I sipped my coffee, fighting down the urge to crave more than that. I longed for love, a relationship that wouldn’t hurt me. I also knew that could never happen. I could not let anyone close to my heart. Not ever. Being this close to Brody during his crisis had nearly become far too much already.
Brody lifted his face at last, offering me a small smile. “Sorry to be such lousy company.”
“You’re fine.”
I idly watched the other diners at nearby tables. Stay at home moms with their kids, businessmen with papers talking in low tones, elderly couples out for a nice breakfast. I felt Brody’s eyes on me, and ignored them, ignored the questions he wanted to ask.
“I wish you’d talk to me,” he commented.
“What about?”
“Whatever’s going on with you. You can trust me.”
“Can I? I don’t know you, Brody. Yeah, you seem honest, you’re one of the good guys. Trust is earned. Not given.”
“Touché.” He smiled wryly. “Well, I hope I’ll earn your trust.”
The waitress took our orders. I drank my coffee, people watched, and wondered how long I had before my stalker showed up. A week? Less? Maybe if I repacked my stuff, and hit the road, I’d escape this time. I mentally planned to do just that, as soon as Brody returned home.
I’ve had enough drama and violence in my life. I sure as shit don’t need more.
“I’m moving on,” I said slowly.
Brody’s head swung toward me fast. “As in?”
“Hitting the road. Find a new place to live.”
“Because of me?”
I shook my head. “It’s part of it, but not all.”
“Who are you afraid of?”
The waitress arrived with our breakfast, effectively cutting off any reply I might make. She left us to eat, then returned to refresh our coffee, then departed again. I started to eat, again feeling Brody’s eyes on me.
“Don’t go,” he pleaded softly. “I’ll help you. Through whatever problem is chasing you.”
I didn’t reply because my food stuck in my throat. I barely managed to swallow before I choked. “You can’t.”
“Yeah, I can. You came to help me, I’ll return the favor.”
“It’s not the same.”
“That trust issue again,” he said, his voice tight.
I smiled. “Not just you. I don’t trust anyone.”
He stabbed his fork into his hashbrowns with more force than necessary. “Trust me or not, Iwillhelp you. Andnotjust because you helped me. It’s because it’s not only the right thing to do, but also because I like you. You’re scared and maybe I can do something about it.”
I shook my head. “Just forget about it. Forget me.”
“That’ll never happen.”
***
Upon our return home, Brody hobbled slowly from my driveway to his, pausing to grieve over his burned truck before going into the house. I walked into my own. Setting my purse and keys down on the kitchen counter, I poured a glass ofwine and stared at the mess of partially unpacked boxes. They represented, so very clearly, the story of my life.
A mess. Caught halfway between the past and the future. Whither shall I go from here?
