It’s a great incentive, and I lift my right foot for the first step.
“Let me carry you.” Brody’s voice has gone rough and deep, more of a rumble, as if seeing me in pain hurts him too.
“I can do it,” I argue, stubbornly moving my left foot to the first step too. Two feet per stair. That’s how I’m going to do this.
But I sway and lean more heavily on Brody. “You don’t have to do everything on your own. You don’t have to be strong now. It’s okay to admit that you need help.”
“I don’t.” What should sound strong and powerful sounds weak and ridiculous when I’m still standing on the first step.
Brody could just do it, sweep me into his arms and carry me upstairs, and I wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it but bitch him out. But he doesn’t. No, he stands beside me, supporting and steadying me, letting me call the shots. As if we’ve got all the time in the world, he starts talking, his voice calm and soothing as he gives me another piece of himself.
“One of the strongest women I’ve ever known was my mom, and when she got sick, I didn’t think it was going to be bad. She was invincible. But her treatments got harder, she got sicker, and Mama Louise started coming over more. They were friends back then, and she’d say she was just visiting, that she’d baked too much dinner or too many cookies, or even that she’d found a new cleaner that was supposed to make the glass shine like diamonds. All so that she could help us without it seeming like she was cooking and cleaning because Mom couldn’t. I never thought Mom was weak, not when she needed help and not even when the cancer won. She went out fighting every last step of the way, and that wasn’t changed by her letting someone carry her stubborn ass up the stairs.”
Love, pure and bright, shines through, and I wish I’d gotten a chance to know his mother. She raised a good man, and I’d like to tell her that. I won’t ever have that opportunity. But I have one now with Brody, if I’m willing to be real.
“Okay, take me upstairs.” My walls are crumbling, breaking down, and it feels like a gush of relief to not have to perform for everyone. To not give, but to take, if only for a minute. To not be hard but to be okay with being weak, knowing Brody won’t judge me for it.
I want to cry and scream and admit how scared I was to someone. And he’s that someone.
“Thought you’d never ask, Lil Bit.” He gives me that cocky smirk of victory before picking me up carefully. He carries me up each of those thirteen steps and to the bed, where he sets me on the edge. He pulls my shirt off, tossing it to the hamper, and plucks a ponytailer from the nightstand, holding it out for me. I do a quick twist of my hair, getting it off my neck as Brody kneels in front of me.
“Can you lift your hips?” I press my palms to the bed, and he slips the cut-off scrubs to the floor, taking care over the bandages. He guides me to lie back, and I sink into the pillow as he tucks me in. “Tea?”
I don’t remember the last time I felt this small. I mean, I’m a short woman, but I’m like one of those chihuahuas that doesn’t let their size hold them back, barking at the biggest pit bull in the park. Right now, I feel small and vulnerable and only want one thing.
“No. Will you just lie with me?” A question, not an order, but Brody reacts the same either way.
“Of course.” He strips down to his underwear, laying everything out neatly over a chair. He climbs into bed with me, curling around me to spoon me from behind. And finally, I can let that last shred of wall crumble.
The tears come slowly at first, Brody’s breath by my ear whispering that it’s okay and to let it out. He hugs me tighter when they start to rack my body, shakes and shivers from the stress finally working their way to the surface. He traces the freckles on my shoulder, kissing them every so often while I fall apart.
And he loves me through it.
The words come eventually, spilling over my lips. “I don’t know what happened. I keep playing it over in my head—he purged, he was shifting, it was fine. And then it wasn’t, and he wouldn’t get out of the car. It was so hot . . . his face, I can’t get that look out of my mind. I need to know that he’s okay.”
I’m rambling, eyes closed as I see the scene at the track again and again.
“He’s fine, Dan said so. And we’ll find out more soon. And honestly, I don’t give a fuck about Todd right now. I only care about you.” His voice cracks as he spits the words out and buries his nose in the hair at the nape of my neck. “I thought I was going to lose you before I could tell you that I love you. I wanted you to know that and was so afraid I’d missed my chance.”
I roll to my other side carefully, the sheet brushing over my legs but the gauze preventing it from hurting too much as I face Brody. I need to see his eyes for this, need to see the dark depths he hides with a front of cocky asshole-itis the same way I disguise my heart with bitchiness.
“I know you love me. Words or not, it’s in everything you do. Making me those pancakes, encouraging me to follow my dreams, and accepting me just as I am. I know you love me. I love you too.”
He inhales sharply. “Fuck, that sounds good.”
“You didn’t know?” I ask, surprised. I guess even I was fooled by his arrogance to some degree, thinking he would assume that every woman in the Tri-State area would fall for him, given the chance. Because I sure as fuck have.
“I’m not exactly known for my emotional development. I’m a simple guy.” He says it like he actually believes that to be true.
I snort. “You are so not simple by any standards, Brody Tannen.” But my words are getting slurry as the pain meds kick in.
“Neither are you, Erica Cole. Get some sleep.”
I nod, and he guides me to turn back over, snuggling up behind me and wrapping me in his arms. I’m almost asleep, or maybe I dream it, but I think I hear him whisper, ‘I love you’ again one more time. I think I smile as I drift off.
Morning sunlight beams in through the window, rousing me from a deep sleep. For a second, I forget everything and have a moment of panic that I’m late for work. I scramble in the bed and am instantly reminded of last night when pain shoots through my legs.
“Shit,” I hiss.
“Good morning, sunshine. Coffee’s on the nightstand.” Brody’s watching me carefully from the kitchen. He’s wearing his jeans again, which is a shame. Not that I’m in any state to take advantage, but I can at least enjoy the look.
He’s standing at the stove and makes no move to come over and hand me the coffee. He’s letting me get it myself. It’s the smallest, littlest, nothing of a thing, except it’s not to me and he knows it. I let myself break down with him last night, and I think deep inside, I worried he would use it against me or it’d change how he sees me.
But that’s not who he is.
I reach for the coffee, struggling a little, and he simply turns around, letting me work it out. That first sip tastes amazing, maybe partially because I got it myself.
“Enough about me,” I start, knowing that it’s all going to be about me for a bit. “What about the auction you’re supposed to be at?”
Brody delicately plates a pancake, adding it to the stack he’s already made. “Talked to Mark last night after you fell asleep to let him know I’d be out for a bit. James went up this morning with his truck to help finish things up.” He glances at the microwave clock. “They should be on their way back already. Fair warning, the girls will come by later today too, led by Mama Louise who’s bringing fixin’s for her famous fried chicken.”