All the Broken Pieces: (Broken Series Book 3) (9 page)

“So, if he wasn’t mean, why did you think he was a killer? Because of the digging?” Brant prodded after what was probably a protracted silence on my part.

I laughed then, actually laughed, which I would have thought impossible only a few hours before. “Nah. It was a silly childish misunderstanding.” I turned toward him and tucked one leg under me, getting comfortable. “See, I asked him if he had kids and he said no. So, being a nosy little kid who was happy that someone was taking the time to answer my questions, I asked if he and his wife were ever going to have any. He sort of lost his smile for a second and told me he was a widower, as if that was supposed to answer my question.” I shook my head, still smiling. “Problem was, I was eight and had no idea what that word meant. I’d heard of a widow before, knew that it meant a lady lost her husband but I’d never heard of a widow
er
.” The laughter crept back up my throat as I spoke. “In my uninformed mind, I assumed widower was a verb, like he made widows out of people. If a hunter hunts and a farmer farms, a widower must make widows. That’s what I thought.”

I began to giggle, still unable to believe my error.

Brant laughed right along with me.

“I avoided him for months. If I was outside in my favorite spot behind the shed and he came out to tend the garden, I would go inside and lock myself in my room, which really meant I was scared because I hated being in that house.” I stopped, realizing I’d taken the story too far, given away too much. Backtracking, I said, “After about six months, he stopped me before I could run inside and asked me why I was afraid of him. When I stared at the ground and asked if he really made widows, he laughed so loud I nearly jumped out of my skin.” The pinch of sadness was back, filling my lungs like burning saltwater. “Once he explained what a widower was, I felt bad for avoiding him. I remember breaking down crying because I thought I was a horrible person who hurt his feelings when he was just trying to be friendly.” My throat burned and I found myself twisting my sweater in my hands.

“I’m sure he understood. You were only a kid.” Brant’s voice was quiet but firm.

I nodded, blinking back tears. “He did. He told me it was okay and apologized for scaring me. I told him I liked that he didn’t talk to me like I was a baby and promised to ask him what stuff meant if I didn’t understand something.” One fat tear rolled down my cheek before I could stop it. “Afterward, we sat on opposite sides of the fence and shared the biggest watermelon I’d ever seen. He grew it in his garden.” The tear caught at the corner of my mouth and I flicked it away with my tongue, so caught up in the memory that the saltiness didn’t register. All I tasted was sweet red watermelon, still warm from the sun. “It became a ritual of ours after that. Those are some of my fondest memories of my childhood, probably the only fond memories, to be honest. Just sitting there in the grass and eating warm summer fruit. Some days, that was all the food I got, though he never knew it.” I considered a moment. “Or maybe he did know. Maybe that’s why he always gave me things from his garden.”

Shit.

Did I just say that out loud?

Oh, God.

I can’t believe I told him that.

Heart pounding in my stupid over-sharing chest, I risked a peek over at Brant, fully expecting to see pity or distaste.

He was watching me with a soft smile, seemingly unaffected by my pathetic admission. It was like what I said didn’t register, which I knew damn well was untrue. “From what I saw at his house, gardening was a life-long passion.”

That was his reply. No reference to my inadvertent revelation.

Seizing the opportunity, I nodded. “Oh, yeah. He loved his garden. Every year it got bigger and bigger. I could never grow anything. I tried. He let me have two rows in his garden when I was a kid. Nothing ever grew there except weeds.”

“Yeah, I’ve never had much luck with that sort of thing.” He raised a brow and gave me a wry look. “I couldn’t even manage to keep a cactus alive, so…”

“Wow, that’s pretty bad.” I chuckled, turning to check the fog’s progression as a sobering thought hit me, bringing fresh tears to my eyes. “Damn. His garden.” I spoke into the darkness. “Marilee is like me, which means there’s no one to tend the garden now. All of his beautiful flowers, his fruits and vegetables. They’ll wither and die without him.”
And so will I
. A broken sob escaped me before I could stop it.

Brant quietly pulled me into his lap, running his hand over my back and letting me cry.

