’t the reason he was always here, that it would manifest itself into becoming that.
“I’m not ready for day in and day out.”
“We practically do that now. I’m with you at your place more often than not.”
“Yeah, so then why the rush to move in together?”
“I don’t call three years together ‘a rush’.”
“It hasn’t been three years.”
“This Christmas, it will be.”
“That’s eight months from now. Which means we’re closer to two years than three.” I curled my fingers around the lip of the granite.
“I’m looking ahead. I want this,” he motioned between us, “more than just for sleepovers.”
“Did you miss the part where I said I’ll be here indefinitely?”
“Yeah, until,” he stopped himself and made an effort to lower his voice as he pointed to the guest bedroom door, “she’s gone. And then what?”
“Then we go back to the way things were.” Six moved to the side of the counter, coming closer to me, and I moved the opposite direction.
“What if it’s not enough for me?” he asked, and the quiet after his question reverberated in his space.
“What if it’s enough for me?”
“I already know it’s enough for you.” He moved again, and I moved again, so that we were always directly across from each other. “But it can’t be like this forever.”
“Forever is a long time.”
He gave up chasing me around the counter and sat down in a stool, sighing. “I’m too tired to play games with you tonight.” He looked down into his cup and I looked out at Brooke’s door before I moved around the island. On one level, I felt bad that he was clearly unhappy with my refusal to move in with him. But the problem was that Six had attached himself to a selfish person. And caging me in would mean we were over.
Since he was sitting and not pursuing me, I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around his back, pressed my lips to the nape of his neck. He always smelled good, like warm leather and spice, even when he wasn’t wearing his jacket. “I’m sorry,” I said, and released a breath.
“Are you?”
I didn’t like lying to him. But I didn’t like carrying his discontentment either. I could barely carry my own burdens. “Do you want me to be honest?”
“Always.”
I tucked my chin onto his shoulder. “Then no. I’m not sorry. But, I’m sorry that I’m not sorry.”
“That, I believe.” He sighed again and turned in the stool, so I stood between his legs. I looped my arms around his neck. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“I know.” I curled my fingernails into his neck. “Are you really surprised?”
“Usually, with you, I am. But I’m not.” He placed his hands on my hips and his warmth seeped into my clothes. “I love you, Mira.”
Each time he said it, unexpected like that, it settled inside of me in a way that was almost too comfortable. Like the walls around my heart were made of fabric that kept ripping, stitch by stitch, allowing him more room to settle within me. It was something I almost believed I could feel, feel him taking up space. And I could feel myself accepting it, too.
I pressed my forehead to his and let out an exhale. “Okay.”
“You love me too.”
A dichotomy existed then, because when he told me he loved me, I felt safe—rested. But when he told me I loved him—and he wasn’t wrong—I felt like I had something that could be too easily ripped from my hold. Unsafe. Restless. His love was the free fall; my love was the rough landing. “You know I do.”
“You don’t like saying it.”
“You know I don’t.”
“Okay.” He pressed his lips to my forehead. “How about this, on a scale of one to ten, how much do you love me right now?”
I pulled back. “You want me to measure it, really?”
He shrugged. “Why not? Give me a marker, a guideline.”
“And what would my answer do for you?”
“Tell me what I need to do, for you.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I said, but he squeezed my hand. “Okay. Fine.” A small smile spread my lips. “Seven.” Our little joke.
“Only a seven? What could move that up a bit?”
“I could be persuaded to a higher number. I’m hungry,” I said, interrupting him and changing the topic. I stepped close enough that he could rest his head on my chest and his hands moved across my body to hook behind my back in a loose hug. “Wanna order Chinese?”
He laughed, and I could feel the rumble of it ripple across my skin. “Do you even know what time of night it is?”
I turned my head to look at the stove. “I guess there aren’t any places in the city still making Chinese at three in the morning.”
“No, I doubt that very much. What do you want to eat?”
“I could go for some Chinese, but I guess I’ll settle for a sandwich.”
“I suppose that means you want me to make that sandwich?”
