Page 23 of Hot Shot
I want to take back the words, suck them back down my throat, and I don’t know why. It’s just the tension in the air, it feels heavy, broken with razor sharp edges, and I’m?—
“When no one else in the house behaves like an adult, there’s no choice.”
His words sound like boots grinding on gravel and the rawness of them has me hunching my shoulders, pulling back without taking a step. “I?—”
“How many slices do you want?”
The abrupt change in topic makes my head spin for a second but then I get it. He’s revealed another piece of the puzzle that is—was—his life without me in it. A hard piece. One he wouldn’t have given me if I’d kept my mouth shut.
“Don’t.”
My head snaps up, my eyes colliding with Bran’s. “What?”
“Don’t beat yourself up. It’s not your fault. And I don’t want you walking on eggshells. I’ll handle anything you throw at me.” He shakes his head. “God knows I’ve already handled the worst.”
“I wish?—”
“You and me both, Blake, but we can’t change anything that happened before. Only what might happen now.” Indicating the cupboard behind me with a lift of his chin, he says, “Get the bowls. Dish up the soup—that smells fantastic by the way, and let’s go eat out in the sauna.”
He says the last with a cheeky smirk that reminds me of our childhood. One that has me helpless to stop the curl of my own lips. “I’ll turn a couple of them off.”
“You don’t have to. I don’t mind the heat and I should probably get used to it, right?”
“You thinking of leaving your hidey-hole?”
“You don’t think it’s time?”
“I’m the wrong person to ask.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t think you should have ever hidden yourself or what was happening.” I have to swallow the emotions threatening to burst out of me. “I would never have judged you.”
“You know, the more I see you, the more I realize it wasn’t about anyone else, especially you, judging me. I’d already judged myself.”
“Someone wise once told me we are our own worst critics.”
“Your dad.” Bran’s smile stretches wide. “I’ve missed his sage words of wisdom.”
“Good. Because that’s where we’re going when we leave here.”
He eyes me closely. “In a week.”
“Yes. One week. I’ll give you the week you asked for.”
“And I’ll sign your contract.” His gaze drills into mine, the force of it taking my breath. “With or without the week, I’ll sign.”
“But—”
“Let’s not worry about that now. This bread is toasty warm and your soup smells delicious and I can hear your stomach rumbling from here.”
“I am hungry. It’s been hours since I came out to find someone had made me breakfast, left it warming in the oven. Thank you for that, I didn’t expect it.”
“You’re welcome. And thank you for taking care of lunch.”
“Maybe we can join forces and take care of dinner together?”
“Absolutely.” His gaze turns sad, wistful. “I’ve missed this.”
