Upstairs, I heard a door slam. I slowed the machine until I was walking, and forced myself into a five minute cool down. When I finally stopped the treadmill the only noise was the deafening absence of sound, which had always put me on edge. It made the place feel empty now, as though I’d been abandoned here in this remote, hostile wilderness.
Wiping the back of my neck with a hand towel, I climbed the steps and looked around. The house was empty, the only sign of life the fire crackling in the grate. Even with the fire, it felt cold without Brodie’s presence. He’d somehow filled each room, his presence and watchful gaze speaking even when his mouth wasn’t.
Up here, a noise I hadn’t heard downstairs reached me, a resonant sort of scrape and hiss. Peering outside the picture window, I found the source. In a plaid shirt and jeans, Brodie was methodically shoveling the driveway. His back was to me and I watched as he thrust the shovel with a powerful scrape under the snow and then hefted and flung it to the side with a whoosh of sound. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing corded forearms.
Hadn’t he asked that guy to do that?I couldn’t see his face, but I recognized the emotion pouring off of him with each flick of the shovel. He was angry.
As I turned my back to the window, my eyes fell on my journal, spread open on the kitchen table. Warmth spread through me. He was angry for me.
My stomach rumbled and a glance at the vintage cat clock on the wall revealed it to be past noon. I was a shitty cook, but surely there was some box pasta or canned sauce I could fix for lunch? Brodie didn’t need to do all of the cooking.
In the pantry I found a jar of spaghetti sauce and a box of pasta, and worked quickly to get them heating while I put together a salad from the veggies in the refrigerator. All that was needed now was bread...
“What are you doing?”
Still poking around in the pantry, I jumped and whirled to face Brodie, slapping my palm to my chest. “Jesus, you’re quiet! You about gave me a heart attack.” He stood unsmiling in the door, waiting. “I’m making lunch. Do we have any bread?” His expression softened and he reached past me to a metal bin I hadn’t explored yet.
“Here.”
“Thank you.” I pulled a loaf free and turned to leave, clutching it to me. He hadn’t moved, but stared down at me with a brooding expression I couldn’t interpret.
“Em...”
Ugh. There it was, the pity.No, thank you.I pushed past him. “Drop it, Brodie.”
“Fine.”
He didn’t say another word as I finished lunch and pulled a stack of plates from the upper cabinet, simply he leaned against the counter to watch, sweaty and mute. “It’s ready.” He unfolded his arms from where he’d crossed them over his chest and took a plate. All in silence, we fixed our meals, carried them to the table, and sat down to eat. Several bites later, his stubborn refusal to speak was driving me nuts.
“All right, stop sulking. Go ahead. Say what you need to say.”
He took a bite of his spaghetti and chewed thoughtfully. “This spaghetti sucks. How the hell do you fuck up spaghetti?”
“All I did was open the jar.” Relaxing, I settled into my meal.
“Exactly. You have to doctor it, girl. Everyone knows this.”
“If you don’t like it you should probably plan on being responsible for meals from here on out. This is a shining culinary accomplishment for me.”
He shuddered. “Consider yourself banned from the kitchen.”
We ate without speaking for a time, until with a clink of silver he set his fork on the side of his plate. “I wish you’d told me. Before I had your pussy in my mouth.”
And there it was. I looked at him coolly, twining noodles around my fork. “What would you have done differently?”
He sat back a bit in his chair, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “I wouldn’t have climbed in the fucking shower with you and mauled you. It’s a miracle I didn’t scare you senseless. I should at least have been more sensitive—”
I held up a hand, a little smile playing around my lips. “Do you remember what you told me yesterday? About control?”
He nodded. “Sure, but I didn’t—”
“Maybe I needed to relinquish control. Put everything in someone else’s hands. Someone I trusted.” The harsh lines of his mouth relaxed. “I didn’t need or want sensitivity, Brodie. I needed…” I broke off, shaking my head as I struggled to explain. I couldn’t figure out how to process in words what it was I had seized for myself. It was more than just an orgasm, and yet, that was exactly it. I’d figure it out later. “I needed to come. That was what I wanted, and your mouth on me was how I wanted it. I took, I used, and I gave nothing back. And it wasgood. Now I know—” Despite my efforts to be badass, my voice hitched. “Now I know that he didn’t break me.”
He stared at me for one long moment. Then, “Feel free to use me anytime,macushla.” In spite of my big talk about control, I blushed. It was an intriguing idea.
We finished our lunch in companionable quiet, going through what was swiftly becoming habit afterwards with washing up. I laid down on the couch, a Nicolas Sparks book in hand, determined to get my mind off of the morning. Brodie had no such interest. He sat in the chair across from me and leaned forward, hands clasped over his knees. “We need to figure out how to move forward.”
“What do you mean?”
