by HELEN HARDT
“Problem?”
“You’re too much alike. That’s what attracted him to you in the first place.”
Again, he’s not wrong. Braden admitted he was drawn to my need for control. Almost as if he wanted to break me. And I allowed it. I gave him my control, which led to the most amazing things I’d ever experienced.
But maybe…
Maybe he doesn’t actually want ultimate control over me.
Maybe that part of him is an illusion.
And maybe he’s finding that out for himself now. Maybe that’s what has him confused.
I’m near home. Even as the cabbie drives, I sit on the edge of my seat as my rural home comes into view. Green. Kansas is so green compared to Boston. Cornfields line each side of the county road.
“This has been interesting, Ben,” I say, “but I have to go. I’m almost home.”
“Got it. Just think about what I said, okay?”
“Sure. I said I’d text him.” Of course, I didn’t say when.
I’ll think about it. Could I do anything about it? Not really. I’m not about to go begging to Braden for him to take me back. As much as I want to be with him, as much as I love him, I’ll never beg for anything.
“Good. Have a nice time at home, Skye.”
“I will. And Ben?”
“Yeah?”
“If you get a chance, tell Braden…”
“Yeah? Tell him what?”
“Just tell him I said hi.”
“Okay. Will do. Bye.”
I shove my phone back in my purse as the cab parks. Will Ben tell Braden I said hi? If he does, he’ll also have to tell him he called me, which may not go over well.
“Thanks so much.” I pay the cab driver and take the luggage he pulled out of the trunk for me.
Then I draw in a deep breath.
I’m home. My birthplace.
Time to figure out who I truly am.
Time to figure out why that neck binding is so important to me.
I smile and turn the knob on the front door. I know it’s open, as we’ve never locked our doors. We live in the safest place on the planet.
I walk in.
And my jaw nearly drops to the floor.
Chapter Nine
My mother sits on the blue sofa in our small living room. My father sits in his old leather recliner.
They have a visitor.
In the faded brocade armchair sits Braden Black.
My flesh freezes, and my fingers release my suitcase. It drops to the floor with a loud thud and topples onto its side.
“Honey!” Mom rises and pulls me into a hug. “What are you doing here?”
A few seconds lapse before my voice works. “I live here. At least I used to. What’s his excuse?”
“Mr. Black… Er…Braden called earlier today and asked if he could come by.”
“Why didn’t you tell us you were in a relationship, Skye?” my father queries.
“Because I’m not in one,” I say.
Braden clears his throat then, rises, and walks toward me. “I realize how this may look.”
How this may look? My feelings are a whirlwind inside me. Am I happy to see him? Angry at his presumptuousness? A little of both. Mostly I’m perplexed. That word he loves so much.
Not much perplexes me, Skye.
“It looks like you’re spying on me,” I reply.
“Why would your boyfriend spy on you?” Mom asks.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say adamantly. “He’s a thirty-five-year-old man, and I don’t have a clue what he’s doing here.”
“He came to meet us,” Dad says.
“Without bothering to tell me,” I say.
“I was in the area,” Braden says, “so naturally, I thought I’d stop by to say hello to your parents.”
“Braden, what the—”
“Come with me.” He ushers me back out the front door. Then, “What are you doing here?”
“Uh…I think I already made that clear. I live here.”
“You don’t. Your home is in Boston.”
“My parents’ home is my home. That’s what they’ve always told me. I sure as hell have a lot more right to be here than you do. What the fuck, Braden?”
“I didn’t mean for you to find out. Why are you here?”
I whip my hands to my hips. “I don’t have to explain that to you, but you sure have to explain it to me. What are you doing in my parents’ house?”
He sears me with that sapphire-blue gaze. That gaze that says, “Don’t test me, Skye.” Well, too late for any of that. He can no longer punish me.
“I’m waiting…”
“I was in the area.”
“Bullshit. What the hell kind of business do you have in Liberty, Kansas?”
“All kinds. My company manufactures products used in construction, or have you forgotten?”
“Yeah, and I’m sure you have a lot to do in such a thriving metropolis. We don’t exactly have skyscrapers here. Besides, Ben said you were in New York.”
Shit. Fatal error. Now he knows I talked to Ben.
Oddly, he doesn’t press me on it. Instead, “I have a meeting in Kansas City tomorrow, so I flew in early, called your parents, and they invited me over.”
“Of course they did. My parents are very hospitable people. But why? We’re not together.”
“Because I wanted….” He rakes his fingers through his dark hair. “I wanted to meet them. I guess I…”
“What, Braden? For the love of God, what?”
“I wanted to meet them because they’re part of you.”
“Why?”
“Because… For fuck’s sake, Skye, you know why.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Because I love you, all right? I fucking love you, and I want to figure out what’s going on with you. That’s why. Satisfied?”
