Her eyes come to mine and there’s something clinging to their edges that makes my heart ache. Like she’s extended an olive branch but some part of her is waiting for me to bat it away.
Instead, I wrap my fingers around it, cradle it close to my chest.
Then I pass her the popcorn, murmur, “As you wish.”
The last thingI remember is fleeing the Fire Swamp?—
No, it was Buttercup and Wesley fleeing the horrors of that treacherous swamp.
So why does it feel like I’m navigating something equally as risky?
Probably because Briar is sleeping on my chest, her face peaceful and young, and for a moment, I can pretend I’ve gone back in time, back before all this shit happened.
I gently smooth my hand over her hair, the strands like silk.
Though not as soft as the fur from the two kittens curled up next to her.
They start purring as I pet them and I know that Briar and I have been claimed the same as Thorn.
The only question is if Briar’s going to let me claim her too.
I turn off the TV, carefully extract us from the pile of kittens, and carry Briar down the hall. The door’s closed because Chrissy advised us to limit the parts of the apartment the kittens will have access to, but it sure as shit makes it difficult for me to get in the bedroom with my woman in my arms.
Eventually, I manage to turn the knob, get her through the door, and then onto the bed, all without waking her.
I tug the blankets up, turn for the hall.
“Brooks?” I hear as I reach the threshold.
She’s rumpled and sleepy, her hair tumbling down her shoulders.
“Yeah, baby?”
“I used to think the fantasy was the fact that you swept in and rescued me from the disaster that was my life.”
My heart starts pounding.
“But I’ve learned that the fantasy is actually the small things. Popcorn and a movie. A purring kitten and hot chocolate. Spending time with friends and warm arms keeping me safe.”
My pulse is thrumming through my veins so rapidly I feel lightheaded.
It’s all I can do to stay on my feet.
Let alone come up with something to say in response.
She takes care of that for me.
“Goodnight, Brooks.”
But as I walk down the hall to my office, all I can think of is Pascal’s words.
She needs space. From you.
And how much of a monster it makes me if I can’t give her that.
THIRTY-FOUR
BRIAR
