But Tool wasn’t there.
He’d said all the right things. Had made her believe they meant something. That she meant something.
But deep down, in that quiet place she never let herself look, she felt the truth.
They had just been words. And words meant nothing without actions.
He’d stood in her hospital room, silent—his eyes boring into her soul. Brought her favorite pizza. Now, he was off with some of the other brothers doing who knew what and with whom. Clearly, she wasn’t what he wanted.
Yes, he’d given her a glimpse of who he was in the bedroom, but he hadn’t given all of him. He’d held back, keeping her shielded from who he really was. Tool was hiding behind his own bullshit.
Tomorrow they were heading home. Tomorrow things would go back to normal. Tonight she’d retire to her room and stare at the ceiling. Like she’d done for the past two years. Waiting—wanting—someone who would never come. She turned away before the tears could betray her. Limping back inside, every step throbbed—ankle, head, heart.
It wasn’t just her body that hurt—it was everything. And that kind of pain never lets you sleep.
The hallway lights were dim, softened by the rain still falling outside. Brandi kept her head down, her steps uneven as she limped toward her room. The B&B's old floorboards creaked under her weight, each one like a reminder she couldn’t shake—of pain, of silence, of everything she didn’t want to feel.
Sloan stepped out of a nearby room, pausing mid-laugh when she saw her. The smile faded from her face. “Hey, you okay?” she asked, already reaching toward Brandi’s arm.
Brandi shook her head before Sloan could touch her. “Just tired,” she muttered. “I’m fine.”
Wick stepped out behind Sloan and leaned against a doorframe, watching with quiet concern. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes followed Brandi—seeing more than she wanted anyone to see.
Brandi forced one more breath, nodding a vague goodnight as she pushed past. The key shook in her hand as she unlockedthe door, her grip weak, knuckles pale from holding back everything she didn’t want to feel.
The door clicked shut behind her. And that was it.
She slid down with her back pressed to the wood, her legs giving out before she could take another step. The weight of the day—of the past two years—collapsed on top of her. She pulled her knees in, ignoring the pain, and wrapped her arms around them like it might hold her together. But it didn’t.
Her chest heaved in silent sobs, no sound escaping—just the jagged breath of someone who’d been strong for too long. Her ankle pulsed with dull pain; a constant throb that flared each time she shifted. Her head pounded beneath the surface, as if every heartbeat cracked through bone.
The room smelled like old cedar and lavender sachets tucked in forgotten drawers. The air was cool and slightly damp from the rain, making her skin prickle beneath the oversized hoodie she hadn’t bothered to take off. It clung to her, damp at the collar where tears had soaked through.
She couldn’t cry in front of them. She never did. But alone? Alone, she broke.
Rolling to her side, she curled into herself on the well-worn rug that covered the room’s hardwood floor. The fibers scratched against her cheek—rough, itchy, grounding. The floor beneath her was cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and stayed there. But she didn’t move.
Tears slipped free, trailing down her face, each drop hitting the faded rug with a softpat,pat, pat.The sound echoed off the walls, impossibly loud in the silence, like the room was listening.
She buried her face in the rug, breathing in the musty scent of dust, old wood, and faint smoke from the fireplace down the hall. Her fingers curled into the weave, clutching at it like it might keep her from floating away.
There was nothing else to hold onto. Nothing to ground her. Except for the memory.
Tool’s arms wrapped around her, warm and solid. His chin resting on the top of her head. The low rasp of his voice, thick with promise.
“Things are going to change, Brandi. I swear to you.”
And for one fleeting moment, she’d believed him. Had let herself lean into it, into him. Let herself feel safe. But that’s all it had been—a single moment in time. And now it was gone.
The silence pressed in from every corner of the room, heavy and suffocating. The kind of silence that wrapped around you and whispered,You’re still alone.
And this time, she didn’t fight it.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tool stoodoutside Brandi’s room, leaning his head against the door. It was just a door. Thin wood and cheap paint. But tonight, it felt like a damn wall. On the other side was the woman who saw too much, knew too much, and still didn’t run. And he didn’t know if that made her brave, stupid, or just as confused as he was.
All he had to do was turn the knob and walk through it. He’d told her the truth—about how he felt. About whom he was and what he’d want from her. Her willingness to take whatever he offered both scared and humbled him. He’d never met anyone like her. Never wanted to. He wasn’t used to people wanting him for who he was. He wasn’t sure he could handle it.
