Reclaiming Brave: The Kane Brothers Book Three

by Gina Azzi

  “You’re here!” she squeals from the doorway.

  “Hi baby.” I grin, dropping my bag to lift her in my arms and kiss her. Her arms intertwine around my neck, her legs hooking around my hips. “Missed you.” I tell her against an onslaught of kisses that has me backing her up until her back rests against the wall next to the open door to the apartment.

  “Take me inside. I missed you more.” She whispers, her hold on my hair tightening, her eyes dark.

  I chuckle but immediately obey. Leaving my stuff in the hallway, I enter the apartment, kicking the door closed behind me. Walking intently toward Sierra’s bedroom, an adorable pout crosses her face. “No couch?”

  “Quit it.” I kiss her nose. “I’m over the couch. I need to take my time with you. This week has been way too long.”

  “Tell me about it.” She agrees, as I hitch her body higher and close my eyes as her lips connect with my neck and our bodies connect with her bed.

  17

  Sierra

  “So,” I look over at Denver, lying next to me, his hair tangled, a lazy almost-smile on his lips. “I made you dinner. Sort of.”

  “Sort of?” he raises his eyebrows and turns from his side onto his stomach, crawling over me and pinning me to my pillow. “How did that happen?”

  “I think I overcooked the pasta.” I admit, trying to calculate how long we’ve been at it in my bed and knowing it is much, much longer than the eleven minute al dente cooking time on the box of penne.

  Denver laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling, his mouth pulling into a wide smile and I pause, my hands wrapped around his biceps, as I try to memorize this moment. God, he’s so beautiful. Especially like this, when he isn’t carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, when he isn’t brooding and sulking, when he allows himself to enjoy a moment and be present in it.

  “What?” he asks, shaking his head at me. “I love that you made me dinner, babe. Thank you. I promise to eat it no matter what.” He explains, misinterpreting my silence.

  I smile at him. “It’s not that. It’s just, I never really see you laugh. I like it.”

  He grins at me, leaning down until our foreheads meet and pressing a kiss to my lips. “I promise to try it more often.”

  I run my hands from his biceps, up his strong shoulders, and around to rest on his broad back. His muscles bunch and shift under my touch and I moan, already wanting him again.

  “How much do you care about the pasta?” I ask him, tugging his body closer to mine.

  “Not as much as I care about you.” He jokes, gathering me in his arms once more and kissing me senseless.

  The penne is a blob. An actual blob of hardened mush, sticking to the bottom of the pot that I may or may not have burned. My mouth drops open in shock as the water has nearly boiled away.

  Next to me, Denver is laughing again. Laughing!

  “I love you, Sierra.” He says, taking the pot from my hand and tossing the blob into a strainer. He picks at the mush and eats a bite. “Not bad, babe.” He tries to say with a straight face but I swat at his hand.

  “Oh, stop it. It’s awful, even I know that.”

  He laughs again, the sound rich and wonderful and I swear I’d burn dinner every night if it meant getting to hear him laugh like this.

  “We can make more pasta. Did you make sauce for it?” he asks, looking around for another pot.

  It’s then that I realize I forgot the most important part. The pasta sauce! I printed a recipe out earlier today and bought all of the ingredients and then I came home and took a nap and…forgot.

  Denver’s chuckling intensifies as the color drains from my face.

  “Oh my God. I forgot.” I admit. “I bought all the ingredients.” I add, pitifully.

  Denver walks closer and fists my hair in his hands, pushing it away from my face and looping his arms around my shoulders. He hugs me to his chest where I can hear all the chuckles he’s holding inside. He’s really too sweet. My brothers would be broadcasting my cooking mishap from the rooftops to anyone who would listen. And Daisy would be sharing a live video on Instagram.

  “It was a nice thought. And gesture.” Den says seriously.

  I look up into his dark eyes and they’re no longer laughing.

  “Thank you. No one’s ever even tried to cook for me before.” He explains.

