Page 42 of My Rose

“Thank fuck.” His arms wrapped around me, his fingers threading through my hair. “I don’t know what I would have done if you said something else.”

“What if I told you Imay havethrown his guitar right at his car,” I deadpanned.

His laughter vibrated through my chest. “Good. He deserved that. And anything else that comes his way.” After what I discovered August had done to Briggs in the past, even if it might not have been all of it, I couldn’t blame him because I believed the same thing. Hediddeserve whatever ended up coming his way. I almost wished the gods and monsters I studied were real and that Zeus would smitehim down with a bolt of lightning or that Medusa would turn him to stone.

Briggs gently kissed the top of my head, erasing any thoughts of August getting wiped out by fictional people. “I was coming to you, you know. You just had to wait.”

“What was it you said in that last message? ‘I’m done being patient?’” I repeated the words from his message, refraining from reaching back into my pocket and reading it aloud to him word-for-word.

Briggs stifled his laughter and then he cleared his throat. “Patienceisa virtue, they say.”

“Not for either one of us, apparently,” I quipped. “Plus, if I’d been patient I wouldn’t be standing in front of the great Andrews Estate right now, about to receive the best tour because I have the best tour guide.” I waited, wondering if that was too much to ask of him while he seemed to mull it over.

His arms wrapped around me tighter, his head dipping into the sensitive spot between my collarbone and neck. “Is that what you want, Rose? To see where I sleep?” His voice oozed pure seduction as his nose brushed my skin. I had to pause again to recollect my thoughts before I nodded, his stubbled jaw grazing my cheek as I did so.

“Yeah. I’d like that.” I squeezed my arms around him, wanting to be closer, and his stomach jerked in the other direction. “Are you hurt?” I pushed gently against his front to pry him from me, then hooked my fingers into his jacket pockets to keep him from going too far.

He groaned. “No, I was actually quite comfortable just then.” He went to wrap his arms around me and tug me in again, but I locked my elbows in place.

“Seriously, Briggs. You keep wincing like you’re in pain. What’s wrong?”

His eyes moved back to the ominous wrought iron behind me. “It’s nothing, Rose.”

I moved one arm up to the front of his shoulder, unsure if I was hurting him more by keeping my arms locked out, pressing into him. I let my other hand trail over to the bottom of his jacket. By the looks of him, he’d just come from working out or running again, so maybe I was overreacting.

“Was it from boxing?” The lines of his mouth went taut, so I dropped my voice to a low whisper. “Can I touch you?”

Briggs tipped his chin down in a nod, still staring off at the gate. My fingers worked their way under his shirt, and by the time I reached the area right above a deep groove that outlined what I could only imagine were incredible abs, he seethed through his teeth.

His hand moved to push mine away, but before he could, I quickly reached down for the hem and tugged it up. Bile rose in my throat as a tightness formed in my chest. “Briggs…” I took in the deep purple and brown marks dotted with red blotches. He stopped pushing my hand away, his eyes refusing to acknowledge me. I continued to raise his shirt when I was met with no resistance from him other than the wild flex of his jaw as I did so. Goosebumps formed along his skin as my fingers outlined the bruises that swelled up to the middle of his ribs on his side. He may not have been comfortable, but comfort wasfar from my mind as I continued to search him over, the frown on my face sinking with my heart as it threatened to meet my stomach.

“What…” I paused, tears welling in my eyes. But it wasn’t awhat.There was no way. “Do you box with other people?” He hesitated, then shook his head. I didn’t know much about boxing, but I did know that the bags didn’t come after you with a vengeance. “Who did this to you?” My words broke apart as they came out.

Briggs’ eyes slid over to meet mine as he pulled his shirt and jacket back down, then stepped back. “I told you, Rose. It’s nothing.”

I pointed to his side. “That’s not nothing, Briggs.”

“It’s not anything you need to be worried about.” He was trying so hard not to let me in, and it was maddening.

I snapped back at him, unable to control my anger like every time we were together. “Well, too fucking late for that, Briggs. I care. So tell me.”

His eyes roamed over me, stopping at the tear that started to slide down my cheek. He looked up to the sky and muttered incoherently, then dropped his head back down, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really want this?” His eyes darted to meet mine, a heavy challenge in them. “You want to know me?”

“Yes.” I may not have known much about him, but I knew how he made me feel. I knew he was worth it. I knew I wanted to know more.I was an all-in kind of person, and with how much he’d been on my mind lately, I didn’t have to think twice about that. “I want to know you. Everything there is to know about you, I want it all. I wantyou, Briggs.”

The veins on his neck were visibly thrumming. He stepped closer and twined his fingers with mine, pulling me over to his car. “It’s a long walk back to the house from here. Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

His house wasn’t a house—it was a castle. Or what I imagined a castle to be like—I’d never actually seen one in person. I wondered if my grandparents knew what his house looked like and maybe that’s why they described him as if he were royalty—an‘heir apparent,’ or whatever he was.

As I watched Briggs stand at the front door of his home, I struggled to make the pieces fit together. Briggs and his home didn’t blend well. They were off-kilter, like when you go on that ride at a carnival where you start spinning too fast in a circle, and the people around you start to blur almost together but not quite because their clothing didn’t line up or their glasses were floating to a head that didn’t reach the same height. That’s what it was like standing behind him and watching as he was greeted by a woman named Rhonda, who was maybe in her early fifties, a little shorter than I was, and had the same air about her that I imagined Martha Stewart had. She was homely and warm, yet his home was anything but.

Besides the people who also parked his car for him, it was just Rhonda waiting for him there. His father, whom I’d heard himmention a few times before, was noticeably absent. I wondered if that was always the case.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you, Rose. Let me take your jacket.” I’d worn the leather one Briggs gave me, but she smiled as she took it from me and didn’t act as if she knew it was his, although the size and smell were a dead giveaway. She turned to face Briggs again, who still hadn’t clicked into place with the flashy furniture that dotted the home or the marble flooring at my feet. “Do you need anything, Master Briggs?”Master?

He sighed as she took his jacket from him, delicately helping him out of it as if she knew about the injury. Her brows pinched together as she worked, avoiding the bruised area entirely. “Please, Rhonda. Don’t call me that. Just Briggs is fine, you know that.”

She nodded, her eyes darting between us both. The formality must have slipped with me standing beside him. “Of course, Briggs.” Her shoulders fell back down as she hung his jacket on a rack, then moved her gaze to the door behind us as if someone else might step through.

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