Until It Fades

  With a stretch and tug of his briefs, they follow closely. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the sight of Brett naked for the first time.

  The mattress springs as he settles back onto the bed, his clothes dangling from his casted foot. “I won’t always be so helpless,” he promises as I crouch down to carefully remove them, and I sense a hint of bitterness in his voice. I remember how frustrated I was with my wrist, and that was only a sprain.

  “I don’t mind, at all,” I purr. The feel of his eyes raking over my body as I stand in front of him is almost too much. But he seizes my hips and holds me still, pressing his lips against the faint silver lines on my pelvic bone. Stretchmarks that Brenna graced my body with. It’s the first time any man has ever seen me naked since having her.

  When he finally releases me, I watch his body flex beautifully as he hoists himself back to settle fully into bed, his legs splayed slightly.

  Waiting for me to join him.

  I simply take him in for a long moment, adoring his perfect form and the human being within.

  He almost died.

  I almost lost him, without ever getting to know him. Without having these moments with him.

  I don’t think either of us intended for things to move so quickly after—me, climbing onto the bed to admire his body, first with my hands, and then with my mouth; him, begging me to fish out a condom from the travel bag sitting on the nightstand; me, carefully straddling his hips.

  Him, guiding himself into me with a low, guttural moan that I feel right where we are joined.

  Me, losing myself in my body as my thighs tense and my hips roll, wanting nothing more than to hear him call my name, to feel his release, to know that he adores me.

  Realizing that I’ve already fallen in love with him.

  “Come on . . .” Brett’s abdominal muscles tense as he pulls himself up, his eyes glued to the TV screen previously tucked away behind armoire doors. It’s game seven of the Stanley Cup finals and I have to accept that lying naked in bed next to him while he yells at the players is simply part of the deal.

  I’ll gladly take it.

  So I quietly admire the curves of his back and pick at a slice of the pizza we threw in the oven earlier, while taking a break after three hours of familiarizing ourselves with each other’s bodies. I now know that Brett’s insanely ticklish around his belly button, barely able to stand being touched there. I know that the seven-inch scar across his forearm is from a skate blade during a collision. I’ve kissed every one of the six bones he has broken, aside from the ones still protected by his cast. That’s actually how I learned one of my most favorite facts about Brett—that no matter how recently he came, kissing him along his collarbone will instantly make him rock-hard.

  I’ve already confirmed that twice tonight, just to be sure. I’m going to be feeling the effects of it for days to come.

  Brett groans and falls backward into bed as LA scores a goal against Toronto, making it two to one. “Don’t worry. Still one period left.”

  “Where’s their defense tonight?”

  When I don’t answer, he turns to watch me. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

  I savor a decidedly spicy green olive. “Not really, nope.”

  His eyes drop to linger over my breasts and my stomach for a moment before returning. “You don’t mind me watching the game, do you?”

  “Nope.” I smile, picking off another olive. This one slips from my fingers before I get it to my mouth, landing just below my belly button.

  I giggle as Brett twists his body, free of covers and sprawled out, and scoops up the ring with his tongue to eat it. “Those are good olives.” He licks the spot of grease off my skin. His hot breath is a tease, my body silently begging him to shift his attention farther down as I watch his length begin to swell. Briefly considering how he’d react if I took him in my mouth now, while such a pivotal game is on. Would that annoy him?

  I’m saved from wondering when the sheets are sliding down and Brett’s mouth is on me.

  I lie in bed and listen to the utter silence of the night, timing my breaths with Brett’s as I watch his broad chest rise and fall slowly.

  Marveling at the life that courses through those long, strong limbs that I was tangled with, that fuels the kind heart and charming mind that I am enamored with.

  Wondering how it’s possible to feel this close to another human being.

  Maybe he’s not the one caught up in it all. Maybe it’s me who’s under a spell. Because I never dreamed that I could feel this way about anyone.

  Chapter 28

  “Why are you always at our house now?” Brenna chirps, earning my glare of disapproval. She gives Brett a sheepish smile and then shifts her focus to the chips and cookies that he tossed into the cart when I wasn’t looking.

  “That’ll be a hundred and forty-two even,” the teenage cashier says, blatantly staring at Brett as he swiftly moves in with a wad of twenty-­dollar bills before I manage to get my wallet out.

  “Don’t even.” He chuckles, nudging me forward toward the cart, treating the cashier to a dimpled smile as he collects his change.

  With a heavy sigh, I push the loaded cart out of Weiss, trying to pretend that no one’s watching us. The truth is, it’s ten on a Sunday morning and everyone is watching us. It doesn’t seem to faze Brett, though, who casually greets people as he passes.

  Since last weekend at Sid Durrand’s cabin, Brett has come over four out of five weekdays. Twice during the day while Brenna was at school and I didn’t have to work. And then last night, he put his feet up, turned on the baseball game—the hockey season is over, with Toronto taking home the cup—and simply stayed. We never actually discussed the idea of him staying. It just kind of happened. And it felt right.

  Thankfully, it was easy enough to explain why Brett was sleeping in my bed with me—there was nowhere else for him to sleep—and I could rationalize with Brenna about why she couldn’t sleep with us—she can’t risk bumping Brett’s leg. That didn’t stop her from wandering in at six this morning to wake us both up.

  So far, nothing’s been reported to the media. No one’s lurking behind Rawley’s with a camera. It’s an oddly . . . normal situation. That’s probably because we haven’t done anything as public as go grocery shopping together until now. I’ve definitely heard the whispers, felt the curious smiles.

  “Why so tense?” Brett asks as we cross the parking lot.

  “I’m not. Brenna, stay close.”

  His straight white teeth gleam in the morning sun as he grins. “Liar.”

