Page 54 of Quiet Protector
“You don’t know what it was like for me. I was alone. I didn’t have anyone.”
“Because you never gave me the chance to be there for you. You ran. You lied. You gave up on us—”
“For you!” I shout as devastation overwhelms me. “I did that for you.”
“I didn’t want it!” Brandon’s roar shudders my heart out of my chest. “I didn’t want any of that.” He bangs his chest as he takes two steps closer to me. “I wanted you. Ialwayswanted you.” His eyes are as wet as mine when he says, “But the one time Ineededyou, you weren’t there for me. You left… as I am now.” After throwing open the suite door, he cranks his neck back my way. “Have a nice life, Melody. I hope he gives you everything I couldn’t.”
Confident I’ll never see him again if I let him leave, I whisper, “You promised to protect me for eternity.”
I realize I’ve lost him forever when he mutters, “That stopped being my job when you broke the vows we recited to each other eighteen years ago.”
22
Brandon
Iswirl the dregs of a double shot of whiskey around the bottom of my glass. It’s my sixth the past hour, a new record for me. I could have driven home, but I needed something to take the edge off. The location where my brother was murdered isn’t the ideal spot for that to take place.
I also can’t bring myself to leave. I don’t know why. It could be because I don’t want to drive back in the darkness of the night when the lie I told Melody gets the better of me. Or perhaps it’s because my lie is already eating at me.
Whatever it is, I’m here, sitting in the hotel bar of the girl I’ll never stop loving, drinking whiskey to fill the void in my chest where my heart once stood.
Hearing Melody tell Julian she loved him gutted me. It stung more than Julian’s confession that they’re getting married next month. Every report I had read on their upcoming nuptials said no date had been set, so you can imagine how hard the knock to my stomach was when I discovered it’s only twenty-seven days away.
I should have told Julian he’s too late. Melody is already married. We didn’t have a celebrant, and we ate our Ring Pop wedding rings at our reception, but the vows we spoke certainly seemed real. I guess everything feels real to eight-year-olds who have no clue how fucked up adulthood can be.
It could be worse. Melody could have been walked down the aisle by her mother like Wren did for us that day. She thought it was ‘cute’ that we wanted our commitment ceremony witnessed by an adult. She even signed our fake marriage certificate. It’s in our time capsule. The one Melody reburied so I wouldn’t find the love letter she hid inside.
I stop reminiscing on all the places she could have buried it when a familiar voice jingles in my ears. Madden is making his way to the bar. His staggered walk is being followed by three of his friends. One I recognize even with the years not being kind to him. It’s Connor Eckhart—the instigator of Melody’s and my very first fight. He’s looking a little haggard, kind of how I imagine Phoenix would have looked if he hadn’t gotten off the drugs.
After ordering a round of drinks like he’s one of the rock stars in the main area of the gala, Madden slings his eyes around the bar, seeking a vacant spot for him and his friends. I don’t sink into the shadows. Madden’s head is so far up his ass, he wouldn’t recognize his own brother if he were standing directly in front of him, so my station in the corner of the room won’t be noticed.
When my assumption is proven accurate, I throw down the last of my drink before requesting another. The bartender is generous with my refill. The fifty I threw in his tip jar when I arrived has served me well.
I switch from guzzling my drink to nursing it when the big gulp I take goes straight to my head. I’m not a heavy alcohol drinker, but even if I were, no amount of alcohol would have me missing the lady making her way to the counter. Even with her body covered in sweats and her wet hair hanging halfway down her back, I’d never forget the wild kinks her dirty blonde locks get when she lets it dry naturally, much less her gorgeous face.
It dawns on me that Melody isn’t here to drown her sorrows when the bartender hands her a leather wallet. It isn’t the feminine type and considering this is the only bar in this hotel, I’m quick to realize who it belongs to.
After issuing her thanks to the bartender with a halfhearted smile, Melody spins on her heels, preparing to exit. Unlike Madden, she spots my stalk in an instant. Her lips part so she can suck in a shallow breath as her red-rimmed eyes prepare for another bout of crying. Our argument hurt her as much as it did me. I’m confident of that.
A single tear plops onto her cheek when I sign, “I am sorry.”
She looks set to issue an apology of her own but loses the chance when Connor notices her standing at the bar. I’m shocked it took him so long to spot her. She’s not dressed to the nines like the other women in the overly populated establishment, but she doesn’t need a ritzy dress to be notable. She’s captivating just as she is.
I can’t see what Connor is signing to Melody, but her facial expression gives a clear indication she isn’t interested in anything he’s selling, and I won’t mention the lewd gestures Madden and his two friends are making behind Melody’s back, or it may tempt me to test the versatility of the weapon on my hip.
Just as I stand to my feet, over my pigheaded brother’s lack of respect, Connor returns to his seat. His friends rally around him, acting as if Melody’s rejection occurred in the middle of prom. I’m not surprised. Madden still acts like he’s in high school when he gets a few drinks in him.
I think the worst is over, but not even two seconds later, I’m proven wrong. The color drains from Melody’s face as her hand shoots up to clamp her mouth. As her chest thrusts like she can’t suck in an entire breath, she cranks her neck back to peer at Madden and his friends. Her ghost-like stare ends their vulgarity in an instant. Even Madden seems taken aback—even more so when Melody upends his table, sending a jug of beer and six shots of Jägermeister spilling into his lap.
Even with a flipped table lodged between them, Melody is up in Madden’s face in an instant. “You fucking pig!”
When she bangs on his chest with her fists, its hollow echoes launch me into action. No matter how hard she fights, she’ll never drum any sense into a heartless man. It’s not possible. I gave up on Madden six years ago for that very reason. Attempting to teach him morals is like flogging a dead horse. Utterly pointless.
“I thought it was him. I thought it was Joey!” Melody shouts as I band my arm around her waist to pull her back.
“It was him,” Madden defends when I walk Melody toward the exit. “Don’t try to pin that shit on me because you’re running out of money.”
Madden’s reply agitates Melody more. She kicks and thrashes against me as she hurls abuse at Madden. She tells him she fucking hates him, and how she wishes it was him who was dead. She claws and screams and throws out threats as if they’re grenades. Her rant only ends when my attempt to remove her from a volatile situation veers us past my mom. She freezes in an instant as the fury on her face switches to remorse.
