Page 17 of Shades of You

“Could use a personal touch, though,” Brenna added, glancing around once more before turning to face me. Her eyes held mine, and for a second, something like understanding flickered across her features.

“I haven’t lived here long enough to get around to it,” I said, my voice flat. I didn’t mention how this place wasn’t really a home to me, just a space to exist in between the hours of work and restless sleep.

“Sure.”

“Anyway, make yourself at home. I’ll be out here if you need anything.” I retreated hastily, practically bolting back down the hallway as Pedro followed behind me.

The smooth chill from the quartz countertop seeped through my skin as I pressed my hands to it, taking slow, measured breaths. Pedro hopped onto the couch and washed his ears. “Get it together, man,” I muttered under my breath, raking a hand through my hair.

The possibility that I was overreacting to Knox’s threat lingered at the back of my mind. But a primal and fierce protective instinct drowned it out—I had to keep her safe. It didn’t matter what it cost me personally. The silence of the apartment was a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding inside my head—vivid images of a woman and two children flashing behind my eyes like some cruelslideshow. There were others, but those three were the ghosts that haunted me most often.

Well, them and Evan. He was always there too.

I’d failed all of them, and no matter what actions I’d taken toward redemption, nothing changed that. It tore at me, that old guilt. But I shoved it down, locking it away in a place I hoped Brenna would never see. She didn’t need a man like me, with a past so tarnished it could black out the sun. My heart raced at the mere idea of being more to her than just a guardian or a friend, and I knew that path led nowhere good. Not for her.

Inhaling a deep breath, I tried to quash the surge of desire that had blindsided me. If I could protect her, maybe I could atone for the past, even if she never knew about it. I exhaled slowly as Brenna’s gentle footsteps approached from down the hall.

“All unpacked. I didn’t bring a lot.” Her tone was soft, but her smile was quick to follow. I stared at her but couldn’t speak, caught in the storm inside my mind. The silence drew out until her gaze drifted to the kitten, who had made himself king of my couch. “Where does Pedro sleep?” she asked, settling him in her arms. He stretched out and purred, content in the cradle of her warmth. I could relate.

“Uh, he’s got a bed.” My words felt clumsy and ragged. My cheeks flushed with heat. “In my room. I bought it after he cried at the door the first night. Now I leave it open. He goes in and out.”

Brenna glanced at me, her eyes dancing with unspoken laughter. “But not on your bed, am I right?”

“Definitely not,” I replied, trying to sound stern. I had a feeling I was failing miserably.

“Pedro’s lucky—” But before another word could beexchanged, her stomach growled, loud enough for both of us to hear. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” I said quickly, welcoming the distraction. Glancing at my refrigerator, I ran through a mental inventory of what was inside. Or wasn’t. Dammit, Stella was the chef, not me. “But I don’t really have much here. Premade meals mostly. Will frozen pizza do?” I moved to the freezer and pulled out the box, feeling inexplicably tense as if the act of cooking for her, even just heating up a pizza, was somehow intimate.

“Perfect,” she said, her smile returning.

As the oven preheated, I found myself losing words again, unsure how to bridge the gap between us. I was acutely aware of her presence in my space. Even the air smelled different now. Lighter, better. It was unsettling how powerful the pull was, how much I wanted to reach out to her. But I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let myself go there.

I slid the pizza into the oven and set the timer with a click that echoed in the quiet tension of the kitchen. Brenna leaned against the counter, her arms folded. I could sense her gaze on me, heavy and curious, like she was trying to read the chapters of my life I kept firmly shut. I searched for a topic of conversation but came up empty. Again.

She took a deep breath, then let it rush out. “So what do you do for fun?”

Her question caught me off guard. The concept felt foreign, like a language I’d once been fluent in but had long since forgotten. Baseball was serious business, not fun—it was as much about reconnecting with my family as recreation. My mind was blank, just like my apartment’s walls. “Fun?”

She tilted her head, a strand of light brown hair falling over her face. God, I wanted to brush it back, feel howwarm her skin would be. What her hair would smell like. Whirling to the fridge, I pulled out a bagged salad.

“Well, how about diving?” She took the bag and emptied it into the bowl I’d set out. “Have you gone since you moved back? We used to love diving in high school.”

“For me, diving was work. It stopped being fun a long time ago.”

A frown creased her brow and her eyes clouded with confusion. “But you were a Marine, not a SEAL, right?”

“Yes.” I nodded, pressing my lips together as memories of dark waters and covert operations flashed like snapshots in my mind. Bright, colorful ones, and others that were dark and forbidding. All had one thing in common—a brotherhood I’d found when I desperately needed it. “But my unit did dive ops, too.”

“Sounds intense,” she murmured, picking up on my reluctance to elaborate.

The word SEAL brought back the last time I’d had a conversation with one of the Navy’s elites, and I made an expression somewhere between a smirk and a scowl.

Brenna saw it. “What’s that expression about?”

“I was just remembering the last conversation I had with a SEAL It was at Gabe’s wedding and the guy kept me from punching Evan. I never got the chance to thank him.”

Her eyes filled with sympathy. “I heard some rumors about that. What happened?”

---