Page 11 of Carver
I know I’m not ready to go back home yet, at least physically, but my mind is going to break being here.
I feel trapped. Lost. Wounded.
That’s why I had Kael get the language books for me. It’s something I’ve loved since high school, when I found I was good at it.
Kael just left half an hour ago, so when I hear the door open, I figure it’s either Crow coming to check on me because he does that throughout the day, letting himself in from downstairs, or it’s Dravin back early. Some afternoons, he’s been able to be here for an hour or two before having to head back to the clubhouse.
The light rap of his knuckles on the door is familiar. “Dominic?”
I get up, walking slowly, to open it.
Bad idea.
When I see who’s on the other side, I nearly fall right onto my ass.
Bronte.
Like all my dark, brooding thoughts and my splintered heart have summoned her.
All the internal bullshit from the past year and a half, the way I’ve tunneled into myself, wrapped myself in thick armor, erected the tallest walls, dug myself into the deepest, darkest hole to hide away from the sun—all of it is just… gone. Vanished, like it never was.
I can’t pretend that I don’t want this. Her. The life together we promised each other. The memories. I have zero strength left for the person I tried to force myself to be. I’m not that man who is strong enough to let Bronte go. I’m not that caricature I made for myself of a man I don’t recognize.
I’m just Dom, the boy who fell in love with Bronte, the one who grew up with her, who grew into loving her and never, ever wanted to stop.
She stands just outside the doorway, behind Dravin. He takes one look at my face and steps aside. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears as she watches me, asking for permission. I don’t know what my face is doing, but it must grant it because she steps past Dravin, into my space, and reaches out. Her fingers brush up against mine.
A chain of explosions detonates, blasting through my nerves and tissues, reminding me just how much feeling I still have left despite the constant search for numbness. The relief of having Bronte here is so immense that I nearly gag. I swallow down the nausea and nerves and nearly humiliate myself all over again as my eyes start swimming.
Dravin coughs and Bronte’s hand falls back to her side. “She came to the club a week ago, like you said. I convinced her to wait a week, until you were out of the clinic. I felt better about breaking my word and telling her where you were today.” A guilty flush still spreads up his neck. “I know you can’t live without two things in this life. Brotherhood, and love. I needed that, even when I didn’t want to admit it. It saved my life.”
I can’t shoot him an accusatory or betrayed glare. Not when my heart is slamming and the nerves are squirming in my belly. Not when he’s already done so much for me. The truth is, he could have just left me there alone in the solitude I thought I wanted. But he saw me. He knew me without knowing me at all. And we’re here now.
“I’m going to make some lunch. You want a smoothie?”
I’m still on basically a liquid diet. “Sure. Thanks.”
“Can I get you anything?” he asks Bronte.
She shakes her head, refusing to tear her eyes from my face.
Dravin leaves us alone, but the door remains open, like a lifeline if I need it and an apology of sorts.
I suck in a breath when I finally get brave enough to tilt my eyes back to Bronte’s face. She almost never wears makeup. Her beauty is all natural, from her freckles to her soft lips. She’s tanned from hours spent outdoors, but her skin isn’t dark enough to hide the soft pink flush that steals into her cheeks. Her smile is almost shy, but it’s still deep enough to bring out the dimples in both cheeks.
I don’t know what to do or say. It’s the truth that tears out of me, freeing itself from the prison I’ve made. “I thought you weredone with me, Bronte. I thought that you’d finally had enough. That I’d succeeded in making you hate me.”
She blinks, stung, pain flashing across her face. “I didn’t want to stay away. I came. I waited for hours. I begged. I was irrational and rational, and finally Dravin agreed to let me see you. I’ve told you time and again that nothing you can do or say will make me hate you and it’s not going to keep me away or change my vow, and not because I’m clingy or pathetic.”
I wince. It pulls at the sore side of my face. For once, I don’t angle away. I don’t try to hide myself from her. I used those words in the past. Not because I wanted to or because I meant them, but because they were the only thing I could think to say that would be effective, but they weren’t. They just made Bronte laugh and tell me I’d have to do better if I wanted to chase her away.
She lifts a trembling hand and sets it on my chin, right below where the bruising starts. She slowly tilts my face into the light coming in from the window by the bed so that she can see all of it.
The damage. The repairs. The death and life, hope and futility.
“You weren’t the pathetic one,” I rasp, needing to atone for my sins. I’ve wronged her so, so many times. “It was me. All of it. My body. My fucking head. My past. My scars. You’ve looked after me for years. You’ve loved me without asking anything in return. I just never wanted to saddle you with my burdens. First my family, then- then me. You don’t deserve that, you deserve so much more. I’m never going to be enough for you.”
I want Bronte. I want a life with her. I want her to stay. No matter what I’ve told myself and told her, or how many timesI’ve tried to tear myself open to rip myself away from her, I know the truth.
