I cry for the nights I spent beside the one man who did.
And Brandon lets me. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t distract from my grief. Only bears it beside me the way I did for him in the darkroom.
Because my sorrow is not his to fix.
It’s no one’s to fix.
It is meant to be recognized, mourned, and let go.
The tide eventually goes out, taking my tears with it. I quiet, but Brandon’s thumb continues to spread circles across my knuckles.
“I’m here for you, Kate.” Brandon’s voice is thick, and I’m not sure if it’s from the lack of speaking or emotion. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”
“I know.” I roll onto my side as the last shudder of emotion leaves my body. “Thank you.”
“You’re more than welcome.”
We make our way back to the pool house, and Brandon insists on doing a surveillance sweep before escorting me to my room.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says. “Try to get some sleep.”
“Brandon, wait?—”
He stalls a few feet away.
“Stay with me?” My request is little more than a whisper, one Iwould immediately regret if it wasn’t for the soft smile spreading across his lips.
“Of course, love.”
Gratitude for this man wells in my chest at howgoodhe is.
After brushing our teeth in my ensuite bathroom, we wordlessly excavate the bed from the many decorative pillows the staff left.
I don’t even bat an eye as Brandon removes his tank, and he doesn’t say a word about the messy bun I pile my hair into. We slide into the queen sized bed, and I don’t second-guess my decision to snuggle my back against his chest.
The rise and fall of him feels so incredibly safe that a lump grows in my throat.
A moment later, Brandon’s hand comes to rest on my left hip, and I fall asleep with a tiny smile.
forty
PRESENT DAY
KATE
This pretentious country club event is already making me itch. Everyone here looks like my parents, but in a different font. Dad’s stern glasses are italicized on a man across the room. Mom’s sleek bob is a bolded font on at least four different women tittering with glasses of champagne.
Gag me.
The only reprieve I have during this forced family outing comes in the form of a tall drink of water—if that water happened to have pulled up on a motorcycle wearing a form-fitting tuxedo and glossy helmet. It wasn’t his fault his tux fitting went late. The mortified look on my parents’ faces through the window was reason enough to stride over and place a juicy kiss on Brandon’s cheek after he removed his helmet.
From my oversized armchair in the corner, I kick my heels out on the plush carpet, crossing my ankles in my cocktail dress. Leave it up to Liza to pack us both emergency formal wear. But I’m not mad at the dress she brought. It’s one of my favorites.
The short silk dress is almost the color of dusk, whispering on the cusp between navy and indigo. An excess of fabric puddles across my chest between thin straps. Mom probably thinks the short hemline is tasteless, but I don’t care.
I watch the crowd milling about, wondering which charity this event is even for. The lack of signage is abysmal. For how rich these people are, they don’t know how to put on events. The museum would have knocked this out of the park.
A sudden chilling thought invades my mind. What if H.Y. is in this room? If they truly followed me to Florida, intent on keeping an eye on me, surely they’d be here, wouldn’t they? Or would they have given up by now, seeing me with Brandon? I search face after face, not recognizing anyone of importance. I take a shaky breath, reminding myself that I’ll be safe tonight.
