by Anna Brooks
I step out of his embrace and our fingers intertwine as he walks me back to my car.
“I’ll try to get done early today. You still want takeout?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. I just want it to be us.”
“You read my mind, babe.”
* * *
True to his word, he got home earlier than normal with a wide variety of Chinese takeout. I baked a cake, and much to my surprise, it actually turned out pretty damn good.
We’re sitting on the floor, and he just opened his last present, the hoodie.
“Thanks, babe. I love it.” He puts it on and leans over the table to kiss me.
All the other gifts he seemed to like as well, but the nagging feeling that I picked out all these meaningless presents eats away at me. I don’t want him to think I didn’t try, so I open my mouth. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more creative.”
He pauses and tilts his head. “What are you talking about?”
“With your gifts.”
“They’re all perfect, Mary.”
I shrug indifference because even if he didn’t like them, he’d still say the same thing.
“Hey.” He sits next to me and rubs my back. “What’s with the long face?”
“Nothing.”
“Ha! Whenever a woman says nothing, it definitely means something. Talk to me.”
A fresh start, I tell myself. No more holding back, no more insecurities. “I didn’t know what to get you. The last time I bought you a present, I knew everything about you. But this time . . .” I feel childish even saying it to him.
“Why did you pick out the presents you did?”
“What?”
“The wallet. Why’d you get me a wallet?”
“Because yours looks like it’s been through one too many rounds with a garbage disposal.”
He pulls his old beat-up black wallet out from his back pocket, and the leather slaps the table as it lands.
“You’d definitely be right. And the movie?”
“We saw an advertisement for it on TV and you said you wanted to see it.”
“What about the cologne?”
I shrug. “You were running low.”
“Hoodie?”
“You like them.”
“Exactly,” he whispers. “You know me. Always have. You saw through my bullshit. Understood when I needed to be by myself. Had my back. Knew what I was thinking. Time apart doesn’t change that connection. It’s still there. You know me.”
Deciding to get over myself and not ruin what has been an amazing day, I nudge him with my shoulder. “You’re right.”
“Damn straight, I am. Now.” He stands and extends his hands to me then pulls me to standing. “I need to give you your gift.”
“You don’t need to get me anything. You bought three hundred and twenty-five sweet peas. You got me out of the hellhole I didn’t know I was living in and gave me a place to call home again. That’s more than enough.”
He shakes his head and leads me into the hallway and down the stairs.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. Or rather see in a minute.” Black surrounds me as he ties a piece of cloth around my head.
“What are you doing? I didn’t know you were into this kind of thing.”
His body is firmly behind me, and his head is next to mine, as he slowly steers me to walk outside. I don’t hesitate for a moment because he would never put me in danger.
“Never have been, but maybe we should try it sometime.”
The thought of being blindfolded while Brandon does wicked things to my body causes a chill to run through me.
“Ahh, you like that idea?”
I can do nothing but nod, and he chuckles and mutters something that sounds like fuck yeah.
Crisp air blasts my face, and a few strands of hair blow around my head.
“It really is the perfect day.” He laughs.
“Not too hot. Not too cold,” I reply and can hear the smile in my own voice.
We stop moving and without a word, he takes the blindfold off and says, “Happy Birthday, Mary.”
Chapter 21
Brandon
THE PLAYFUL SMIRK MARY had on her face shifts to something different, something dark . . . somber.
Her head shakes before any words come out, her eyes filling with tears. “No.”
“Mary?” I wrap my arm around her, but she shrugs me off. Dismisses me.
“You can’t do this to me. You can’t ask me to accept this.” Her shaky hand gestures toward the shiny new white Jeep with a red bow. “No.”
The first night I found her in the hotel suddenly flashes in the back of my eyes. Her backing away from me, telling me no, crying. Fuck. She’s cried more in the short time we’ve been back together than she did during our entire childhood. I must be doing something wrong if my girlfriend cries when I buy her a car.
“You don’t like it?” I lower my voice, trying to calm her down because, as each second ticks by, her body becomes even tighter.
“No,” she says again. This time she turns to me and has fresh tears in her eyes. “I can’t. You can’t. Just no, Brandon.”
“Babe, your car is shit. You needed a new one. Simple as that.” I turn her body, grasp her face in my hands, and rub her eyes to remove the wetness gathering there. The simple tell that Mary is about to come undone—and not in the way that turns me on but rather in the way that tears me apart. The girl I grew up with, the one who didn’t cry when she sliced her leg on the sharp rock at the lake. She even fought back tears when I accidentally pegged her in the shoulder with a fastball when she was fifteen. That girl is gone and replaced with the vulnerable woman in front of me, confused and scared. It breaks my fucking heart. “You deserve this, Mary. Stop over thinking.”
Her lids close and a couple more silent tears drip down her face. She tries to pull away, but I don’t let her.
“Talk to me,” I beg.
“How did you know?”
“That this is your dream ride?”
Yeah, she mouths.
“I always knew.”
“No, I never told anybody.”
She relaxes under my touch, and the tension twisting in my body slowly starts to unravel. It’s not about the car itself; it’s about what it means and how I knew this was her dream car. It’s what she always wanted but never thought she’d have.