“Oh, that’d be swell.” I scooted away to sit in the stool beside him. “Thanks, babe,” I said enthusiastically, clasping my hands together.
“Like I said, pain in my ass.” He grabbed the bread from the cupboard and looked over his shoulder. “Would the sandwich move that seven up to a ten?”
“That’s a bit ambitious.” I tapped my fingers on the table. “I could push it up to an eight.”
“Eight.” He smiled warmly at me. So warmly, that I felt it all the way into my toes. Another inside joke. “I can live with that.”
19
The following morning, Brooke waited until nearly noon to exit the room. When she did, her eyes were red, the skin under them and around her nose raw. I wasn’t going to ask her how she was doing. It was the most selfish thing about me—I couldn’t carry the burden of someone else’s grief. I could help them, from a purely external place.
She gave me a sad attempt at a smile and I pointed to the mug beside the coffee maker. “I know you don’t drink full caffeine coffee, but one cup won’t hurt.”
She didn’t even argue, pouring the coffee into the mug and holding it up to her face. I thought the smell alone seemed to have an effect on her. She looked sideways at me and then quickly back to the coffee.
“What do you want to do today?” I asked.
Brooke glanced down the hallway.
“Six is gone, working,” I said, as if I was reading her mind. “He’ll be back by dinner.”
“Okay.”
Awkwardness settled around us. I didn’t know quite what to do with her. My mission had simply been to remove her from the environment she was in, but now that she was in my environment, I was completely clueless. I’d never babysat before, but I approached this circumstance as if I was babysitting her.
“Wanna paint? Or go for a walk, or something?” My eyes slid over her swollen belly. “I don’t know if you can do long walks or whatever.”
She ran a hand over her stomach. “She’s not going to fall out if I go for a walk.”
“But doesn’t that put people in labor or something?” I scratched my head.
“If they’re near their due date, I suppose it does. I’ve got a fo
ur or so months still.”
Since she hadn’t argued against the walk idea, I grabbed my coat off the rack and tossed her hers. “Great, let’s get some delicious vitamin D then.”
She followed me outside of the building, onto the sidewalk, and I watched her take in the area now that it wasn’t pitch black. “This is a nice neighborhood.”
I nodded in agreement and led the way down the block. “Yeah, it’s not the slums, that’s for sure.”
“Thanks. I didn’t really get to say that last night. But,” she stuffed her hands into her coat pockets and lifted them away from her body, “I appreciate it.” She rubbed a hand over her face as the brief spring chill flew across our faces.
I didn’t say anything, not necessarily to invite her to continue talking, but because I didn’t know what to say. The only woman I’d ever spent any meaningful time with had been my own mother, and I couldn’t really hold up those moments as guidelines on how to behave with my own sex.
“It’s been bad, for a while. I didn’t want to admit it, but I didn’t have much choice, either.” She sighed and closed her eyes a moment as the sunshine washed over her face. She was the kind of woman who wore everything on her face, plain as day, her hurt and her anger and her exhaustion all echoed back to me. “If my mom knew, she’d wring my neck.”
“She’d wring your neck? Guess that doesn’t make her any better than the douchebag.”
She laughed. “I meant it like, she’d emotionally wring my neck. My mom is a strong, strong woman. She wouldn’t put up with weak offspring.”
I was starting to understand why Brooke could seem vulnerable but solid at the same time. “It’s not like it’s your fault.”
“That’s easy to say when you’re not the one sticking around.” She looked at me with a lopsided smile. “Your boyfriend, for as intimidating as he is, doesn’t seem like the kind to raise his hand toward you.”
No. If anything, I’d been the one to raise my hand to him. I didn’t tell Brooke that, however, because this wasn’t an exchange with equal emotional investment. This was about her. “Where is your mom?”
“Not here. Chicago. She’s busy. Was going to fly out here for the baby’s birth, though.” Brooke laughed wryly. “Not sure how I’m going to explain the fact that I won’t be with Troy when she comes. Not like she was thrilled for me to have a baby out of wedlock anyway.”
Six Feet Under (Mad Love Duet Book 1) Page 22
