MISTAKEN - The Complete First Season (10 page)

I
pretended
that I hadn't heard him. Besides, if the water went over my head, I wouldn't have to deal with him. Drowning seemed like a decent option at that moment.

There was another splash a few feet behind me. "Jen. Jenna. Please."

I refused to look back. He could come to me if he wanted to see me. I continued to stare off into the distance as though I'd heard nothing.

"Look, Jen—Jenna, this is as far out as I'm willing to go. Please just come out."

I shifted my sunglasses on my nose. He had no right to be here, anyway. I had nothing to say to him. Nothing. He had used me and there was nothing that could undo what he had done.

"Jenna, please. You have no idea how terrifying this is for me. Please, just for a minute." His voice was further away—I was sure he had taken a step or two back.

I shook my head. He had some nerve showing up here. What did he think I was going to say to him?

I thought for sure he had walked away. The water was up to my chest and the sand castle was long gone before I heard another thing. It was getting hard to stay sitting and I'd had to move myself back a little to keep myself from floating away.

I felt arms around my waist and before I knew what was happening, I was on the sand and out of the surf. He lost his balance pulling me out and I landed on top of him in the sand. His arms never left my waist, even as we rolled onto the ground.

I heard him let out a long breath, almost like he'd been holding it during his whole “rescue” operation.

I slid myself off to his side and sat up a bit, but refused to turn to look at him. He didn't let go of my waist. He just lay in the sand with his arms wrapped around me taking long, slow breaths—in through the nose, out through the mouth. His shorts and the front of his shirt were soaked and now caked with sand.

I was caked with sand from the neck down and tried to brush it off along with his grip. "Let go of me, Brandon." I grabbed at his hands and tried to loosen his grip from my waist.

"No," he said as he exhaled. It was just a little too breathy, too sexy. I felt him tighten his grip on my waist and he pulled me even closer to him.

"You shouldn't be here. You need to let me go." I tried to slide under the embrace he had me enclosed in.

He pulled me even tighter. "I can't let you go, Jen." His voice steeled. "Jenna."

I closed my eyes. "Stop calling me that, Brandon."

He let out another slow exhale and spoke between clenched teeth. "I'm trying. It's hard."

"I meant 'Jenna.' Just call me Jen. Please." His grip loosened and I managed to get one of his hands free. I wriggled out from under him and put some distance between us before I looked over at him. He was lying flat on his back. He raised his now free arms and covered his eyes with them. He looked like someone who had just completed a marathon or an Iron Man. Completely and totally spent.

The tide was coming in and it lapped at our toes. As soon as the water touched him he bolted upright and reached his arms behind him. He pushed up on his arms and crab walked backwards as though something was trying to eat his feet. His eyes were wide with panic. "Fuck. Fuck." He let out a jagged breath and scooted himself even farther back on the sand, out of the danger of being touched again by the ocean water. He collapsed back onto the sand and covered his eyes with his forearms.

I took my sunglasses off my face and rested them on top of my head. He looked ragged and he hadn't shaved since the last time I'd seen him. He had sand in the dark hair on his face that was more than just an endearing stubble now. His black curls were covered in sand. It was too bad he was such an asshole, because just seeing him like this made my body respond in ways that were inappropriate for someone I should hate.

I sighed and I collapsed onto my back and into the sand. I made sure there was plenty of space between us because I couldn't bear the thought of him touching me again. I stared up into the bright blue sky. It would have been a perfect moment, looking up at the fluffy white clouds that dotted the sky that was the same color as his eyes. It could have been perfect if he hadn't betrayed me.

We lay there in silence until Brandon got over whatever was causing his panic attack. He sat up and brushed the sand from his t-shirt and arms. He didn't say a word to me, as though it was he who should be pissed off at me.

I couldn't take it any longer and I caved. "What are you doing here?" I continued staring up at the sky. I knew if I looked at him and he looked into my eyes, he'd melt me.

"Rescuing you from the fucking ocean, apparently."

A breeze picked up and it sent a chill through me—my shirt was still soaking wet and caked with sand from my dip in the surf. I sighed and stared into the sky. "You need to know something, Brandon."

He made a sound from the back of his throat. "And what would that be, Jenna?"

"Jen," I corrected. I took another deep breath. "I don't need rescuing."

"
W
ell
,
Jenna
." He hit the 'Jenna' part way too hard. "If that was true, I wouldn't be here, would I?"

