I squint, tilting my head. ‘What on god’s green earth is that?’
His gaze flicks over, and he actually looks sheepish. ‘It’s for Hannah. On our promo tour, you mentioned she likes sparkles. Thought she could use a cowboy hat for that Beyoncé performance.’
And the world just…stops.
A burn starts behind my eyes. I stare at this brooding tank of a man. Buying pink cowboy hats with sequins for my sister’s talent show.
He remembered.
It’s not just the hat. It’s the way he remembers everything I say. Like he’s been saving it all up, waiting for a chance to get a smile out of me. That’s how he cares. Quietly. Fiercely. Without ever needing credit.
I’ve spent my whole life bracing for the let-down. For someone to prove I was right not to trust them. And here’s Brodie, the last man I ever thought would crash through my walls, showing me I’ve been wrong about everything.
About him. About me. About us.
I’m trying to keep my shit in check, but it’s too late. I’m crumbling because he’s the one thing I never saw coming. The man who makes me want more. Want better. And I don’t have a script for that.
Shit.
I can’t make myself breathe properly, and I don’t know why it hits so hard. Just that it does. A cheap pink hat and suddenly my entire world implodes.
He notices, glancing at me with a frown. ‘Charlie? Look, if it’s weird—’
‘It’s not.’
The ice pack drops from my fingers. I can’t speak. Can’t do anything but stare at his back, his broad shoulders so tense.
A pink cowboy hat. For Hannah.
He remembered. The sparkles. Her.
The part of me that doesn’t trust splinters open. The feeling is raw and unfamiliar and has me wanting to crawl out of my skin. I don’t even realise I’m moving until I lay my hands flat against his back, palms sliding over the taut muscles as he stiffens under my touch.
‘Charlie?’ He says it carefully, as if he’s not sure if I’m about to lose it or hug him.
My chest is so full, and my pulse is ticking at the back of my neck. I shake my head, holding back the words that want to spill out. Words I shouldn’t say.
He shouldn’t be like this. He shouldn’t be kind and patient and thoughtful. He should be selfish. Like Callum. Like my dad. Like every man who’s ever let me down.
But he’s not.
He’s…Brodie. Real and unbreakable, even when he’s hurting. Even when he’s doubting himself. He buys a pink cowboy hat for a girl he’s never met, because he remembers me mentioning it in passing.
Because he fucking cares.
I feel it like a knife between my ribs, cutting out every doubt I’ve ever had.
I drop my head against his shoulder, and I draw his scent into my lungs. Clean, musky, familiar. I brush my lips against the warm stretch of skin on the nape of his neck. It’s not enough. I want to climb inside him, burrow under his skin and never come out.
‘Charlie. Don’t touch me like that. Don’t kiss me.’ His voice is dark. ‘You don’t get to tease and run. One more move, and you’re mine. You might own my arse professionally, but I’ll make sure I own yours in every other way. That clear enough for you?’
A pause.
‘Yes.’
‘Not enough, Charlie. Spell it out. Say it like you mean it. You want this? You tell me. Loud and clear. Once and for all.’
I’m fucked. Because nothing’s ever felt this right. Or this terrifying. I comb my fingers through his thick hair. It might stop me from tipping over. Behind my ears, everything rushes. Need claws through me so fast I forget how to stand.
