Page 49 of Quiet Protector
“Still? Jeez, BJ, you should extend your palette at some stage during adulthood.There is an entire menu of non-nutty dishes you are missing out on.”
The earth shifts beneath my feet when he replies, “Why? Lives end, but love does not. It never dies.” After tilting his head to hide the heat creeping across his cheeks, he asks, “What made you decide to get implants? You were pretty opposed to the idea when we were kids.”
“People have changes of heart all the time.” This is the first time I‘ve wished I was still deaf. Then I wouldn’t have heard Brandon’s painful sigh. He’s assuming I meant him. I wasn’t, but that’s a conversation for an entirely different day.
After slipping onto a bar stool recently vacated by a man with dark, stormy eyes and a well-fitted suit, I signal for the bartender. I need a drink or perhaps twenty. Warming my veins with alcohol may be the only way I can excuse the extra flutter in my pulse when Julian arrives. He’s waiting on an important call and asked Fetu to accompany me to the gala, so I didn’t have to show up stag. Fetu is keeping a safe yet amicable distance, acting as oblivious to Brandon’s presence as Brandon is his.
“I’ll just have water, thanks,” Brandon says to the waiter after he jots down my order of an apple martini.
Curious as to why he isn’t taking advantage of the free bar tab, I ask, “Are you on the job?”
His simple reply does weird things to my stomach. “Not officially.”
When we were younger, he often said he was always on the job when it came to me, but I didn’t think his pledge was in effect anymore, especially after how I ended things.
Certain it’s too early in our reforming friendship to add a steaming pile of shit onto the stack, I shift my focus onto someone we both mutually admire and respect. “Have you been by the ranch? Your mom’s contractors are making good headway on the restoration.”
Brandon jerks up his chin, answering both my question and thanking the waiter for the bottle of water he sets in front of him. “I have. I arrived there earlier today.” When he lifts and locks his eyes with mine, the butterflies in my stomach drop several inches lower. His beautiful eyes are a little greener today, which means they’re being fired by love and devotion. His eyes are very telling. They’re the gateway to his soul. “I saw you walking Socks around the property line.”
“You did?” I don’t know why the thought has me so misty-eyed, but there’s no denying it. I’m on the verge of crying. “It wasn’t a ploy this time around. I just wanted to take him for a final walk.” I dap at the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks with a napkin, warning them to stay put before adding, “He’s being rehomed later this month. I’m selling the ranch.”
Brandon chokes on his spit. “You’re selling the ranch?”
When I nod, a handful of rogue tears escape my eyes. “I’ll never move back there, and even with it just being an old farmhouse, the costs to keep everything running is more than I can afford, so it’s time to let it go.”
I realize Brandon knows more about my personal life than I do his when he mutters under his breath, “I doubt it’s outside the means of a gazillionaire.”
Even though I hate how quickly our conversation is becoming heated, I can’t harness my reply, “The ranch isn’t Julian’s responsibility. It’s mine.”
You have no idea how hard it was for me not to say ‘ours.’ Brandon was as much a part of the ranch as me. He’s embedded in its bones, so I hate that I had to make this decision without him, but I didn’t have a choice. If I want to be the strong, independent woman my parents raised me to be, I can’t allowanyman to pay my way—once best friends included. My loft is covered by my salary while the ranch’s maintenance was paid for with my inheritance, but since that well dried up quicker than anticipated thanks to my cochlear implants, I have no other option but to sell.
My eyes snap to Brandon when he offers, “Let me help you.” The brutal shake of my head lessens when he retorts with the same argument I internally battled only moments ago, “That place was a part of my childhood, Melody. I don’t want to see it being demolished by some idiot who has no clue of its worth.”
“Sentimental value can’t enter the equation, BJ, or I’d never let her go,” I blubber, quoting the words of the real estate agent I met earlier today.
“Good, then don’t. Keep it.”
Half of my martini spills on the countertop when I shout, “That’s not an option.” My voice was so loud, I startled the bartender so much he jumped.
Ignoring the bartender mopping up the mess with a napkin, Brandon asks, “Why? Because it reminds you of your past? Because you want to run from it as you did me seven years ago? Why do you have to sell it, Melody?”
“Because it reminds me of everything I lost. It reminds me of you and what he did to me.” I take a quick breather before whispering, “What he did to us…” My haunted words trail off again when confusion crosses Brandon’s face. An ordinary person would have excused my rant as anger at my father keeping us apart. Brandon isn’t close to ordinary. When we were kids, he knew me better than I knew myself, which means he knows this goes way deeper than even he could comprehend. “I have to go.”
When I snatch my clutch purse off the countertop, Brandon snatches my wrist just as fast. “No. I’m not letting you run this time.” His eyes bounce between mine. They’re as wet and brimming with the same amount of pain as mine. “Not until you tell me everything. And I meaneverything, Melody.” How he can express such pain and anger with only one word would usually be impressive. Today, it just hurts.
“I don’t owe you anything, Brandon.” I purposely use his real name, hopeful it will have him backing down.
It was foolish of me to do because all it does is get his back up. “You don’t owe me? How don’t you owe me? I gave up my entire life for you… my childhood, my teen years. I even gave you a good chunk of my adult life, yet you don’t feel like you owe me an explanation for running out on me the week my brother died! That’s shit, Melody. Absolute and utter shit.”
“That’s nothing compared to what he took from me! He broke me, BJ. He broke us!”
“Who?Who broke us?”
I slam my mouth shut, the pain in his eyes too much. He wants me to place the burden on someone else’s shoulders, believing it will alleviate him of the heaviness on his, completely unaware it will make it ten times worse. My confession won’t ease his pain. It will destroy him as it did me. For that alone, I’ll take my secret to the grave.
“The keys for the Hellcat are in the glove compartment. You’ll need to pick it up before the twelfth as appraisers are coming through to value everything. Old restored cars included.”
“I don’t want the Hellcat.”