I shook my head. "I don't know what you're doing here, but it isn't rescuing me. I can take care of myself just fine."

"Fuck, I don't know what I'm doing here." He sat up. "I have no idea." He stood up and brushed the sand off his clothes.

I let my head loll to the side and I watched him. As long as he didn't look in my eyes, I'd be fine. "I have no idea, either."

He shook his head. "Whatever." He raked the sand from his hair.

I sat up and turned myself to face him. "Whatever? What are you? Twelve?"

He turned to face me and he looked into my eyes. I swear, I had no idea how he was able to reach into my soul with those eyes, but he did it every time he looked at me. This time was no different except that there was something dark in his gaze. His eyes weren't the same bright blue—they were so dark they were almost black. His hands clenched into fists by his sides. "You're right
Miss Jones.
I'm
immature." He turned his back to me and began walking toward the resort.

I jumped up and followed. "Wait. Brandon, wait a second."

He stopped, but didn't turn to face me. "What, Jenna?"

My stomach rolled at his words. "You're pissed at
me
? Are you for real?"

He rounded on me, his hands still clenched into tight balls, and it looked like he might punch me if he lost even an ounce of control. His gaze met mine and he relaxed his fists a bit. He shook his head. "I don't understand you at all."

"What the hell are you talking about?" My stomach flipped again. I couldn't understand what I could have done that would have spent him spiraling like this.

"No, you know what? I have your stuff. I'll leave it at the desk for you."

"You followed me to Hawaii to give me back my suitcase?"

"I followed you to Hawaii because I wanted to see you. It's clear that the feeling isn't mutual. I'm sorry I took any of your time." He turned his back to me again.

"Took my time? What the hell are you talking about?"

He turned back to me with his gaze narrowed. "I'll leave your things at the desk."

"Fuck you, Brandon." I fought back the tears that stung at my eyes. There was no way I was going to let him get to me again. Not ever.

"Yeah, you fucked me over great. Thanks for that." He jutted his thumb over his shoulder at the hotel. "I'll drop your shit off." He took another step backward.

"I fucked
you
over? Are you mental?"

He glared at me. "You think I fucked
you
over? I think you're the one who's mental, Jenna."

The bottom dropped out of my stomach. I felt like he had punched me with his words. I sank down onto my knees in the sand and shook my head. "I don't understand. I don't. You sold me to Daniel. You lied to me and you sold me. And you seriously have the nerve…" The tears stung in my eyes. There was no way I could fight them this time. "You have the nerve to blame
me
?" Tears streaked down my cheeks and my voice caught in my throat. "You sold me." I hadn't wanted to admit it to myself. He had used me and sold me like he owned me. I was nothing to him but a very large paycheck. I collapsed onto my hands and knees as my sobs overtook me. My body shook with every emotion that I hadn't allowed myself to feel until that moment. I folded my arms into the sand and rested my head on my forearms—almost in a fetal position.

I felt his hand on my shoulder. His hand traced down my back, brushing off the sand. He just rubbed my back as I sat there and sobbed into my arms. When I had no tears left, my body stopped convulsing and I was able to sit up.

I turned to face him. He wiped away the sand that stuck to my tear streaked face with his thumbs. Seeing him this close to me, I could see the wear on his face, the dark circles under his eyes. It wasn't only that he hadn't shaved—he also hadn't slept.

"I didn't sell you, Jen." His thumb stroked my cheekbone and he let out a large sigh. "I did sell you, but I didn't sell
you
. Does that make sense?"

Nothing made sense any more. "You didn't know I was Jenna Davis." I sniffled and tilted my head into his hand.

He nodded and caressed my cheek. He looked down at the spot he was touching, like he was transfixed by the bone that led to my ear.

I shrugged his arm away from me and tried to get him to meet my gaze. He would only stare at my face—he refused to look me in the eye. I grabbed his wrist. "You had to know."

He rocked his head from side to side, his eyes still on the side of my face. "I didn't want to know."

My brow furrowed and I frowned. "I shouldn't have lied to you about my name. I was scared… It was the first time I'd been with anyone since Daniel died." I paused, reconsidering my words. "You know—left."

He shook his head and turned to meet my gaze. "No. If I had known who you were we wouldn't be here right now. And I wouldn't have let myself fall for you."

H
is words shook
me to my core. I didn't know what or who to believe anymore, least of all myself. His flowery words were pretty to listen to, but there was no way they could be true.

