“So what does that mean for me and you?” I ask, ignoring the flashing red sign that has just flipped on in a corner of my mind. I thought we’d made some progress, but maybe that was just so he could get me in bed.
“It means that it’s Vaughn’s job to tell you how smart you are. How fine you are. How much he likes kicking it with you. How the sound of your laugh makes him smile in a way he thought he would never smile again. To tell you he could easily see himself being with you ’cause it’s trueandit’s what you deserve.”
“And it’s your job to remind me not to fuck it up?”
“Yup. Otherwise how do I keep you a comfortable ten feet away?”
I swallow the anxious feeling in my throat, then take a chance, asking, “Is that how you stop me from breakingyourheart?”
I know then what’s really going on between me and Shaw. Or what’s not. This has nothing to do with me. I could be any woman Vaughn brought back to Shaw with that sweet smile and those damn glasses that won’t stay on his face. This isn’t about me. Shaw’s mourning Corrine. He’s had time to be angry on Vaughn’s behalf, but he hasn’t grieved for himself. Not enough. Shaw is truly afraid he’ll get hurt again.
I’m about to tell him it’s okay. That I understand. That I won’t push anymore because, while Vaughn and I have tried our best to process our shit, Shaw’s been shoving it all down. He sees me coming and he feels backed into a corner where he’ll have to face those feelings and he’s not there yet. He’s not ready.
My lips part and, just as I draw in the breath I need to state my case, I feel it. A change in the air. The sudden tension Shaw is carrying through his whole body. It happens so quickly, but so clearly, that I feel stupid for not noticing how close he was to the edge before. The way he’s been laying on top of me, the tightness in his body, how he’s trying to pull his whole spirit away, but he’s losing the fight. I look down at him, just as two fat tears slip over the bridge of his nose and land on my chest.
“Shaw,” I say quietly. He moves off me and sits on the edge of the bed, wiping his eyes.
“You happy now, Brook? You broke a man,” he says dramatically. I chuckle and sit up. I draw my fingers over the tattoos covering his arm.
“That’s not what I wanted.”
“I know. You wanted honesty. Well, you got honesty. I’m still trying to figure out how to keep you the fuck away from me and how to keep Vaughn close.”
“Come here,” I say, but it’s me who scoots closer. I lean against his perfectly sculpted back, put my head on his shoulder and let Christopher Shaw cry.
Fifteen
Vaughn
“How did this happen?” Shaw laughs. I look between him, my mother and the kitchen drawer that is now in three different pieces on the counter.
“Boy, I don’t know. I opened the drawer and it fell apart.” Shaw looks around the clean kitchen. The space is warm and inviting, slightly beat down by years of wear and tear.
“Might be time to do some remodeling,” Mom says, following his gaze around the room.
“You want me and Vaughn to buy you a new house?” Shaw says.
“I mean, if you’re offering.”
“Shaw is welcome to buy you a house. In the meantime, I’ll pitch in and get this place fixed up for you,” I reply. My mom has lived in the same three-bedroom house in Dorchester since I was twelve. Parts of the neighborhood have been bought up and flipped, but she has no plan to go anywhere. I support her decision. The least I can do is remodel her kitchen.
“I can fix this for you. You have any wood glue?” Shaw asks.
“I still have the bottle you bought out in the shed.”
“I’ll be right back.”
“Glad he uses his handy work for good,” she teases once he’s out the back door.
“You and me both.”
“How are you doing, baby?”
“Ya know, I’m good. Work is good. Shaw is good.”
“That all sounds very good.”
I smile at her. I know when she’s digging. “I’m good, Mom. We’re both good.”