  “Ever?” I ask, my eyes widening at his admission.

  He shakes his head. “Not since my mama passed.”

  I close my eyes and snuggle deeper into his embrace, vowing to at least learn how to cook one or two dinner recipes to make for Denver. I breathe in his scent and relax into his touch, so happy he’s finally home. Who knew a week could feel like eternity?

  “Come on, baby. Let’s go out to dinner.”

  “Out?” I pull back, looking down at my disheveled self.

  “Yeah. I want to take my girl on a date.” He says, one side of his mouth pulling up. “I’ll clean this up, you go get dressed, and we’ll wander until we find a place we want to try.”

  My heart flutters in my chest as I grin at him. How the hell did I get so lucky? What guy laughs so hard that you ruined his meal and then offers to take you to dinner like it’s the best thing in the world? Being with Denver, everything is new and fun and exciting. Everything makes me smile and I finally understand what it means to fall in love with someone. It truly is the greatest feeling in the world and it blocks out everything except your person. And my person is Denver Kane.

  “Okay.” I agree. “But leave the mess. I’ll do it later. I’m serious.”

  Den waves me away and I duck back into my room, walking into my closet and flipping through racks, trying to find the perfect outfit for our impromptu date.

  Clad in tight jeans, knee high boots, and a simple black sweater with a black leather bomber jacket, I turn in the mirror to check myself out. My jeans are definitely tighter than they were a few weeks ago but they still look good. I apply minimal make-up and run a brush through my hair. Adding some large gold hopes and a simple gold chain, I pick up my small cross-body bag and flip off my bedroom light.

  Denver is waiting for me in the living room, his worn jeans riding low on his hips, his feet already jammed into his black motorcycle boots. His hair is pulled back neatly, a bun secured at the back of his head. He’s wearing a dark grey button down, the sleeves rolled up on his forearms.

  “New shirt?” I joke.

  He looks down, his eyes flashing to mine uncertainly and I realize that it is indeed a new shirt. And he bought it…for me.

  “I love it. You look hot in grey.” I tell him truthfully.

  He nods, his mouth barely moving and I walk toward him and kiss his shoulder, hugging his arm against me. “Come on. I’m starving.”

  “You or the peanut?” he asks, slipping an arm around my shoulder and steering us to the door.

  “Both.”

  “Well then, we better not wander too long.” He pulls the door closed behind us and locks up.

  Slipping his hand in mine, we enter the elevator and walk out into the brisk cool of New York as a real couple, going on a real date. And I can’t stop cheesing because damnit, it really is the best.

  18

  Denver

  Sierra and I duck into a small, Italian restaurant. My mouth is literally watering the moment the doors close behind us and I breathe in the fresh scents of garlic and basil and homemade pasta. The hostess settles us at a table and we’re quiet, our eyes scanning the menu, our stomachs grumbling.

  After we order, I reach over to take Sierra’s hand in mine. “How’s everything going with your art?”

  She beams, her eyes brightening. “Really good. I have news, actually.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, over the past few months, I’ve been focusing a lot on my digital marketing and I’ve built a pretty substantial following on Facebook, Twitter, and most recently Instagram. My Instagram posts are definitely converting the best at bringing m
ore attention to my work. Anyway, this past week, I reached out to a few people I know in the art industry, and I got a job!”

  “A job?” I place down my fork, my attention solely focused on Sierra.

  “Yes. I’m going to be managing the digital marketing for a small gallery nearby. Isn’t that awesome? I’m going to gain a lot more exposure to the art world and connect with up-and-coming artists while also building my personal social media platform.”

  “Sierra, baby, congratulations. That’s amazing.” I raise my water glass to her and she clinks hers against mine, giggling.

  “I’m really excited. I start on Monday.”

  “Wow. That’s incredible. I don’t know anything about social media other than it seems to be all people do these days.”

