Page 21 of Conflagration
“Then I found this. I’ve kept it with me since that day, reading and rereading it over and over again whenever I felt like everything was closing in around me. This—you—is what’s kept me going.”
Tears well in my eyes as I read my words, recalling how lost and vulnerable he seemed that night, even if he had started off acting like a drunken, angry ass.
If you don’t want anyone else to give up on you, you can’t give up on yourself. Life’s messy, Branson. All the scotch in the world won’t change that. If you don’t like your life, change it. I’ll make you a deal. You take my advice, and I’ll think on yours. -A
“I can’t believe you kept this,” I whisper.
“And I can’t believe you’re here. You were cutting it close, baby,” he teases.
“Well, according to your brother, you went on a bender just a few days later on Christmas, so I’m not the only one who dragged my feet,” I remind him, poking his shoulder.
“Guilty. But that’s your fault,” he informs me, lightly poking me back.
“Oh really? I know we skipped the whole dating stage, but really? Already blaming everything on me?” I ask mockingly.
He reaches out and slides his hand into my hair, pulling me closer. “I thought I could drink the memory of you back into my brain. It sounds stupid, I know, but like I said, I couldn’t see you. I couldn’t hear you. And over time, I started to get little flashes of long, flowing hair that was black as midnight. Deep-brown eyes that looked at me with something other than pity or disappointment. Full, pink lips I craved to kiss. Bit by bit, you came back to me, but I had no way of finding you other than stalking all of Atlanta looking for the beautiful, mysterious A. So when I saw you in that car, even if I didn’t know who you were, something said to me it was my second chance, and I would have stopped at nothing to save you. The way you did me. The way you still are.” His expressive eyes are boring into mine, and then they soften when a tear spills onto my cheek.
“Branson,” I murmur, “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Your being here is enough. And for what it’s worth, if your family can’t be here, I’m glad you have mine.”
If only that were true. But for now, I’ll take what I can get. “I’m glad, too.”
He strokes my cheek before leaning in and giving me a tantalizing kiss. When he pulls back, I see a mischievous grin crossing his lips and know the moment’s passed. It’s probably a good thing, because any more discussion like this and I’ll be asking to move in permanently.
“What’s that grin for, Branson?”
His grin only widens. “Oh, I was just thinking about how I can’t wait to get you home.”
Butterflies fill my belly with the anticipation of being in his home and alone with him for the first time. My lips twitch, and my grin mirrors his own. Desire fills his eyes as he moves in for another kiss.
“Oh, yeah. Definitely not frigid.”
WHEN WE both finally get our walking papers, his parents are right there, offering us a ride to his place, which is probably best since he can’t drive with his injured leg and, well, my car’s a burnt-out hunk of junk right now.
He’s quiet during the car ride, and I feel a distance growing between us the farther we get from the hospital. His mom chatters along the way, informing us that she’s done all the laundry, and the refrigerator and pantry are stocked. And apparently, they only live a few blocks over from him, so if we need anything, all we have to do is call and she’ll be right over. I notice that Branson’s now leaning his head against the window and his are eyes closed, so I let him rest, making small talk with his mom, agreeing to nearly everything she says but barely registering any of it. I’m distracted by his silence and even more distracted as I replay our conversation from the hospital. It’s still amazing to me he kept that note all this time. That he’d spent any time at all thinking about me all these months.
As I try to figure out what it could mean, we pull into a long driveway, and I nearly gasp when I see the size of his house. It rivals that of my parents, and I can’t imagine one person living here. It would have to get lonely with all that space and no one to share it with. And then I remember his ex. Perhaps he’s better off now than he was before.
Gently, I shake him awake, and it takes him a moment to come to. “Hey. We’re home, apparently,” I say, and his dad’s eyebrows narrow. He must have overheard me. “Let’s get you inside and then you can rest, okay?” I continue, and he nods sleepily.
When I get out of the car, his dad has the wheelchair ready.
“I can use the crutches,” Branson insists gruffly, pushing the chair away.
Bending down until I’m eye level with him, I give him a look. “Branson, your wrist is still tender and I don’t want to risk you falling and making your knee injury worse. The doctor said not to overdo it. We’ll work up to the crutches, but for now, just get in the chair so we can get inside, okay?” I pull the crutches off his lap and hand them to his mom, who holds them out of reach.
“You’re bossy. You’re lucky you’re hot when you’re bossy,” he mumbles, and I almost do a double take, wanting to hear him say it again.
“Yeah, and you’re stubborn. Ass in the chair.”
He grumbles some more but scoots in, and I take the chair from his dad, following his mom as I wheel him inside.
The inside of the house is as gorgeous as the outside with its immaculate decorating. I try not to gawk—since it’s myfiancé’shome, no less—but I can’t quite help it. I must be staring because Branson turns in the chair and scolds me.
“Act like you’ve been here,” he hisses nearly under his breath, and I grimace, hoping his dad’s watchful eye didn’t catch me. His back is to me, and I think I’m safe as I follow him in silence until we reach a large living room.
Amelia gestures towards a double recliner that’s in the middle of the room, already set up with blankets. Branson shakes off the help as he stumbles from his chair to the recliner, wincing as he accidently puts weight on his bad leg.
