Page 68 of Brody
“Do you ever wonder,” he asked, his voice barely audible, “What might have happened if I hadn’t walked away that day?”
The question was heavy with all the might-have-been.
“Sometimes,” I admitted.The confession felt like jumping from a cliff without knowing the depth of the water below.“In the early years, all the time.Later…” I swallowed hard, pushing past decades of practiced detachment.“I forced myself to stop.It hurt too much.”
His chest rose and fell with a deep breath beneath my cheek.“I imagine us with a house in the forest.Maybe children with your stubborn streak.I imagine coming home to you every night, waking up with you every morning.”
Those simple domestic visions awakened a yearning so profound it hollowed my chest and captured my breath.Not just the passion of mates, but the quiet, everyday moments that made up a shared life.Coffee in the morning, shoulders brushing as we moved around a kitchen, the comfortable silence of two people who knew each other completely.
“Brody,” I whispered, his name both warning and plea.I didn’t know if I was asking him to stop or begging him to continue.
His heartbeat quickened beneath my ear.“I know.I shouldn’t say these things.But here, in the dark, with you…” His voice dropped even lower.“I keep thinking this might be our only chance for complete honesty.Tomorrow we face the COL and whatever comes after, and I couldn’t bear it if you never knew.”
“Knew what?”The words escaped before I could stop them.
He tightened his hand around mine, tracing gentle circles across my knuckles with his thumb.“That rejecting you was the worst mistake of my life.That not a day has gone by when I haven’t thought of you.That even if you never forgive me, even if you walk away after we find what we need at the COL, you should know that there is one person in this world who has loved you, completely and without condition, since the moment I first saw you.”
The words hung in the air between us, impossibly heavy and fragile at once.My mind scrambled for responses, explanations, defenses, anything to shield me from the raw vulnerability of the moment.But for once, science failed me completely.
Instead, I shifted slightly, raising my head from his chest to study his face in the moonlight.His eyes, usually gray, reflected the glow of the moonstones, turning them to liquid silver.What I saw there, naked hope mingled with resignation, desire tempered by respect for my boundaries, made my chest ache with an emotion I couldn’t name.
My researcher’s brain immediately went to work, assessing the mate bond’s stabilizing properties, formulating hypotheses, sketching mental protocols for quantification.It was safer than acknowledging the emotions swirling beneath the surface.
“I can hear you thinking,” he murmured, a smile in his voice.
“Force of habit,” I replied.“I’m already designing trials to measure the proximity effect.”
His chest shook with silent laughter.“Of course you are.Always assessing.”
“It’s how I’ve survived,” I said, more honesty slipping out than I’d intended.“When everything else was chaos, science made sense.It had rules, patterns, and consistency.It never walked away.”
His expression sobered, the teasing light fading from his eyes.With infinite gentleness, he raised his hand to my face, his palm cupping my cheek.The warmth of his skin against mine made me want to turn into the touch like a flower seeking sunlight.
“I’m sorry, Rozi.More than you can ever know.”
The simple apology, spoken in darkness without expectation, reached places inside me that grand gestures never could have.I didn’t respond, couldn’t find words for the complex emotions swirling through me.
Instead, I watched as the moonlight caught the subtle tremor returning to his other hand now that I’d withdrawn my touch.Without thinking, I reached out again, covering his hand with mine.The trembling stilled almost immediately.
“Fascinating,” I murmured.
“Is that your scientific assessment, Doctor?”The teasing note was back in his voice, but underneath lay something deeper, more vulnerable.
“Preliminary observations suggest significant neurological stabilization upon physical contact,” I replied, deliberately adopting my most clinical tone.“Further studies are indicated.”
His laughter vibrated through his chest.“Only you could make holding hands sound like a medical procedure.”
“It’s a gift,” I deadpanned, surprising myself with the easy banter.
His thumb traced my lower lip with featherlight pressure, his eyes tracking the movement with an intensity that made heat pool low in my belly.“You have many gifts, Rozi Dhahabu.Your mind.Your courage.Your heart, though you guard it so fiercely.”
The intimate gesture should have triggered all my warning systems, sent me retreating behind my walls.Instead, I found myself hypnotized by the tenderness in his touch, by the reverence in his eyes.For a breathless moment, I thought he might kiss me—part of me, a growing part, hoped he would.
Instead, he gently tucked me back against his chest, his arms surrounding me with warmth without demand.The restraint in the gesture, the respect for boundaries I hadn’t even articulated, touched me more deeply than I wanted to admit.
We fell silent again, but the tension had shifted, transformed into something gentler, less fraught.His heart beat steadily beneath my ear, its rhythm slightly faster than normal but strong.My cheetah had settled contentedly, no longer restlessly pacing but curled in satisfaction at our proximity.
“We should try to sleep,” I said eventually, knowing I should move back to my side of the bed but finding myself oddly reluctant.“Tomorrow will be challenging.”
