Despite the unkempt grooming technique, he looked good. Bigger than Reese remembered. As though he’d spent a significant amount of time working out in the past six months. His charcoal-gray T-shirt hugging his broad chest, the short sleeves stretching around his bulging biceps. Brantley wore his signature black tactical pants, which fit his trim waist and thick thighs as though they’d been designed specifically for him.
“I just came to get my things,” Reese said, wanting to assure Brantley he wasn’t expecting anything.
Brantley held his stare for a minute, then turned and walked into the house without a word.
“Well,thatwent well,” Reese muttered to himself.
He stood there for a minute, then another and another while he recalled the speech he’d prepared during his drive down. He’d come up with a few options starting with the basic groveling:I’m sorry. I love you. Please take me back.When he figured that wouldn’t work, he’d contemplated using the straightforward angle:Nothing happened, I was just confused. Let’s let bygones be bygones.And, of course, the pretend-not-to-give-a-fuck approach:I’m still a member of the task force. Came back to work, that’s all. So just pretend you don’t see me.
Now that he was standing here, none of those scenarios played well for him, which meant he would have to wing it.
Reese didn’t know if he should just walk in without an invitation, but he also didn’t feel like standing outside until Brantley decided to leave, which could’ve been in an hour or a few days.
Taking a deep breath, he went to the door, opened the screen, and let Tesha go inside first. He followed her, easing the door closed so it didn’t slam.
The house was dark, the only light coming from the kitchen and what little of the late-afternoon sun was still filtering in through the uncovered windows. The dining room looked the same as it had the last time he’d been here. The new table and chairs they’d bought still sat stoically in the center, although they’d collected what looked to be six months’ worth of dust. He’d honestly expected to find his things had been boxed up and stored in there since Brantley didn’t use the room for anything else but there was nothing but the furniture.
He moved forward slowly, peered over at the couch. It was facing the television Reese had insisted they get after he’d echoed the sentiment of everyone who’d come to visit and finally convinced Brantley the space needed a couch. The living room looked as though it had sat unoccupied for quite some time, more dust coating the edges of the television and the top of the wooden cabinet it sat on.
The good news was there were no signs that anyone else was here. No one other than Brantley.
Taking the remaining steps to round the dividing wall separating the kitchen from the dining room, Reese tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans, not sure what to expect.
Brantley was in the kitchen, a beer in one hand, the other pressed hard against the island countertop as he stared at the sliding back door. His shoulders were tense, his back muscles shifting every so often beneath the soft cotton that covered them. His chest rose and fell with every deep breath he took. He wasn’t huffing and snorting like a bull, so that was something.
Neither of them said anything for several minutes, and Reese felt as though his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. It had taken him months of recovery and physical therapy just to learn how to take a deep breath again. And in one fell swoop, all that hard work seemed to dissolve. He was reduced to a panting mess, dragging ragged breaths in as deep as he could, doing his best not to draw Brantley’s attention.
It didn’t work.
Brantley turned, his gaze pinning him in place. His expression was arctic, the thin line of his mouth firm, the dark slashes of his eyebrows vee-d over eyes that were hard as steel.
“I’m sorry,” Reese whispered, forcing the words through his dry throat.
One of Brantley’s dark eyebrows rose, a mirthless smirk pulling at his mouth. “For what? For leavin’ me to be with your ex-girlfriend? Or for gettin’ yourself shot defending her?” He stood tall, his jaw set, his voice rising with his anger. “Or for hidin’ in Dallas for the last six fuckin’ months while I sat here and wondered if you’d ever fucking come back?”
There was so much emotion in his voice, so much anger and hurt, it was like a blade through Reese’s chest.
Reese took one step forward, expecting Brantley to take a step back. When he didn’t, Reese moved closer. Those blue-gray eyes held the same storm clouds he remembered from when they’d first met.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, closing the distance but not getting too close. He damn sure wasn’t prepared to take a fist to the jaw.
“So you said.”
He stared at Brantley, decided he was going with the no-bullshit approach. “I’m not with Madison. Never was.”
Brantley’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak.
“That night … I wanted to give her the closure I thought she needed.” He shook his head. “That’s a lie. I was seeking the closure I thoughtIneeded.”
Still no comment from Brantley.
“I fucked up,” Reese said firmly. “I fucked everything up.”
“And you think by admitting that, it’ll make it all better?” Brantley’s words dripped with derision and what sounded a hell of a lot like hurt.
Reese shook his head. “No. I told you. I only came to get my things.”
Brantley’s countenance turned skeptical. Or was that disappointment? “Movin’ on to bigger and better things, are you?”
