Selling Satisfaction (24 page)

"You know I love you, too," I tell her. "Now, tell me what is going on with you. You seem really upset."

"I shouldn't say anything."

"Hillarie." My voice becomes stern. She
is
hiding something. I need to know what. "Tell me. It's me. I'm not going to judge, or yell at you. I'll listen. That's it. What is it?"

Her voice becomes thick with emotion immediately. "I found out last week I was pregnant." Before I can congratulate her, she rips my heart out- and I wish I were there to hold her to me. "But I lost the baby two days ago."

"What? Why didn't you tell me sooner? Are you okay? What happened? Do you need me? I'll get in the car and head there right now..." My words flow out of my mouth, unsure what more I can say or do to help her.

"I didn't know how to tell you. It's embarrassing."

"How is losing a baby embarrassing? It's heartbreaking, yes, but not embarrassing."

"No. It's... I told Travis the day after. I had a bottle of expensive champagne placed on the counter, with a card that said
a gift for the father to be
on the front. I had a whole night of romance planned out. He didn't find any of it cute or sweet. We got into a screaming match because he accused me of trapping him. I got so upset with him, Brenna, so I threw the bottle at the wall and as I went to storm off, he grabbed a serving tray that was on the counter and tossed it at me. I don't think he meant to hit me, maybe he did, I don't know... but I fell. I should have went into the hospital that night, but I didn't know how to tell the nurses what had happened. Two nights later I went to use the bathroom and ended up having a miscarriage."

A mix of anger, sorrow, and hatred run through me. "I'm going to ask you one thing..."

"No," she quickly says. "No. Don't ask me anything. That is the only time he's ever come close to hitting me. It isn't like that with us. He was nervous about becoming a dad, that's all. We're fine now."

"Don't tell me you're fine..."

"Stop," she interrupts again. "Stop. Please. You said you wouldn't judge or yell. Leave it alone."

"Okay." I hate leaving it where it is, but I know if I upset her too much Saturday won't happen, and I really want it to. "I'm only going to say one thing, and you need to let me say it." When she doesn't interrupt me this time, I tell her the only thing I'm apparently able to. "If he ever puts his hands on you again, you need to tell me. I won't call the cops, I won't do anything you don't want me to, but I
will
come save you."

It takes her a second to whisper, "Thank you." Which gives me a sign that this probably wasn't the only time. I bite my tongue on saying anything more. "I need to go though, I'll see you Saturday."

"I'll see you then." She hangs up before I'm even finished saying good-bye, and I'm scared that something bad is going to result in her telling me the truth. I had a bad feeling when she mentioned her engagement- now that feeling has gotten even worse.

Saturday isn't that far away, I'll see her then, and we'll figure something out. Together.

Drying off from the shower,
I glance over to see a text message. Swiping the screen saver away, I see it's from Brenna. I was hoping it would be. I enjoy that she's texting me more, and that things are going the way they are.

Chief said today that by the end of this month we should have everything we need gathered to take down Kandy's escort service. Tomorrow I meet with Chasity. I'm going to see if I can meet with at least one more girl in the following week, then I should have everything I need, at least for now. When everything goes down, and I can finish out my current job, I'm hoping I'll also have enough trust built with Brenna that I can tell her the truth about who I am.

Nothing has hurt me more lately than to lie to her.

She asks if I want to hang out tonight. Glancing down at the towel wrapped around my waist, I wonder strictly to myself if it'd be appropriate for me to wear only this and nothing more. Seeing as the mere thought of having Brenna in my place gets me aroused. She is everything I could hope for in a woman- and more. Sexy, fun, independent, determined... yet reserved. And beautiful. So incredibly beautiful.

What would you like to do...
I ask.

Go out to dinner. Somewhere we can talk.

A little disappointed we can't simply stay in tonight, I know that I'd do anything to make her happy, so I text her back to tell her I'll be ready in ten minutes.

She tells me twenty for herself.

Those twenty minutes actually take a half hour, which shouldn't surprise me. I meet Brenna in the lobby of our building. She walks off the elevator dressed much different than she normally is- although definitely as amazing looking. Her hair is braided off to the side. She’s wearing a pair of ripped jeans tucked into high heel boots, and a black tank top that doesn't show off her cleavage or stomach. As hot as she looks when she dresses to show off her body, I enjoy this look of Brenna's much more.

I feel overdressed with my hair slicked back, an unbuttoned blue and gray flannel with a white shirt underneath, and a pair of khaki shorts.

Brenna eyes me from head to toes, smiling as she gets closer. "You look like a true Floridian."

"At least I have a pair of sneakers on instead of sandals."

