Bradley held a hand out to keep me away. “Stay back. I don’t want you getting cut on this glass.”
“What happened?” I asked in shock.
“I’m not sure,” he murmured as he bent down to clean up the mess.
He moved about the house to get a towel for the water and the broom and dustpan for the glass, but I barely noticed. I looked between the counter where I’d set the flowers and the floor where they now laid in ruin. I was sure I’d put them safely in the middle of the kitchen counter, and there was nothing around that area that could suddenly knock the vase over.
But clearly,somethinghad.
I glanced at the front door and recalled the moment where it had locked behind Bradley. I wasn’t sure if the two abnormal occurrences were related, but the questions about their causes spiraled through my head, all the same. Still, I knew there had to be a logical explanation for both incidents.
Maybe my door is broken, and I accidentally sat the flowers on the edge by mistake, I told myself as Bradley finished cleaning.
He frowned at the sight of the broken and crushed roses.
“I’m sorry about the flowers,” I apologized.
Even if I was confused about the two of us and where we went from here, he’d been sweet enough to get those with me in mind, and now they were destroyed.
He looked at me and offered a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. It’s just flowers. I’ll get you more.”
He tossed the flowers in the trash and returned to where I stood. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me against him. His attention fell to my mouth, zeroing in on the spot where my lip was split open and framed by an ugly bruise.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes,” I answered honestly.
He dropped his head until his forehead rested against mine. “Are you still angry with me?”
I swallowed hard. “I was never angry.”
“Whatdoyou feel?”
I closed my eyes and turned my head away. “I’m not sure, Bradley. I’m … I’m not sure.”
“It will never happen again,” he reassured me. “You’ll see. I’m never drinking again, and I’m never letting myself get that worked up, either. So let’s move forward, okay? Let’s pretend it didn’t happen.”
I was certainly good at that. Pretending. Normally, I could don a mask, concealing everything I felt beneath it. Faking a smile was easier than explaining why I cried. Saying I was fine was easier than explaining the thoughts devouring my mind. Being the put-together girl was better than exposing the bleeding woman beneath.
So like an expert, I looked up at Bradley and slipped on the mask the world knew, burying Serenity behind it.
“Okay,” I smiled softly.
He grinned and squeezed me around the waist. “You know what we should do to start this new chapter?”
Before I could answer, he grabbed my hand and tugged me along to my bedroom. When we were inside, he let me go and started to take off his shirt. I watched him with raised brows, and as he moved on to his jeans, he gestured at my leggings and sweatshirt. “Take off your clothes.”
Thatwas new.
Whenever Bradley and I were intimate, he never made requests to see me naked. We often did it while I still wore some sort of shirt, or in instances where I took charge and decided to discard all of my clothes, he’d cover my body with a blanket or turn every light off. I told myself it was the tattoos on my arms, legs, and chest that made him uninterested in seeing me naked. That was easier to stomach than the idea that it was my thicker curves and occasional stretchmarks.
Hearing his request to get naked now actually stunned me. I reached down to complete his task, just to see if this was a dream or real life. I made quick work of shedding my sweatshirt, leggings, and underwear until I stood completely bare in front of him. Despite my curiosity to see this demand through, insecurities crept in, so I wrapped my arms around my pudgy midsection. My mask loosened a sliver with the action.
Bradley’s boxers still clung to his legs. I snuck a glance to see if there was any physical sign of how much he wanted me. When I saw no hard tenting in the thin boxers, the dagger in my chest dug just a little deeper. With a painful tug, my mask fell off. The smile gave way to a solemn, resolved flat line.
He crossed the space between us and grinned as he kissed the uninjured side of my lip. “Want to sit back on the bed? This night is about you, Doll. I want that nectar of yours on my tongue.”
The nickname and his dirty talk were as unappealing as always, but regardless, I moved to the bed. It was easier to go along with this charade as I’d always done, especially since he never showed an interest in catering to my needs. The part of me that clung to the last shred of hope for this man wanted to see where this went and what he’d do. Meanwhile, the rational part of my brain told me it would end how it always did—me wishing sex was more than what it obviously was.
