Page 5 of Flame
I bite my lip. Despite everything Branden is, and everything he’s done…
Some part of me won’t stop clinging to that damn, pathetic phrase—you owe him.
“What the fuck were you doing eavesdropping anyway,” Rafe demands, thankfully changing the subject.
“I couldn’t sleep, and your uncle isn’t exactly the quietest person in the world.”
“And?” he adds pointedly. “What else did you hear?”
I swallow hard. “And… He doesn’t appreciate your art.” It seems so childish to point out—but the insult bothers me more than it should. I’ve seen his drawings. How he looks when in the throes of his craft. I know what the mere act of sketching lines on paper means to him.
Even now, he’s tensing, his expression constricted as he chugs more of his beer. At his sides, his fingers twitch as if itching for a pen.
“My turn,” he says, once again putting the focus on me. “So, you left him. Bran. What now?”
Any hint of vulnerability vanishes from his expression. His features harden, and a sudden thought strikes me—he already knows what I’ll say, or at least he thinks he does.
I need to go back.
“I don’t know,” I confess, relaxing against the firmness of his knee. “It’s not like he left me much of a choice, to be honest. He bought out my lease. The landlord already found a new tenant. I’m homeless. And if I don’t figure things out soon, I won’t be able to take the classes I want to next semester either.”
“Why is that?”
I hesitate, but as his fingers sink through my hair, I find myself speaking. “I wanted to enter this program—the Fenwick program,” I admit, fully aware of how childish it sounds now, all things considered. “If I’m accepted, it will mean an internship and a foothold into the publishing world. Otherwise, I’d be stuck taking random credits and waste a year. Though hell, it’s not like I had a shot of getting in, anyway.”
“Bullshit,” Rafe coldly interjects. “Youknowyou’ll get in. That’s what scares you. Getting in means leaving the fucker behind. Whether or not you even realize it, he’s controlling you.”
My lips part, but any retort I might come up with dies in my throat. He’s right, and it’s unnerving how easily he can read me. His fingers trace my scalp to reinforce the comparison, picking through my thoughts as though I’m an open book, turning my previous impression of him on its head.
“It doesn’t matter if I can’t get my entry written in time,” I say.
Without some kind of academic pursuit to justify my father’s funding, my entire quest for freedom might go up in flames as well. Not to mention if Bran decides to convince him to stop paying my tuition anyway. A tired laugh trickles from me, but inside? I’m screaming.
Branden’s won again. Though, despite his efforts, I’m not back in his cage just yet. By pure luck, or by design?
And, despite all his faults, is he really capable of murder?
“You’re worried about him,” Rafe deduces, unable to hide the jealousy tainting his tone. “Bran.”
“He’s a cop,” I reply. “He’s been tracking my phone. He probably already knows I’m here. Any minute he could trump up a warrant and—”
“Cop or not, I won’t let anyone touch you.”
My body flushes warm in response to his confidence. It’s more than a boast.
“You’re sure of that?” I peek at him through my lashes, but he doesn’t look smug. Just exhausted. “You don’t know Bran,” I argue.
“Stop. Look at me.” He cups my chin, his grip firm but gentle. “I don’t care who the fuck he is. No one will touch you while you’re with me.”
I should counter that. I know the opposite is more than likely—at the same time, I’m too tired to say a word.
In the resulting silence, his hands find my hair again, easing me down against his thigh. Somehow, he makes the position seem far from sexual. Natural, no different from lying in his bed.
Should that insult me?
Thrill me?
“Fine,” I finally croak without deciding on an emotion to feel. “So…is this your way of asking me to stay?”
“Stay.” He leans back against the railing, stretching out his legs. The motion provides enough surface area to rest on, should I decide to.
“Don’t stay,” he adds with a shrug. “It’s your fucking choice.”
I have several reasons to question that—Branden will do whatever he can to get to me, no matter who I’m with. I shouldn’t expect so much from a virtual stranger. He’s done so much for me already…
Rather than drill him for more answers, I let my eyes drift shut.
Something tells me, given his track record with the truth, I’ll find out soon enough.
For better or for worse.