She chuckles. "Such a difference."

"So you don't like my outfit?" I pucker out my lip, pretending to feel upset.

Standing on her toes, she leans towards me, seconds before pressing her lips to mine, she tells me, "You look handsome."

I kiss her back passionately, hoping I don't need words to tell her how I believe she looks. When the kiss breaks, I still let her know she's absolutely gorgeous.

Taking my truck this time, I drive us over to a little French restaurant I saw after work. I had thought it seemed like a cute little place to bring her sometime, so instead of asking her where she'd like to go, I took charge. It's a little fancier than I had assumed it to be, but we take the seats offered near the back.

"How was work today?" I ask once she sets down the menu.

"I didn't really have to do much today. I work late tomorrow though to make up for it."

"Must be a Tuesday thing, I have to work late, too."

"Do you like what you do for work?" She asks.

I hope she doesn't start asking too many questions, I may go ahead and tell her the truth. I don't want to here. I'm scared she's going to storm off due to me lying. Not to mention the fact she apparently hates cops, as she’s previously stated more than once. "Most days. Sometimes it's a little boring, sometimes a little too overwhelming, but overall I enjoy it. How about for you?"

She shrugs. "I'm not sure. I actually talked with my boss today about finding something new. I just don't know what I want to do for work. It's not that easy to wake up one day and decide that you want to do something different than what you've known for the last few years. You know?"

"Well, what do you like to do for fun?"

Glancing at the table, I can tell she is lost in thought. As she starts to shake her head, she looks up at me with a questionable glance. "I'm not sure. I like money. I enjoy shopping and fashion. Art, except as I've mentioned I don't know much about it. I honestly don't know. All I know is I don't want to be a cashier at the Gap, or anything else as equally demeaning."

"Have you ever thought of being a personal shopper? Do they have that around here?"

I can tell she thinks on it. "I'm not sure, but I think I'd actually enjoy that."

"Look into it. I'll help if you want. If not that, I'm sure you'll find something. Do you mind if I ask why you no longer like your job?"

"A few different reasons. I guess you could say I grew out of it." She stares at me in a way I don't quite recognize. There is more she is hiding- and I think back to her bruises, and the guy who put them on her. Maybe things are more difficult than she is leading to believe.

The waitress takes our food order while placing our drinks on the table. I wanted to cringe when Brenna ordered wine, knowing she is only twenty. There is only so much I can say without exposing who I am, so I bite my tongue. When the waitress is gone, our table is left in a thick atmosphere of unknown conversation. I knew there was something off about her when I saw her walk up to me, and I'm not even entirely certain if it has to do with her knew proclamation of switching professions or something more. I don't want to ask, not wanting to intrude, but I also feel like if I don't, this feeling will stay between us.

So I do. "Is there something else bothering you? You seem... sad."

She puts down her glass of wine after a long sip. It's nearly gone and we haven't even been served our dinner. With a heavy sigh, she smiles kindly at me. "I want to talk about things with you, I just don't know how to start."

"What kind of... things?" All I can think of is that she does somehow know I'm a detective.

I'll have no option but to be honest from here on out if she asks.

"My past. Mostly."

She takes me off guard. "Really? You want to talk about it?" I shouldn't feel happy, not with her looking so glum, but knowing that she is ready to open up to me about something so tragic makes me feel blessed.

"Yes and no." Brenna laughs awkwardly. "It's more that I feel I owe it to you."

Reaching across the table, I grasp her hands in mine, looking her directly in the eyes. "You don't owe me anything. Don't feel like you do. But I am here to listen to whatever you
want
to tell me."

Brenna closes her eyes, her hands gripping mine like she has anxiety taking over her body. I have a feeling her mind is taking her back to a place she hasn't visited in quite some time. "Some of it I told your sister, so I'm not sure what you know already."

"She hasn't told me anything," I whisper to her. Which is almost too true. I begged Emily to tell me the truth a few times, but she said that Brenna would tell me when the time was right. Which was obviously the truth. I was a bit upset with Emily then, but now I'm glad, I'd rather hear it straight from the source.

"The night before my eight birthday my parents were fighting, and I walked into the kitchen so see if everything was alright. My mom tried to assure me it was fine. Nothing was abnormal. My dad was storming off with a beer, my mom was sitting at the kitchen table crying. It was something that had been happening a lot lately." She opens her eyes to look at me with tears surfacing. "The only difference this time was that she was holding an envelope in her hand as if it were some kind of lifeline. I remember wanting to ask her what was in it, but I never did. I still have no idea to this day what could have been in it."

"I'm sure there are ways to find out," I add in quickly.

