Page 78 of Leave Me Behind
He groans and mutters, “Great.” His hands slide up an inch from my panties and he stops and looks up to my face. Bradshaw’s eyes are pale oceans I could drift into for the rest of time. He gently touches my chin and presses his forehead to mine. He takes a breath, swallowing before whispering with a raspy voice, “I forgive you for Abrahm.”
I jolt and try to push away, but Bradshaw only opens his eyes and stares into my soul with weary thoughts and forgotten sins. “All I want is to be by your side. In training, in war, in death. I can’t picture myself anymore without you being there, Bun. You linger in my thoughts, in my fears. But mostly, you’re the cause of all the emotions I feel again. I was dead until you tripped on my foot on the plane.”
Tears form in my eyes—they burn as I hold them back. “You don’t get to forgive me, Bradshaw.” My voice trembles. I’m not sure if it’s because I can’t forgive myself for it or if it's because he’s partly to blame for Jenkins’s death. But if I sit on it long enough, I know deep down that I forgive him too.
He keeps me close against his chest and shushes me. “I’m sorry, Bun, I can’t help how my heart feels. The only thing I know is that I cannot lose you.” He presses a long kiss to the top of my head and I go limp in his arms. “And if you think I’m ever letting you go, you’re wrong. You’re mine. As much as I’m yours.”
He leaves me with that, slowly slipping from beneath me and heading to the bathroom to bathe.
I don’t move from my spot on the floor until he’s been in the bathroom for ten minutes. When I get up and pass the door, I glance at the opening and see Bradshaw’s naked form.
He’s covered in fresh wounds, some still bleeding. His back is covered in long scars, old bullet wounds, bruises, and gashes. The area around his ribs is especially purple. The sight of it makes my chest twist. He must have at least a few broken ribs. His tattoos hide a lot of things. But they can’t hide how hurt he is.
Bradshaw must sense me staring because he looks over his shoulder and our eyes connect. My cheeks flush and I swiftly avert my eyes and march to the cot closest to the wall. It feels like hours pass, but by the time Bradshaw comes out of the bathroom, it’s only been thirty minutes.
He settles on the cot beside me, wearing a matching white shirt, which he fits in much better in than I do, and his briefs. Now that his skin is clean, I can make out all the damage beneath and it’s heartbreaking. This must be how he felt seeing me, even though I felt nothing for my own pain when I saw it in the mirror.
I sit up and look at the sutures on his leg. He scrubbed it well and reapplied ointment. At least it doesn’t look like it’s getting infected.
“Eren told me you wanted to have a coffee shop. Was that always something you dreamt of?” I look up at him. His head is propped up with his arms folded behind his head for support. From this position his biceps are flexed and it makes that white shirt rise enough that I can see his V-shaped muscles at the waistband of his boxers. He gives me a relaxed smile. “Are you checking me out, Bun?” He chuckles and my brows draw together quickly.
“No. I wasn’t.”
He lifts one of his arms for me and beckons me to come to him.You’re mine. As much as I’m yours. My throat bobs. What I feel for Bradshaw is dangerously close to love. I consider not going to lay across that rigid, corded torso and letting him hold me. But my heart shifts on an entirely different axis than my brain and wins the battle.
Tentatively, I slide my palm into his and a gentle smile forms on his lips. He looks so tired. I’m not sure he got any rest while we were in the cave. Bradshaw guides me down beside him. I rest my head on his bicep and close my eyes as he wraps his arm around me.
“The coffee shop, Bun. Tell me about it,” he whispers drowsily.
I smile. “Well, it wouldn’t just be a coffee shop.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, it would be a bookstore too. And my husband and I would live on the top floor.” His abs flex with the mention of a husband. I ignore the fact that I just pictured Bradshaw in that role. I try not to dwell on it, but the more I think of the apartment above the shop, the more I only see him. All his imperfections. He wouldn’t be hurt anymore. No more bullets to pierce his lovely flesh. No more blood.
My cheeks burn with the memory of him making me clean off my blood from his cock.
“You wanted to get married?” His voice sounds almost remorseful.
“At one point in my youth, I did. But life has a way of taking what you desire and shoving it down a garbage disposal.” He laughs at that, and I cling to the feeling it gives me. Lightness. I’m able to breathe. “How about you? Were there any dreams in a younger Bradshaw?”
His thumb gently coasts over my arm as he thinks. “I always wanted a family, but I knew I’d never get one. Not with the way I am and the underground world that my brother and I fell into. I wouldn’t be a good father.”
My chin lifts so I can look into his eyes. He doesn’t break his stare from the ceiling. His thumb just continues to stroke my skin slowly.
“Are you lonely?” I ask, knowing the desire for family but fearing it because of the way I am. It’d be impossible.
He chuckles sadly. “I wasn’t.” His voice has an implying lilt. Bradshaw shifts to his side so he’s facing me. “But after you… I feel lonely whenever you’re not around.” His eyes are like ice shards straight into my heart.
Does he really feel that way? I can sense myself withdrawing and ready to end the conversation because it’s getting too personal. But each time I think I can slip away, he pulls me right back with that smile.
“We should think about what our plan is. We can’t stay here long.” I change the subject. If he notices, he doesn’t make it known.
He nods and lets his head fall to the side so his lips touch my head. “Let’s get some sleep first. I’m fading fast.”
Although sleep finds him quickly, I’m left staring at the ladder that leads up. The motion sensors cut out at some point and plunge us into darkness.
thirty-one
