Page 37 of If You Go
Surry’s head rests on my chest, her breathing slow but not quite steady—like she’s still trying to come down from more than just what we did. My arm’s around her, tracing idle lines down her spine, memorizing every quiet tremor of her body, every line of tattoo and scarring. I noticed that her tattoos are covering up various shaped and sized scars.
I can feel the weight of the words she’s not saying. It’s a tension I know too well—the silence that isn’t peace, it’s fear trying to stay quiet.
“Talk to me, Siren,” I whisper into her hair. “Don’t hold it in. Not with me.”
She’s still for a long moment. Then she exhales, long and shaky.
“It’s not that I don’t want this,” she finally says, her voice barely audible against my skin. “I just… I don’t know how to start something new when the last thing nearly killed me.”
I don’t speak. I just keep tracing her back, letting her pace herself. As long as she is talking, I’m happy to wait.
“My marriage to Gavin was—” she stops, swallows. “It wasn’t love. Not real love. It was control dressed up as protection. Everything was a transaction. Every smile, every touch, even the way I breathed felt… managed. If I said the wrong thing, if I looked at someone too long, he’d find a way to make me regret it.”
She pauses again. I feel her tense under my hand.
“I left eleven years ago. Since then, I haven’t been with anyone longer than a night. Just… empty things. Things I could leave before they hurt me.”
Her voice cracks. “And then you walked into my life like a hurricane and made it impossible to breathe without feeling something again. And that terrifies me, Brenden. Because if I fall for you, I don’t know if I’ll survive losing you.”
I tighten my hold, pressing my lips against the top of her head. Her words hit hard—not because of what they say about the bastard Gavin, but what they say about her. About how much she’s carried and still somehow shines through it.
“You won’t lose me, Siren,” I say, my voice low. “I’m not him. I won’t cage you. I don’t want your obedience, I want your honesty. Even if it’s messy.” I pause, letting her feel the truth. “Especially if it’s messy.”
She shifts, looking up at me, her eyes glassy but fierce. “Then you’ll get it. All of it. Just… not tonight.”
“I can accept that, Siren. Just be honest, and tell me what you can, when you’re ready,” before reaching down and kissing her temple gently.
We lie there in the quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the screen and our breathing syncing together. I can feel her heartbeat through my chest, steady now, calmer.
After a while, I find myself talking without planning to. “My mom used to say love should never feel like fear.”
Surry lifts her head slightly, eyes searching mine. “She sounds like a wise woman.”
“She was.” I swallow hard, feeling that familiar ache when I think of her. “She… she didn’t get to live by her own words for long.”
She doesn’t ask, but she doesn’t look away either. Her fingers now drawing soft circles against my chest, patient, waiting.
I take a breath, feel it stick in my throat. “She was the first person who ever taught me to fight for peace. Even when it kills you a little to do it.”
Surry’s hand stills, her eyes soft and open. “Tell me about her?”
I nod, staring up at the ceiling, the words coming slow but certain. “Yeah, I’ll tell you.”
The blue light flickers once, fades to black. The screen goes dark, but neither of us move.
And in that darkness, I start to talk. I tell her about my mom, the years of her trying her best, only to fall victim to a bad men more times than I can count, and how ultimately that is how she lost her life. I explain what Joshua, Corver, and I do outside of Slater Construction, and how we got to this point.
How we know Natasha, how we assume Surry’s father knows us. I tell her everything. Because there is nothing more that I want than for this woman to know me. All of me. The light and the dark. The hard and the easy. I want her to have it all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I WAKE TOwarmth and weight and the faint, sugary smell of buttered popcorn baked into the theater’s walls. The screen in front of us is black having turned off while we talked last night; the speakers hum softly, waiting for someone to press play. My cheek is on Brenden’s chest, the slow, even rise and fall, a metronome I didn’t know my body needed. His arm is around my waist, heavy in a way that makes me feel anchored instead of pinned.
We must’ve fallen asleep talking at some point, I have no idea when though.
My mouth tastes like wine and his skin. My thighs ache in a way that makes me bite back a shaky smile. I don’t move for a moment. I just listen—to the quiet of a house this big at dawn, to the distant clink of pans in Bridget’s kitchen, to the hush that feels like the world pressed pause just for us.
Thoughts come back to me of last night. How great it felt the two of us entwined in every way. While the first night we spent together was hot, sexy, passionate, last night was different. It was exploration. It was sensual. It was intimate. It was what I always pictured love was supposed to be like.