I didn’t want this, to be comforted, to be held. It made it worse, always worse than if I just handled it alone. Being stroked and petted, hugged and cradled tore at me in a way that I couldn’t explain. It made me ache and want to reach out, hang on.

And that was a mistake I’d never make again.

The more he rubbed my back and my hair, the tighter he held me, the more I hurt, the more I cried.

Because he held me like he meant it, tenderly and reverently. Like I meant something, like I
was
something.

I knew better, even if he didn’t.

I was nothing.

The only person who ever made me feel like somebody was in a wooden box on the other side of town, gone forever along with the tiny speck of hope I’d afforded myself.

Despite the warmth of the well-meaning arms around me, I was alone.

And without Teach, I always would be.

•••

A while later, after my tearful outburst subsided and I got hold of myself, Brant and I stretched out in the back of the truck, quietly staring up at the stars. He lay on the wadded up shirt while I used his shoulder as a pillow, his arm tucked around me and warding off the slight nip in the air. I wasn’t sure how we ended up like that, probably his doing since there was no way I would have intentionally chosen to be so close to anyone, not even the sweet, quiet sexy-as-sin man beside me. It just wasn’t my nature to be a cuddler.

I wouldn’t even know how to initiate such a thing.

Lying there with one hand resting on his chest, I struggled over how to start the conversation we needed to have, the one where I let him know that tonight was a one-shot deal and hoped he didn’t want more than that. Or worse, hated me for using him despite his apparent understanding of my motives.

Talk about awkward conversations.

How does one broach a subject like that with tact?

I’d never worried about what to say before, or how to say it or even if the person got pissed off. I’d never done repeat performances, not once, and I intended to keep it that way. But in this case, I was finding that I also wanted to keep Brant’s friendship. Hence, the source of my distress. I didn’t want to piss him off and I didn’t want to lead him on.

And this wouldn’t be a problem if I’d just had a little fucking restraint.

Hmm… restraints. Dammit! We forgot to use the belt.

I hated missed opportunities like that.

Shaking off my arousal-laden thoughts, I glanced up at him and was met with his stunningly deep blue eyes on mine.

“You okay, Red?”

I could actually feel the vibration of his words under my fingers as my hand rested on his ribcage. “Mmhmm.” I muttered, still unable to find the right words. So much had happened today that just taking mental inventory of it all was exhausting.

“You sound tired. If you want me to take you home, it’s okay. Or we can stay right here for however long you want. Totally up to you.” His hand skimmed my arm, leaving warmth in its wake.

“I don’t want to go home. I’m not ready for that, not yet. It’s bad enough knowing he won’t be there when I get back but knowing that old shrew is lying in wait to make things worse…” I trailed off, not wanting to even consider the misery that lay ahead or how empty the house would be without my uncle’s booming voice and larger-than-life laughter.

Brant was quiet for a while, hand tracing a path from my shoulder to my elbow. His voice, when it came, was both soft and sure. “There’s an extra room at my cabin. The place is kind of a mess right now because I’m doing some upgrades for the owner, but you’re welcome to it. No strings attached.”

My heart squeezed in my chest, a feeling of gratitude mixed with heavy doses of shame. There was no way I could take him up on his offer. He had no idea what he would be getting himself into and I had no intention of letting him see just how messed up I was. I shook my head, giving him the best smile I could muster. “Thank you so much for the invitation, but I can’t. I need to stick close to Marilee right now, even if it means dealing with the wicked witch.” Okay, not the actual reason I declined, but still a valid point.

He studied me for a beat, his expression soft with understanding, almost as if he knew the answer I’d given him was an excuse. “Well, the offer stands if you change your mind. From one friend to another, I’ve got you covered if you need me.”

I dropped my eyes to his chest, not able to meet his gaze. “About that…”

He placed a finger under my chin and nudged my head back up until I had no choice but to look him in the face. “Don’t. I know what tonight was and it’s okay. I don’t expect anything more. We were just friends when we arrived and we will be just friends when we leave here tonight.”