“You didn’t have to tell me.”
She shakes her head slightly, smiling. “How did you know?”
“Well, if the fact that whenever you saw one you drooled wasn’t a clue, the fact that you had a picture from a magazine hidden in your drawer was. And,” I cut off her attempt at a protest with a chaste kiss, “you told me once.”
“No way,” she laughs. “I never told anybody.”
“Ahh, but baby, I’m not just anybody.”
She brings her hands up to where mine are still framing her face, and grabs onto my wrists. “You most certainly are not. You’re everything, Brandon.” She leans into me and rests her hands on my shoulders, leaning up to press her lips to my jaw. “It’s too much, though. I can’t accept it.”
“You will,” I tell her simply. This is something I’ve wanted to do since the second I saw what she was driving. It was old and falling apart. I’m surprised it even passed emissions. I knew she wouldn’t accept the Jeep at first; I get that she needed the time to gain her independence back after being with me. But she has that now. Taking the college class, making friends.
“I have money. I can pay—”
“Absolutely not. It’s a gift.”
“It’s a Jeep!” she yells and tosses her hands in the air before she turns and points at it, steady this time. “Not a freaking pair of earrings.”
I shrug. “Happy Birthday.”
“Brandon.” She sighs and runs her fingers through her hair, then twists it into a ponytail using the elastic around her wrist. “Hey. When did I tell you? You said I told you, but I know damn
well that I kept that a secret.”
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
“That party I had. Remember, the infamous beer bottle cap party?”
She laughs. “Yeah. I remember that.”
“That night. You told me then.”
“Oh, God. The one time I was drunk.” Her eyes widen and she gasps. “What else did I tell you?”
“Nothing.” I look away from her and immediately realize my mistake. I try to find her eyes again quickly, but she’s already squinting at me with her hand on her hip.
“What else did I tell you that night?”
“Wanna see the inside of the car?” I pull the keys out of my pocket and use the fob to unlock the doors. Not sure how she’ll react to the confessions she made that night, I want to avoid this conversation.
“Uh-nuh. You’re trying to lie to me right now? On my birthday?” She emphasizes the word, being overly dramatic.
“You sure you want to know this?”
“Yes,” she says immediately.
“You told me . . . you sure? I mean, it was a long time ago and—”
“Tell me!”
I rub my chin and look her in the eyes. “You said you were in love with me, wanted to marry me, and have my babies. Told me you wanted me to be your first. Cried because you said I didn’t love you back.”
“What?” She gasps, face becoming flush. “I never . . . no way.”
“Yeah. You did.”
She leans against her new car. First time touching it, and she’s using it for support. Fucking great. Apparently, she doesn’t deal well with surprises. This is not how I pictured this going.
“But ya know what? I’m glad you did. Because I was having all these feelings toward you, and I thought you saw me as your brother. Then I’d see you look at me like you wanted to eat me, and I was confused as hell. I know Dad said I couldn’t date you, but after your confession, it was torture not to touch you. Kiss you. Tell you how fucking in love with you I was.” I step closer to her and put my fingers in the front pocket of her jeans. “How I wanted to marry you, too. Have kids with you. I tried to be good. Respect Dad’s wishes. But that was why I kissed you on our seventeenth birthday. I couldn’t fucking take it anymore. ”
“I don’t remember telling you that.” She pushes off the Jeep and tries to separate herself from me, but I don’t let her.
“And about one year after that first kiss, I had plans. So many fucking plans. I knew it would be hard. I was gonna go to college, but with the knowledge you were mine. And I was yours. We’d visit each other as much as we could. I was finally going to have you. The things I was going to say to you were fucking carved into my mind. I rehearsed them. Literally said the words out loud.”
She laughs at that right along with me.
“Then you were gone. And I wondered every single fucking day if I had told you how deeply in love with you I was, would you have stayed.”
“Don’t you even try to put the blame on yourself for me being an idiot.”
“Would it have?” I ask the question that’s been eating away at me. The one that I beat myself up over.
She steps away from me, and this time I let her. I track her pacing back and forth, never once looking at the car, because that’s her. She’s not materialistic. Doesn’t care about the fact that she has her brand new dream car a couple of feet away. All that’s important is this conversation. Me.
“Would you have stayed?”
“No,” she deadpans and grabs my shirt, giving a little shake. “No. I wouldn’t have. Because when I left, it was to protect you. And knowing you felt the same way as me would have only made me want to protect you—”
“Stop saying that!” I yell, and her hands fall from my chest. “You don’t protect me, Mary. I protect you.” I stab myself in the center of my chest with the tips of my fingers to emphasize my point. “Me. I’m supposed to protect you!” And I didn’t. The unspoken words hang between us, my guilt outweighing hers.
She steps back, and we just stare at each other. Silence fills the air.
“I’m sorry,” she finally says. “I’m so fucking sorry, Brandon.” Her voice cracks, but she swallows and fights off the tears that I’m sure want to fall. So stubborn. “I can’t apologize anymore. If you’re going to hold this over my head for the rest of our relationship, maybe I should just leave then.”