  She laughs harder, shaking her head at me. “I’m going to create you an Insta account yet. The handle will be @myboyfriendsmanbun and all the posts will be about your hair.”

  I pause, frowning as I try to understand what she’s saying and decipher if she’s serious or not. Sierra bursts out laughing, loud and uninhibited, drawing the attention of nearby tables until I just shake my head and congratulate her again. I’ll have to ask Daisy to keep an eye out for any Insta-whatever posts about my hair.

  “I definitely should have applied for a job like this sooner, like in May when I graduated. But I just feel so much more motivated to do everything now that we’re having the peanut. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah. Definitely. It’s like everything is for real now.”

  “Exactly. And my painting is going well. I’m still painting my grandmother’s face but I feel like once I speak to her, I’ll be able to move past it and paint other portraits as well.”

  “Why don’t you call her?”

  A frown twists Sierra’s mouth. “I have. Twice. And I’ve sent three emails. She hasn’t gotten back to me, which isn’t unusual for her. She’s not super into technology. But I’ll try her again.”

  I nod, thanking the server as she drops off our entrees. Sierra’s eyes slide closed across from me as she breathes in the delicious aroma of her dinner. She twirls some linguine around the tines of her fork and literally groans as she places the first bite in her mouth.

  I sit and watch her eat, amused by how much she enjoys every single freaking thing she does. Every bite of food, every stroke of her paint brush, every dance move to a song that plays. Sierra lives with so much enthusiasm, such a zest for life.

  “Do I have something on my face?” she asks, catching me staring at her.

  “Nah,” I shake my head. “I just hope our baby is exactly like you.”

  “What?” she laughs. “I hope he or she has your eyes.”

  I take a sip of my water, my eyes still locked on hers. I already know our baby will be perfect. I mean, come on, look at his or her mama.

  Being in New York City is a completely different experience. It's so different than Ashby County, Georgia, I feel like I'm trying to find my footing every day with every single task that I do. The traffic, the noise, the constant commotion. The fast pace, the fast talking, the nonstop moving. It's exhausting. What happened to neighbors talking to neighbors? Sharing a glass of sweet tea or a conversation? Sierra doesn't know the names of anyone, except the doorman, in her building.

  There's no chitchat while ordering a coffee or warm smiles at sweet babies or yapping dogs on the street. Everyone is focused on where they're going, and it always seems like if they don't get wherever their going in thirty seconds, the world is going to end.

  I don't get it.

  And I don't particularly like it.

  But I'm hoping it grows on me because my life is here now, with Sierra and the peanut.

  I settle into my work at Sal’s Autobody easily. It’s mostly the same work I did back in Georgia: tune-ups, oil changes, the occasional transmission change. It’s not exciting or glamorous but it’s a paycheck. Coupled with a bar-backing job I picked up for two nights a week, I’ve started saving for the first few months of rent once Sierra and I move to our own apartment.

  Sierra began her new job at the art gallery and comes home every day exhausted. But her cheeks are flushed, her smile is bright, and her eyes are shining so I know she’s enjoying the work. She chatters nonstop about both the artists and the clients she’s meeting. I like hearing about the eccentricities, like one client who dresses up her poodle and carries the dog in a purse. A purse that apparently costs more than most people earn in half a year. Or a man she works with who always wears mismatched socks. The art industry is like a different world to me but I love how happy Sierra is immersed in it.

  After our first week together in New York, we begin to settle into our own routine. Sierra made us a “bank” out of a shoebox. It’s covered in different colored paper and decorated with cars and paintings and glitter and looks like a designer replica of a craft Daisy would make as a kid but Sierra got a kick out of it. It sits on our bedside table and each week, we drop our paychecks and spare money into it before going to the real bank and depositing our earnings in a joint bank account.

  “Hey.” Daisy smiles at me, holding a frying pan as I walk into the kitchen one morning.

  “Morning.” I kiss her cheek and take the frying pan from her pan. “What’re you making?”