“Agreed.” I shifted to sit up. “And I’m pretty sure friends don’t snuggle like this, so I’ll just…”

He snagged my arm and pulled me back down, careful to shield me from the hard metal. “Friends comfort one another, which is all this is. Now stop being so damn self-conscious and relax.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze and pulled me tight against his side. “Besides, it’s getting a little chilly and you were keeping me warm.”

The man was putting off more warmth than a space heater, so I knew there was no way he was cold. He was just giving me an excuse to stay close. He actually made me
want
to snuggle.

And that was such a bad idea.

Not that I thought he would go back on his ‘just friends’ thing, it had nothing to do with that. It was a mistake to want. Period. Wanting anything just left you open to disappointment, to pain. And I’d had enough pain to last a lifetime.

So why was I still curled up beside him? Why was I breathing more deeply than usual so I could catch a hint of his cologne? Why did this all feel so comfortable, so easy?

That overwhelming feeling of exhaustion reared its ugly head again, threatening to drag me under, and I decided I was just too damn tired to push him away. Maybe tomorrow, or the next day or the day after that I would have enough strength to put my walls back up.

Right then, though, all I could do was be thankful that someone was there to keep me afloat.

•••

The drive back seemed shorter than it should have been. We sat in the driveway for a few minutes, my Mustang awash in the truck’s headlights. The living room curtains fluttered, indicating that someone was still up, despite the late hour. I’d been half expecting Mar and Bonnie to be in bed. Chances were, Marilee was sound asleep and Bonnie was prowling the house, waiting up.

I suppose evil doesn’t need much rest.

Reading the expression of dread on my face, Brant turned to me, placing his hand over mine. I’d been tracing the cobra with my fingertips again. “You can handle her.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “But if you’d rather not deal with her shit, you know you have options. Okay, Red?”

I couldn’t help the smile that crept across my face. “Thank you. For everything, but mostly just for being there today. Until you stepped into that back yard, it felt like there wasn’t a soul there who was there for
me.
I thought I was fine with that but I guess I wasn’t. So, thank you for being my person today, for being my friend.” I leaned across the console and dropped a soft kiss on his cheek then turned and snatched the door open before he could see the tears welling in my eyes.

He stayed there in the driveway until I closed the door behind myself, keeping watch until I was safely inside.

The tears flowed faster with that knowledge, for some reason. I wasn’t used to people being so kind to me, so considerate. Except for Teach.

I looked around the empty living room, taking in all of the signs of him there. The packed bookshelves, loaded with classics and contemporary titles alike, the overstuffed recliner with the small table alongside that still held his reading glasses. The plug-in warmer where he would place his coffee or tea to be kept at the perfect temperature while he got lost between the pages of a good book.

No TV in this room, he wouldn’t hear of it. You either found a good book or you settled in here with him to talk for hours about everything and nothing, but there was no TV allowed in here. For that, you had to go to the largely unused den at the back of the house.

He and I had so many conversations in that living room. I could almost hear the echoes of his laughter there as I stood by the front door, tears streaming.

“Back to business as usual, I see—monkey business. That didn’t take long.” Bonnie’s raspy, brittle voice dripped with disdain as she stepped into the room. “Why your uncle put up with your whoring ways is beyond me.” She glared, making a harrumphing sound in her throat. “But then again, Parker wasn’t really your uncle, now was he? Maybe he not only put up with your loose morals, maybe he benefited from them himself. I’ve been telling my sister for years that there was something between the two of you. She’s too trusting, gullible really, but I see you for the disgusting whore that you are. And look…” She tossed a hand toward my disheveled clothes. “You come in here smelling of sex and men’s cologne on the very night we buried your supposed uncle.”

By the time she finished speaking, my fingernails were cutting into my palms and it felt like my teeth would crumble under the pressure of my clenched jaw. My feet moved of their own volition and I was in her face in an instant, ready to throttle her for disrespecting my uncle that way. She could say whatever she wanted about me—I was used to it—but I’d be goddamned if I’d let her accuse my uncle of being anything other than the saint he was. He would never have looked at me that way.