I raise my eyebrows. Do I believe him? If I do, I have to accept that we both came here for the same reason.
I came to find myself. To figure out why control—and more recently, losing control—is such a big part of my life.
Is he here to help me?
“I call bullshit.”
“Call it whatever you like,” he says. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“Oh, you sure as hell do when you show up unannounced at my parents’ house.”
“I wasn’t unannounced. I called them first.”
“It was unannounced to me.”
“I had no idea you’d show up today.”
“Didn’t you? I call bullshit again.”
“You think I’m having you watched?” He stalks closer to me, that look in his eyes I know so well.
Have I gone too far?
His eyes are on fire, his jawline tense. I’ve seen this look before. He’s angry. Angry and full of lust.
He wants to grab me. Kiss me. Tie me up and fuck me, just like he did that day in his office when I came rushing in, throwing accusations at him.
“Y-Yes.” My lips tremble. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”
“Why would I have you watched if we’re not together?”
“Why would you show up at my parents’ home if we’re not together?”
“Damn it, Skye!” He grips my shoulder. Hard. “Damn it all to hell!” His lips come down on mine.
My parents are still inside the house, only yards away. They may very well be watching.
I don’t care.
Braden is impossible for me to resist. When his tongue demands entrance, I part my lips and let him in. We kiss angrily for a minute, until he breaks the kiss abruptly.
“Damn it!” he says again.
“You don’t have any business here, do you?” I say.
&n
bsp; He doesn’t reply.
God, he and Ben are cut from the same cloth. If they don’t like the answer they just don’t reply.
“So why are you here, then?” I ask.
“I’m worried about you,” he says.
“I’m a grown woman.”
“I know that.”
“Why worry, then?”
“Just because I can’t be with you doesn’t mean I no longer love you.” He trails one finger over my cheek.
I tingle all over. “I love you too. Why can’t we make this work?”
“You know why.”
“Why do you think I came here?” I ask. “I came here to start at the beginning. To figure myself out.”
He nods, though I’m not sure what he’s nodding to.
“So why are you here?” I ask again. “And don’t tell me you’re worried about me. You know I can take care of myself. Tell me why, Braden.”
“Maybe I came here to try to figure you out, too.”
“Is it me you want to figure out, Braden?” I inhale a deep breath, gathering courage for what I’m about to say. “Or is it yourself?”
Chapter Ten
Again, he doesn’t answer.
I’m getting real sick of this silence game he and his brother like to play. It’s old news.
“I think I have my answer,” I say.
Still, he says nothing.
“You’ve looked in the mirror, haven’t you?” I continue. “Just as I have. And you’re not exactly sure what you see.”
“To the contrary, Skye, I know exactly what I see.”
“Do you? Or do you only think you know? What are you hiding, Braden?”
He pushes his hands into his pants pockets. “I could ask you the same question.”
“You could, but I don’t have an answer. I came here to find one.”
“And you can’t believe that maybe I came here for the same reason?”
“You have no history here. That belongs to me. You want to find yourself? Start in South Boston.” I gather more courage. “Start with Addie.”
“Damn it, Skye—”
“Scratch that. Addie came much later. Start with your father, Braden. Start with your mother.”
His jaw tenses again, and his eyes are alight with wildfire. “Damn you,” he says between clenched teeth.
“Damn you, too,” I counter. “Fucking damn you.”
Then his lips are on mine again, without even a semblance of gentleness. It’s harsh. It’s painful, even.
And it’s magnificent.
We stand in my parents’ front yard, our mouths fused together, and I’m ready. So ready. Ready to strip for him and make love right here, in front of the house where I grew up. Where I played with toys. Where I got lost in the cornfield.
I break the kiss and push him away. “Stop it.”
“No.”
“Yes, you will. Have your forgotten my parents are inside? Easily watching us through the window? My dad is probably loading his shotgun about now.”
He draws in a breath. “This was a mistake.”
“You bet it was. You crossed a line, Braden.”
He scoffs. “I crossed a line? Have you forgotten how many lines you’ve crossed? Stealing a piece of mail from my house? Barging into my office and demanding information?”
Yeah, neither of those were my finest moments, but, “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. But since you brought me into it, the last time I checked, I never showed up at your father’s home unannounced. That’s a major line.”
He doesn’t reply. I’m not surprised. He can’t argue my point, and he knows it.
“What are you really doing here?” I ask for the umpteenth time. I’m determined to get an answer before he leaves.
He shakes his head. “I don’t honestly know, Skye. All I know is I was on the plane, ready to go to New York, and I told the pilot to change the flight plan.”
“You didn’t know I was coming here?”
“No. I swear I didn’t.”
“Then why? Seriously. And don’t tell me you were worried about me, or you were trying to understand me.”
