Page 38 of Make Her Mine
Worse, I found myself not trusting my own family as much as I had before. Somewhere inside me, I thoughtno onecould be fully trusted—not when a mother could kill her own child so brutally.
It sometimes helped to go up to draw pictures of my old friend. So, I got out of bed, wrapped a robe around me, and went upstairs to see if that would help.
I had a notebook with my portraits of Lacy in the desk. Taking it out, I ran my hand over the cover before opening it up to find Lacy’s big brown eyes staring at me. “Hi there, Lacy. It’s nice to see you again. I hope you’ve been doing well.”
Taking the sketchbook with me, I went to sit by the window; the full moon lit up the night sky, and I used only its light to draw that night. Flipping through the pages, I looked at each picture that I had penciled of my best friend who still plagued my dreams at times. “Why’d she do it? Why would anyone do that to anyone, much less their own daughter?”
There were no answers to my questions. I asked my therapist time and time again why this had to happen, and she had no clue. Some things we’re not meant to understand, but the age-old answer didn’t cut it for me.
So, I didn’t comprehend most things after that. I didn’t identify with the other children in my class and how they could go on and play as if nothing had ever happened. Or how they all bonded and made long-lasting friendships when at any minute it could be torn away.
Didn’t they have a sense of self-preservation? Didn’t they worry about feeling the terrible pain that came with losing a friend? Or am I the only one who felt that way?
Growing up, I learned it was pretty much just me, indeed. Others gave their lives to chance. Not me, though. Being alone was much safer than pretending friends are for a lifetime. I didn’t need anyone anyway.
But I had had a blast with Brandon today. And he helped me get my work done when I felt so out of it. He also saved me from making a mistake of enormous proportions the night before.
Brandon is a good man. Why waste time on me? Well, I definitely put him off sufficiently.
If I ever fell for that man, it would surely devastate me if anything happened to him.
Taking the pencil out of the holder , I laid the tip on a blank page as my mind only conjured his face instead of Lacy’s.
For a long time, I just sat there with the pencil poised to draw, but I couldn’t make a single mark. Finally, I put the pad down and got up to get a different one.
Going to the bottom drawer, I took out the other pad where I’d drawn a picture of Brandon. Looking at his handsome face, I sighed, then filled in more of his features to finish out the picture.
“What is it about you, Brandon Gentry? Why do you make my heart beat so hard? Why do you care about me?” I drew one of his ears, then the hair that grew over it. Dark and thick, shiny and silky, I continued until I had his whole head done. “Why are you so darn gorgeous?”
Putting the sketch pad down, I looked outside at the moon. A set of headlights turned up the drive, and a truck pulled up. Dyllan didn’t park it in the garage this time. He stopped in front of the house, and when he got out, he went around and opened the passenger door. A feminine silhouette stepped out, and the two walked inside. It was probably the bartender he’d been after.
The thought of people having sex in the manor made my heart pound for mysterious reasons. And his bedroom was just down the hall from where I was! Brandon’s room was steps away, too!
What would Brandon do if I slipped into his room? Into his bed? Would he tell me to get the heck out? Or would he pull me into his arms, kiss me, and tell me he was glad I visited?
I’ll never know; I’m not the type of person who’d do such a thing. Then it dawned on me that it wasn’t because of morals. I secluded myself because of fear.
I’ve been lying to myself for years convinced that I had higher standards than others. That was why I kept to myself and never even held hands with a guy. But it was all a lie. I’d done it out of fear, and not even a bit out of principle.
After Dyllan and the woman giggled up the hallway, after the sound of his bedroom door closing, I left the drawing room to return to my own bedroom for the evening.
Padding down the hall in my bare feet, I stopped at Brandon’s door. He was inside, sleeping, maybe even dreaming? I put my ear to the door to listen, hoping to hear him breathing.
“Yeah, baby,” came his deep voice. “Yes, I do love you. Come on now, stop making me chase you.”
Jerking my head back, I couldn’t believe what I’d heard! Brandon must’ve been on the phone with some girl who he said he loved!
Bolting away, I ran until I reached my bedroom, then closed and locked the door. My heart felt as if it was breaking into a million pieces. I buried my face in the pillow and screamed with anger, “Why did you make me think you liked me? Why did you want to be my friend if you love someone else, Brandon Gentry?”
I barely slept a wink that night. The next day I moved at a snail’s pace, and noticed Brandon wasn’t around. He even missed breakfast. Not that I had eaten either; I just passed by the Brunch Room to see if he was in there. The other two brothers didn’t make it to breakfast, either—a little odd since they all made it all the other mornings.
As noon came around, the Gentrys were still gone. I finished cleaning the upstairs and was about to begin working on the downstairs area when the doorbell rang. Going to answer it, a man was standing there with a large bouquet of red roses in his hand. “Hello,” I greeted him. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Ella Finley,” his words surprised me.
“That’s me.” I shook my head. “But those can’t be for me.”
“These are for you, and there’s a note, too.” He handed me the flowers and the note. “Have a fantastic day, Miss Finley.”