  “Just scrambled eggs so don’t get too excited. Or too scared.” She jokes, whisking the eggs as I set the pan on the stove.

  I lean back against the island, crossing my feet at the ankles and watch her. She’s really been trying to cook more lately and it’s adorable. Mainly because I know she’s doing it for me, because she wants to do something for me. It’s sweet and thoughtful and makes me not even care that the food isn’t particularly good. I just like knowing she cares about me.

  “What time are you heading in today?” she asks me.

  “Not until later. Sal asked me if I can close today so I don’t have to be in until one.”

  “Sweet. Want to come register for a pre-natal class with me?”

  “A pre-natal class? Is that the one where you learn how to breathe?”

  She giggles. “I doubt it. I think I’m already breathing okay on my own.”

  “Quit it. You know what I mean.”

  She pours the eggs into the pan and nods, “Yeah, I know what you mean. I don’t think so. It’s one of those classes where you learn about labor, what to expect, coping techniques. And other stuff too, like how to change a diaper, give the baby a bath, swaddle them.”

  “What’s a swaddle?” I ask, confused as hell. Was having a kid always this complicated?

  “It’s the way your wrap them in their blanket when they’re born.”

  “Why can’t you just give them a blanket?” I pop some toast into the toaster.

  Sierra shrugs, running a spatula over the eggs. “I don’t know. You’re supposed to swaddle them so their arms are tucked next to their sides. It’s supposed to make them feel safe and help with their startle reflex.”

  A startle reflex? “Baby, you lost me. But yeah, I want to register with you and learn all this stuff because I don’t know what any of it means.”

  Sierra turns to me, flipping her long hair over her shoulder and grinning, “Good thing you have a few months to learn it all then.”

  “Good thing.” I agree, swatting her ass and pulling her in for a kiss…or five.

  “Baby, I can’t burn another meal.” She says seriously against my mouth and I chuckle.

  “That’s true. How much time do we have between breakfast and registration?”

  She lifts an eyebrow at me before adding the eggs to two plates. “If we eat quickly, we have enough time.”

  I carry the plates to the table and pull out her chair. “You better start chewing.”

  She snorts, walking over to the table and passing me a glass of orange juice. “For hydration.”

  I chuckle, taking a large gulp of the juice. Tucking a piece of hair behind Sierra’s ear, I take the seat across from her and e
at my breakfast. The entire time, my body is on edge, waiting for her to finish so I can have her to myself for at least a little while. Or longer if I’m lucky.

  November

  19

  Sierra

  "Hi Tota, it's me, Sierra," I say when my grandmother's warm voice fills the line.

  "Sierra? Oh, hello. How are you, dear?"

  "I'm well, thanks. How are you doing?"

  "I've been thinking of you," she says, her voice holding a note of excitement. “I’m sorry I haven’t called you back but I keep thinking you have something to tell me.”

  "I've been thinking of you, too." I smile, biting my bottom lip, wondering if she's going to tell me I'm expecting or if she's waiting for me to spill the beans.

  "I believe you are in a time of new beginnings, of excitement, and wonderment. Perhaps a bit of uncertainty and anxiety as well, but that's natural. Are you?"

  I laugh now, enjoying her indirect way of asking. "Yes, Tota. I'm having a baby."

  "I knew it!" she exclaims, and the happiness in her voice is genuine. "I told your father just last week, something is going on with Sierra. I can feel it. I've been having dreams about you for months, my dear, and in the beginning, they were a bit disturbing. You were lost, unsure, confused. But little by little, you began to find your way, and a month or two ago, I started getting the inkling that it wasn't just you anymore, but you and another tiny heartbeat."

  "I'm due in May."

  "That's wonderful news, Sierra."

  "Thanks, Tota. Is my father there, by any chance?"

  She whooshes out a deep breath, and I can hear the disappointment in it. "No, dear. I'm sorry; he's not. I promise to tell him you called."