“You trying to piss me off?”
“No, I’m not. I’m trying to be honest with you.”
“Honest? You’re being honest? You think for a fucking second that I’d let you walk away from me? You try it and watch how far you get, ‘cause I guaran-damn-tee you that I’ll have you back before you can say Brandon.”
“Brand—”
I have my mouth on hers after the first syllable. Her hands fist my hair and I lift her by her ass then set her on the hood of her car. She wraps her ankles around my waist and pulls me close, rubbing her heat against me. My dick, my thighs, my hips. Anything she can get her pussy on.
I pull back because if I don’t stop, I’ll fuck her right here.
She catches her breath and rubs a hand down my face. “I shouldn’t have left. It’s a little too late to apologize, but I do. I’m so sorry.” Her smile reflects off the streetlight and she hitches her thumb at the Jeep. “I love it. Thank you. But I’m still mad at you for spending all this money. I’ll pay you back.”
Relief floods me knowing that we can move on from this ridiculous conversation. Maybe I needed to have it for myself, but regardless, I’m glad it’s over.
“You loving me is all the payment I need.”
Mary
Brandon has another late shift, so I decide to drive up to see Charlotte and the baby. Travis isn’t home; he has a night shift at the fire station, so it’s just us. I cuddle with the baby. She’s so precious. Makes me want to have one of my own.
My motherly skills would be lacking. Brandon would make a great father, though. He’s so kind, loving, and protective. Our baby would be in the best possible position to learn what it’s like to be loved.
Whoa. We’re not even married yet; where is this coming from? And marriage. We’re just dating. Of course, I want to marry him, but we’ve only lived together for a short time.
Caroline begins to cry, pulling me out of my thoughts. I pass her off to Char so she can feed her. Once the baby falls asleep, Charlotte puts her in the crib and comes back, setting the monitor on the end table.
We catch up with the monotonous things. I fill her in on what’s happened with Kelsey and she tells me that she’s pregnant again. Just blurts it out like she’s talking about the weather. Of course, I’m excited so I give her a huge hug and tell her to tell Travis congrats.
“What did he say?”
“He stood there for a minute, shocked. Then he smiled and ran to me.”
“Yeah? Then what?”
Her face gets a pink glow and she smiles. “Then we celebrated and he was late for work.”
“Mmmhmm. I bet you did.” I finish my glass of wine, and she offers me more.
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks, though.”
My phone rings, and I glance at it then push silent. I’m still irritated with Brandon for not allowing me to help him pay for my car. I like messing with him, so I ignore his calls, making sure to push silent so he knows I’m ignoring him on purpose. Then he’ll send me a naughty text and tell me how he’s going to punish me for ignoring him. Of course, he never actually hurts me. It’s a fun game and one that I like losing.
“Who was that?”
“Guess?”
“Why don’t you talk to him?”
“Because he’s an asshole.” He’s not, but I hope she tells Travis I said that. Then I hope he tells Brandon. He’s fun to piss off.
Her brows furrow, and I can tell she’s trying to figure it out. I should feel bad for using her as a pawn in this new game I’m playing.
“He’s not and you know it.”
�
�I know.” I’m about to tell her I’m messing with her but my phone chimes, and I open a text from Brandon. I hide my laughter and decide to up the ante. “But it just won’t work out.”
“One of these days you’re going to have to tell me what happened between you two.”
“I know.” She’s right. It’s not fair of me, but I feel like when she finds out, she’ll look at me differently. I don’t want her to see me as weak. Call me a terrible human being, but I like that I kind of saved her. It’s nice having someone look up to me. “Listen, I’ve gotta go.”
She walks me to the door and we say our goodbyes then I sit in my car, laughing at Brandon’s previous text.
Ignoring me again?
I’m beginning to think you enjoy pissing me off . . .
Or enjoy getting punished.
I type out my text, send it, and toss my cell in the cup holder.
I’m sorry. Did I miss your call?
My kick-ass ride makes the trip back so much fun. It’s been a couple of weeks and I still can’t believe it’s mine. There are a lot of things I can’t believe. Like the fact that I consider the apartment ours. That since our birthday, things have been amazingly perfect. I attend class twice a week, and with the help of my academic counselor, I have decided to pursue a degree in teaching.
I always wanted to be a teacher. Brandon encourages the crap out of it. He supports my decision a hundred and fifty percent. And I am only thirty-one years old. That’s not old. I don’t know where I got the perception that my life was over. I have so much time left in this life. For some reason, if it is taken from me, I want to know I won’t have more regrets.
I feel like, with Brandon, I’m back to my old self. Our relationship is back to the way it used to be . . . with the exception of mind-blowing sex. It’s not just sex, though. It’s emotional, a connection that has been missing for way too many years.
The dinners we’ve had with his parents have been wonderful.
But with his parents, it’s not quite to the point where it’s back to normal. I just turned up after a dozen years out of the blue, and the tension from that lingers. I still feel nervous and self-conscious around them, not carefree and part of the family like I used to. I have confidence it will get there, but it’s just taking some time.