I looked over at him. He looked like a broken man. He stared out over the horizon and he looked far older than his years. Whatever truth there was in his words, the events of the past few days were putting him through as much hell as they were me.

We sat in silence, the only sound was the waves crashing into the shore. There might have been other people on the beach, but their sounds were muted and I was hyper-aware of only Brandon and the sound of the ocean.

He was the one that broke the silence between us. "I don't expect you to believe me, Jen."

It was hard to believe anyone anymore. "I don't know what to believe."

He wouldn't look over at me. "I can't give you anything other than my word." His voice cracked. "I know it isn't worth much to you right now."

I tilted my head and tried to get him to meet my gaze. He refused. "There's a lot I don't understand."

He nodded and he looked over at me. "I'll tell you anything you want if we can get away from this water."

I nodded, almost smiling. We both stood up and he slipped his hand into mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. It wasn't the same as it was before—the last time he'd held my hand. There was something that was just so sad about him now, so defeated. It almost broke my heart.

We were still both covered in sand, something I think he hadn't realized until we arrived at the door of the resort. He turned to me and pulled my other hand into his. He stood there holding my hands in his and just held my gaze for what seemed an eternity.

I was the one who broke the silence this time. "I should go take a shower. The sand…"

His gaze narrowed and his lips turned into a wry smile for a split second before he stopped himself from saying anything or making any of his infamous innuendos. "I'm sorry." He looked embarrassed to have been caught even having a thought like that. "I should get you your bag. I'd invite you to my room—"

I shook my head. "No."

He nodded. "I figured that would be the answer. I'll be right back." He walked toward the elevator and turned back to look at me after he'd pressed the button to go up. He looked so forlorn—he knew he had screwed up and I could see the regret etched into his face.

I stood in the lobby and waited. I'm sure I looked like a drowned rat and I was still covered in sand from my head to my toes. I was afraid to move and shake sand all over the pristine carpets, even though I was sure I did just that with every step.

He seemed to take forever to return. He came back with my small suitcase and laptop bag and he handed them to me. He gave me a tiny smile. "I can take them up to your room for you, if you want."

I could say a lot of things about him, but the one word that always fit was relentless. I had to give him that. I smiled at him despite the hundred other emotions that were racing through my brain. "I'm going to pass on that offer for now, Brandon."

"I had to try." He smiled and looked at his watch. He had cleaned himself up a little before coming back down—not showered, but the sand was out of his hair and he had changed his clothes. "We missed lunch."

"I haven't been all that hungry. My stomach…" I stopped. I didn't want to explain the constant nausea I felt every time I thought about the situation at hand. My dead fiancé having come back to life…

He didn’t respond to my words. "Would you join me for an early dinner? I haven't been to the restaurant here, but I'm sure it can't be terrible."

I cut him off. "I don't think it's a good idea."

He looked down into my eyes with that soul-searching thing he did to me. "My offer from before stands."

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "What offer is that?"

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Whatever I can answer, anyway."

I took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. It felt a little immature, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. I shook my head. "I just don't think I need to hear it, Brandon. I think I have a pretty good grasp of what happened. I don't understand it, but I don't think you can explain what I need to know."

He continued that gaze that brought me to my knees every time. "I know I don't deserve another chance with you, Jen. What I do deserve is a chance to tell you my side of what happened."

"You don't need to tell me anything. I believe you—that you didn't know who I was. I'll be okay."

"I won't, though." He narrowed his gaze. "You gave him a chance to tell you his side—I deserve at least that much, too."

"I shouldn't. I…" I stopped myself. How was I supposed to tell him that my father didn't want me to see him? That I was a grown woman, but I still wasn't allowed to make my own decisions? "No—you know what? Give me an hour. I'll meet you at the restaurant."

His gaze narrowed but didn't let me go. He cocked his head to the side. "Are you sure?"

I nodded. "Yep. Just let me get the sand out of my hair and my ass crack."

His face was taken over by the smile that came to his lips, like he hadn't expected I'd agree. His eyes brightened and I could see he was trying not to laugh. He reached out to touch my hair. "It's pretty—the whole sand-in-the-hair look. Very mermaid-y."

I took a step back before his hand could touch me. It was more of a defense mechanism than anything. I raised an index finger. "One hour. I'll be there."

His grin widened and his eyes twinkled down at me. He only nodded in response. There was something happy, even eager in his response. But it wasn't just that he was happy, there was something else in his eyes.

Hope.