“That’s actually the truth.”
“No, that’s the truth you told yourself so you could live with yourself for making this decision. I want the real truth.”
“I’m telling the truth. Or at least, the partial truth.”
“What’s the rest of it, then?”
“I don’t know. I just know…” He rakes his fingers through his hair once more. “I’ve never felt this way before. It’s…unnerving.”
“Felt what way?” I hold my breath.
Emotions play across his face as he wrinkles his forehead, purses his lips. He’s angry, regretful, imposing. Maybe even slightly amused.
Then he looks away from me. “When did you talk to my brother?”
“Interesting pivot,” I say. “It’s not even slightly related to my question. But I’ll play along. He called me an hour ago, while I was in the cab coming here.”
“I see.”
“He says you’re miserable without me.”
“This is why relationships aren’t in the cards for me. I have a problem with misery of any kind.”
I can’t help a laugh. “You think that makes you unique? No one likes to be miserable.”
“I like it less than most.”
“You do? Because you, the great Braden Black, know how misery affects everyone else on the planet?”
“Damn it!” He’s tense again, so tense his body is trembling slightly from the rigidness.
“This is getting nowhere,” I say. “I’m going back in.”
Braden offers me a half smile. “Your mother invited me to stay for dinner.”
He meets my gaze. It’s almost a glare. He’s challenging me—challenging me to make the decision for him. He wants my response. But I refuse to play.
“It’s a free country. Stay.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
I let out a huff and chuckle. “Since when do you care what I want? Suit yourself.” I walk toward the door.
Though he poses an interesting question. Do I want him to stay? I’ve met his father and brother. If we were still together, I would have eventually brought him home to meet my parents. Maybe not quite this soon, but it would have happened.
I grin to myself when his footfalls follow me. I pull open the screen door and then the main door. My parents are no longer in the small living room. I find my mother in the kitchen. My father is probably down in the basement in front of the television. It’s his man cave.
“Hi, honey. Are you okay?” Mom asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Will your friend be staying for dinner?”
“My friend? Mom, this isn’t some guy I brought home from school. This is a billionaire.”
She smiles. “I know that, dear. Everyone knows who Braden Black is. What we didn’t know is that you and he were…”
“Together? We’re not.”
“But you were.”
“Only for a few weeks.”
Braden walks in behind me and clears his throat. “Is the invitation to dinner still open, Mrs. Manning?”
“Of course it is. And please call me Maggie.”
He nods.
“Why don’t you join Steve in the basement? He’ll be happy to pour you a drink.”
“I’d enjoy that. Does he have Wild Turkey?”
Mom laughs. “It’s only his favorite.”
Braden nods and walks toward the stairs to the basement. “Can I get either of you anything?”
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll have a Wild Turkey, too. Bring Mom a vodka and seltzer.”
He nods again and walks down the stairs.
Mom turns to me. “I see we have a lot to talk about.”
Chapter Eleven
Mom’s right. I do want to talk to her, but not about Braden. I came home for a reason—to start at the beginning and figure myself out. Not just so I can answer Braden’s question about what I want, but also to know myself better. To understand why I am who I am.
I have to start at the beginning.
I’m just not sure I can do that with Braden here.
Yet, I still want him here. I want him with me so badly I can taste it—that irresistible flavor of smoky mint and cinnamon and man.
Braden.
“What can I help you with in here?” I ask Mom.
“I’m pretty much done.” She smiles. “I guess you’re not ready to talk about you and…”
I inhale and decide to pull a Braden and ignore her question. “Pot roast. It’s almost like you knew I’d be home.”
“Dad and I have pot roast about once a week, and I always make a lot so he can have a sandwich the next couple days. So we have plenty for you and your guest.”
He’s not my guest.
I take the cover off the pot on the stove. “Succotash?”
“Yup.”
Another staple. We live on a corn farm, after all. Will Braden like it? It’s so…rural.
“Plus carrots and new potatoes,” Mom continues, “cooked in with the roast, of course.” She takes a wrapped loaf of bread out of the refrigerator and places half of it on a plate. “Could you put this on the table for me, Skye?”
“Sure.” Sliced grocery store bread on the table. Another staple from my childhood. Mom’s a baker, but only desserts. She doesn’t bake her own bread.
A wave of embarrassment sweeps through me.
Store-bought sliced bread on the table. What will Braden think?
An image floats into my mind.
It’s Benji, the little boy who came into the food pantry with his mother the day Braden and I volunteered there. As his mother dragged him away in his little red wagon, he pulled out a loaf of bread from one of the bags and squeezed it.
Just like I did so many times.
I glance at the bread on the plate, the nearly perfect squares of white with light brown crusts. When I was a kid, the slices were always mangled from my squeezing the bags of fresh bread from the grocery.
