He squeezed her fingers before gently removing her hand from his arm. He couldn’t think when she touched him. And he needed to think. He needed to make her understand why he was the way he was. Why he couldn’t give her what she wanted.
“It’s okay. No, really,” he assured her when she vigorously shook her head. “Like I said, my past brought me to my present. And my present is pretty spectacular. I have friends and a home and”—he looked at her—“friends,” he repeated.
And all those feelings he had for her that wentbeyondfriendship and lust? Well, he’d just keep them to himself. Keep them locked away safe and sound where he could take them out and cherish them during those times he was alone and quiet. During those times when he allowed himself to think about, todreamabout…what if?
She nodded her understanding, her expression sad. “Is that why you’ve kept women at arm’s length? Because you’re afraid of letting anyone close, afraid if you do you’ll become like your father?”
Afraid I’ll become like my father? Babe, I alreadyamlike my father.
“Don’t delude yourself, Maddy. I’ve kept women at arm’s length because that’s exactly where I want them.”
She searched his face, her gray eyes reflecting the moonlight bouncing off the waves. When she reached up to smooth a lock of hair back from his forehead, he stilled and held his breath. But her touch was featherlight. And then it was gone.
“And not wantin’ anything more…you don’t think that has something to do with what you think is stamped into your DNA?” Her voice was low and husky, perhaps a bit beseeching.
The truth is I was never even tempted. Not until you…“Unquestionably,” he said with determination, not sure who he was trying more to convince, himself or her.
“Oh, Bran.” Her hand landed on his forearm again, making him grit his teeth. “You are more than your father’s son. You have a huge heart and a loyal, steadfast character. That combination always wins the day.”
If only that were true.
But he knew better.
He knew it was possible for a man to have both dark and light living inside him. He knew that sometimes, no matter how he might wish it otherwise, the darkness overwhelmed the light. He knew because it happened every time he’d stepped onto a battlefield.
And there was one more thing he knew.The human heart, more than anything else, can be utterly, entirely deceitful.
“Love is like liquor,” he explained. “Some people can handle it, use it to make a bad day good or a boring party fun. They can take it or leave it. Let it loosen ’em up and give them a rosy glow. And then there are the others. The ones whocan’thandle it, because when they try, it finds all the bad in ’em and makes it worse. They can’t take it or leave it because it consumes them from the inside out. It doesn’t loosen ’em up; it winds them tight. It doesn’t give ’em a rosy glow; it wakes up the darkness inside. I’ve seen the latter. Iamthe latter.”
“But—”
“And like an alcoholic”—he kept on like she hadn’t tried to interrupt—“the only way I know to stay true, stay sober, stayme, is to make sure I avoid the thing that temps me the most.”
She searched his face for a long time, trying to find a weakness in him, a crack that she could exploit, a way to try to convince him he was wrong. But eventually her expression fell, her eyes dulling with sadness. “Well…then I’m sorry for you,” she said haltingly. “Because I’ve always thought of life as a treasure hunt, and if in the end you have someone to share your life with, then you’ve found wealth beyond—”
“But Ihavepeople to share my life with,” he cut her off. He didn’t want her pity. “That’s been my point all along. I havefriends. And I haverealtreasure to hunt. LT and Olivia found the hilt of a cutlass today.”
“All hail the king of the really bad sequiturs.” She twisted her lips, and he ignored what the gesture did to the top one, making it plump and pucker. Or at least hetriedto ignore it. The pulse in his pants told him he was only marginally successful. Of course, his arousal withered like a grape left too long on the vine when she blurted, “Will you at least tell me how long it lasted before we change the subject?”
He knew to whatitshe was referring. “’Til I was fifteen and big enough to stand up to him,” he said. “Or at least until IthoughtI was big enough to stand up to him.”
She blinked rapidly. Her little chin trembled. “That’s the ‘except for the once’ you were talking about.” And there it was. The pity he didn’t want. “So, what…” She stopped and swallowed. “What happened when you were fifteen?”
He inhaled deeply, rolling in his lips. The memory of that day was sharp and painful, like a box covered in switchblades that cut his fingers when he opened it. And hehatedtalking about his childhood. Never did, in fact. But he’d started this so she’d understand what he was,whohe was. And he couldn’t do her the disservice of not finishing it.
“It was a half day at school. Parent-teacher conferences, I think.” He frowned. “Or maybe it was a professional day for the teachers? Anyway, it was a half day.” And he could still remember it clearly. The crunch of the hard-packed snow under his boots on the walk home. The sweet promise of spring in the cloudless blue sky even though the winter wind still nipped at his nose. The barbecue place on the corner had been winding down after the afternoon rush, but the smoldering smell of its smokers still perfumed the air.
“After lunch, I walked home and climbed the steps to my front porch. And that’s when I heard ’em. Those sounds that were the soundtrack of my childhood.” He shuddered even now, even after almost twenty years. “It’d been a while because my father had stopped beating on Mom when I was home.”
“Why?”
He made a face and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, staring out at the silvery stars dotting the black blanket of the sky. “Probably ’cause when I was twelve I stole Joey Santorini’s father’s shotgun off their mantel and hid it in the coat closet where my mom stashed me when Dad whaled on her. So the next time he started in, I popped out, shoved both barrels in his face, and swore if I ever saw him lay a hand on Mom again, I’d blow his fuckin’ brains out.”
“Oh, Bran.” Maddy blinked rapidly, her bottom lip quivering ever so slightly.
Bran had to look away. “Yeah, well, he wrestled the gun from me and took it back to Joey’s dad, but I think the warning stuck. I think he believed me when I said if I eversaw”—he stressed the word—“him lay a finger on Mom again, I’d kill him. After that, he was careful to only give her a beating when I wasn’t around. Not that I wouldn’t have killed him even withoutseeing”—again with the emphasis—“but Mom was always there to stop me after the fact.”
“Jesus,” Maddy said.