She lifts a shoulder, playing it off. "It doesn't matter anymore, it was twelve, almost thirteen, years ago. Anyways, the next morning was going to be my birthday and party. I was excited about it all, so my mom gave me an encouraging smile and told me to get ready for bed. Once I was in bed, she tucked me in and gave me good night kisses, but my dad never came in to tuck me in."

The waitress interrupts our story to hand us our dishes. Separating our hands we take our plates and thank the waitress, but I don't think either of us are hungry. Brenna finishes off her wine before she continues.

"I couldn't sleep well that night, mainly from all the excitement. It was sometime after midnight and my legs were forcing me to stay awake, so I climbed out of bed. I could see well enough from the moon outside that I was able to play Barbie’s in the corner. Suddenly I heard my parents fighting loudly followed by two popping sounds, then a silence unlike any other fell over the home. After a few seconds of debating on what to do, I snuck down the hall to their bedroom. When I opened the door, I found both of their bodies covered in their own blood."

"Fuck Brenna. I’m… I'm so sorry."

"Let me finish, please?" She pleads softly. I nod, allowing her to continue. I have to bite down on my knuckle to stop the anger inside of me from exploding. "The police say according to the scene and the lack of evidence elsewhere, such as a note, that it looked to be a homicide-suicide. My dad was the only one with prints on the gun. I didn't know that for a few weeks, but even at eight I kind of assumed. The picture I have in my living room that you saw is the only thing I kept from my childhood. My mom was holding it in her hands when she was shot."

When she doesn't say anything, I reach for her hand again, but instead of accepting my embrace she grabs her refilled glass of wine. Once she places her cup down she then holds her hands together in front of her on the table. She looks down at them, wringing them anxiously. "I have one aunt that the detective on duty tried to set me up with, but she refused to take me in. Said she had a son and I'd be a distraction. He promised to help me through the transition and that I'd be in the best home he knows of in town, but he lied. I never saw him again after that. I even called him to tell him I was being abused, but he said all the other homes were crowded and I'd have to make due. I don't think he believed me, but it didn't matter. No one was willing to help me.

"I found out young that I'd have to find a way to be independent. By the time I was thirteen I had tried several different drugs, had gotten blacked out drunk more times than I could even count, and failed the classes I was even attempting to go to. I switched homes several times, some better than others, some horrible. I tried having a boyfriend, I did have a best friend, but apparently those two things don't mix well together. My life basically sucked from eight to seventeen when I ran away to Florida."

My heart psychically hurts for her. I don't know how she went through all that and managed to be the woman she is sitting before me. When silence is all that is heard between us for several minutes, I finally decide I'm safe enough to say something. "I'm not going to tell you I'm sorry, because I know that isn't what you want to hear, but I honestly don't know what else to say..."

I let the words linger for a while. I know she'll say something more when the time is right. She is fighting with her own demons right now, so it's better off I sit here and wait as patiently as I can. After a little while I pick up my fork, but the thought of eating isn't exactly appealing right now.

"Thank you," she whispers after a few moments.

"For what?"

"For
not
knowing what to say. I didn't want you to lecture me or give me advice or anything else, I just wanted you to hear it. So... thank you."

"Like I said, Brenna, I'm here for anything. Even if it's just a listening ear."

"I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of. I can't take them back, and I never really regretted any of them. In fact, I
don't
regret any of them, but I want you to know that I want to be a better person."

My heart hammers against my chest. "For... me?"

"Mainly," she admits. Her cheeks turn that hue of pink I adore so much, and I can't help but feel my love for her grow. "And myself, too. I'm not going to change my life entirely. I'm still me, I know what I love, what I want for a future and what I don't want, but meeting you has made me want to be better."

"You're pretty damn incredible. I hope you know that."

She attempts a smile, but it's not sincere. "I'm hungry."

And just like that, everything about tonight changes. The atmosphere isn't as thick, and those walls that were built around Brenna have crashed and burned. I know more about Brenna than I thought I would for a while- and I couldn't be happier, despite the horrible memories that'll forever haunt her. I make a vow with myself that I'll never hold her past against her, I'll never let them burn her. I'm going to protect her every moment I can.

Then hopefully, one day, a beautiful future may be a possibility with the most incredible, strongest woman I know.

To say that I'm lucky is in understatement.

For the remainder of the
night we get talking about any and everything- keeping a distance from any touchy subject. Neither of us dwell on sensitive subjects, and we don't bring up work, ex's, family, or anything else that can turn tonight back to glum. I enjoy the difference in our conversation, especially when she throws her head back in laughter. There isn't a site more beautiful, but many close seconds.