Page 67 of Quiet Protector
“I trusted you with her. I don’t anymore.”
“I fucked up. I’m sorry! I didn’t protect her as I said I would.” I scream at the pitch-black sky. “I didn’t keep her safe. It’s my fault. I’m to blame.”
Dust kicks up around me when my fist lands on the ground dotted with my tears. I punch the rock-hard dirt on repeat until the pain ripping through my chest radiates through my hand, then I collapse, giving in as I should have when Liam advised me to.
I’m done. So fucking done.
28
Brandon
Idon’t know how much time passes before I wake up groggy and confused. Since my head is pounding as much as my knuckles, I doubt I’ve been out for long.
I scrub a red dirt-stained hand across my tired eyes before pricking my ears. A car engine is breaking through the chirps of birds enjoying the early morning sun. My muscles scream in disgust when I head in the direction the noise is coming from. I’m aching all over, but it has nothing on the pain that rockets through me when I discover the reason for the early morning visitor. A cab is in the driveway. The driver is loading Melody’s suitcases we gathered from the hotel into the trunk.
I can tell the exact moment Melody spots my gawk. Her breathing slows as her hands dart down to fiddle with the hem of her skirt. After exhaling a chest-deflating breath, she hands the driver a bundle of cash, then moves to the back-passenger side door. Her eyes only lift to mine once she has one foot inside the cab. She stares at me for several long seconds, begging for me to run, to fight for her like I did when we were kids.
She swipes at the tears falling from her eyes when my feet remain planted on the ground before she signs, “Goodbye, BJ.”
When the closure of her door is quickly followed by the taxi rolling down the driveway of her family ranch, my heart screams for me to chase her down, to fight, not to let Madden win, but no matter how loud it yells, my feet refuse to budge. I saw the pain that flashed in Melody’s eyes last night. I can’t be responsible for that level of hurt again. I love her too much to gut her like I did when I bolted out of her room like a coward. So, as much as this will kill me, I have to let her go.
She deserves a level of happiness I can no longer give her.
I stand halfway between Melody’s family ranch and the old shed her father and I worked out in every day he wasn’t on assignment for the next twenty minutes. I’m shirtless and shoeless, and my sleeping pants aren’t capable of keeping out the cold winds whipping in from the west. With my determination building, I don’t feel cold.
I can’t feel anything.
I’m dead on the inside.
Needing to distract myself before I put my mother through the pain of losing another child, I sprint into the house as fast as I fled it last night. Within ten minutes, I’ve showered, dressed, and brushed my teeth. I don’t touch the stubble on my chin. The smell of Melody’s perfume in the fine hairs is the only reminder I have that last night did occur. Even if I can’t have her, the knowledge that shewantedme will keep the fire in my gut blazing when I bury myself in the trenches.
As I make my way to my BMW, the quickest flash of silver slows my steps. The morning winds weren’t just freezing, they were brutal enough to whip off half of the car cover keeping the 1969 Hellcat Mr. Gregg and I restored before his death hidden.
This time, I listen to the pleas of my heart instead of ignoring them. After tossing the keys for my BMW onto the driver’s seat, I hotfoot it to the Hellcat. Its battery will most likely be dead, and its fuel will be old, but I can’t help but check. If Kwan is in love with classic cars as much as he is with old horses, there’s a possibility she’ll have enough spark to get me to town. Any half-decent mechanic will get me the rest of the way.
The hollow feeling in my chest fills in by a microdot when I pull off the rest of the car cover. The effort Mr. Gregg and I put into the Hellcat’s rebuild is undeniable. Every detail of her restoration has been meticulously done. Just peering at her, you wouldn’t know she’s spent the last seven years in storage. She’s a real beauty.
When I slide into the driver’s seat, it feels like I’m going home. This is exactly how I felt last night when I cupped Melody’s breast in my hand. The blood pumping through my body was scorching hot, but it wasn’t the reason for the warmth of my veins. It was the person I was caressing and how she still responded to my touch even after years of absence.
After shaking my head, endeavoring to keep my focus on track, I peer up at the sky, praying Mr. Gregg will grant me one final wish. It appears as if not all my luck has run out when the engine cranks to life on the first turn of the keys.
As I roll down the window to suffocate the stuffy conditions with fresh air, I glide my cell phone out of my pocket. The number I dial isn’t one I anticipated calling anytime soon, but it will be good for me.
“Hey, BJ,” Phillipa greets, her voice both shocked and pleased. “I thought you had lost my number.”
After licking my dry lips, I ask, “Where do you need me?”
She cups her phone to advise the people I hear mingling in the background that she’ll be back in a minute before she devotes all her attention to me. “You want to join forces?” She sounds shocked. Justly so. I was less than polite when I found out she was a CIA officer.
I scrub at my jaw, shocked by its rough feeling. I usually shave before every mission. “I can’t technically join forces since I’m not with the Bureau anymore, but that frees up plenty of time for me to be a consultant.”
Phillipa waits a beat before asking, “Is Melody okay with that?”
She can’t see me, but I nod my head, words above me.
Seemingly having a direct link to my inner psyche, Phillipa asks, “And you, Brandon? Are you ready for this?”
I nod again. “I want justice for Joey.” When Phillipa remains quiet, knowing there’s more, I push out, “Then perhaps I can lose the guilt I feel for what happened to Melody.”