  “Maybe I am a bit tense,” I admit softly. “I guess I’m just waiting for someone to jump out of the bushes and shove a camera in my face. You know, ask me when we’re getting married.”

  His grin falls off suddenly. “Whoa . . . Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, Cath.”

  My cheeks flare with heat. “Oh, I didn’t mean for real, like that’s what I want.”

  He pauses, a frown pulling his brow tight. “You don’t want that?”

  “Of course I do. I mean, I will. I mean . . .” My mind is spinning as I stumble over my words, searching for the ones to defuse this sudden tension.

  Until he begins to chuckle, and I realize he’s teasing me.

  “You’re such a jerk!” I elbow his forearm but I’m smiling.

  “Mommy!”

  “It’s okay. I deserved that,” Brett tells her as I root through my purse in search of my keys. “Maybe I should get into acting if this hockey thing doesn’t work out.”

  I roll my eyes at him as I pop the hatch. Brett begins handing me grocery bags, his grin downright devilish, his fingers grazing mine with each pass.

  “Have you ever had a dog?” Brenna asks out of nowhere, even while her bright eyes are on the tub of chocolate ice cream that she somehow didn’t notice earlier.

  “I did. A beagle named Bower. He ran away, though. Never came back.”

  “Oh.” Brenn
a’s face scrunches. “That’s a sad story.”

  “You’re right. It is.”

  “Are you gonna get another one?”

  Brett empties the cart of the last two bags. “Funny you should ask. I have started thinking about getting a dog lately.”

  Her eyes widen. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I just don’t know if I can handle walking it right now.”

  “I can help!”

  “Brett lives in Philadelphia, honey,” I remind her.

  Her face falls. “Oh, yeah . . . I forgot.” But the wheels are already churning inside that small head of hers. “I only have one more week of school so I could do it for the summer. I could stay at your house!”

  I turn to give Brett a “see what you’ve done” stare.

  He doesn’t seem the least bit ruffled. “I’ll have to think about it, Brenna. A dog is a huge responsibility.”

  She’s already thinking about it plenty. “I know. But there’s three of us. Mommy and I could live with you at your house—”

  “No, Brenna.”

  “Why not? Brett has a big house.”

  “Just because.”

  “Because why?”

  There’s no point explaining the more obvious reasons for us not moving in with Brett.

  “Because that’s a long drive for me to work.”

  “Why do you have to work, anyway?”

  I stifle my exasperation. “We’ve already had this conversation.” At least twenty times, the concept still escaping her. “I have to work to make money, so we have somewhere to live, and food on the table, and clothes on our bodies, and—”

  “But Owen Mooter said that Brett is super rich so can’t he—”

  “No!” That damn Owen Mooter kid again. I cast an apologetic look Brett’s way, but he’s merely smiling, as if amused by the entire conversation.

  “Brenna, I promise we’ll get you a dog when the time is right. Now come on. Help me put the cart away.”

  She grabs the other side of the handle, chattering on about what kind of dog Brett should get—a boy dog, surely, because Brett is a boy—and what he should name it as we cross the parking lot to the cart station. I let her give it a shove in, and then we’re turning to head back to the car.

  Scott Philips is just ahead of me.

  Chapter 29

  He was paying attention, his eyes on his phone screen, so by the time Scott notices me, he’s a mere four feet away. He stops short. “Catherine?”

  He looks like the photo in the newspaper, though less put together, his coffee-colored hair mussed from the light breeze, his jeans and Muse T-shirt casual. That youthful air about him still exists, though dulled considerably.

  I’m vaguely aware of the small clammy hand tugging against my mine. “Mommy, who is that?”

  “No one.” I pull Brenna against my thigh, willing my legs to move. In all the times I’ve played this scenario in my head, I had been able to stroll past him, show him that he’s no longer a thought. And yet now my legs are frozen.

  Scott lowers his gaze to her, the fine lines across his forehead that were airbrushed out of his picture now clearly visible. “I was your mom’s art teacher in high school.”

  “Really? Did you teach her how to draw houses?”

  My stomach twists, watching his hazel eyes twinkle with his familiar smile. “I actually didn’t teach your mother all that much. She was a natural artist.”

  You taught me a lot of other stuff, though.

  “Are you still a teacher?”

  “I’m taking a break.” There’s no missing the twinge of bitterness in his voice. I wonder if he’s blaming me for this latest turn of events, too. Considering he’d likely still be teaching, his neighborhood blissfully ignorant of the snake living among them, had I not saved Brett.

  My anger unexpectedly flares.

  “Cath, you okay?”

  So distracted by my shock, I haven’t noticed Brett making his way over until he’s right there. If he’s seen pictures of Scott in the news, he doesn’t seem to recognize him now, though his face says he knows something is wrong. “Yeah. I’m fine. We were just going.”

  “This was Mommy’s teacher,” Brenna says, oblivious of the tension. “He taught her how to draw.”

  Brett’s face hardens immediately as he turns to face Scott. He has at least five inches and forty pounds on him, and even supported by crutches, he somehow looms threateningly. I’ve never seen Brett as anything but kind and charming and gentle, and yet right now, his jaw is clenched so tight, his body so rigid, I’m beginning to wonder if he isn’t going to try and beat Scott to a pulp, cast or not.

  The wariness on Scott’s face makes me think he’s wondering the same.

  “Brett, let’s go.” I settle a hand on his chest, pushing him back a touch, adding in a whisper, “People are staring.” He doesn’t budge. I add even lower, “Brenna.”

  That snaps Brett out of it almost immediately, his hand settling gently on the top of her head. He peers down at her.

  And then back again to Scott, lingering for a long moment, before I’m finally able to usher him toward my Escape. I don’t miss Brett’s low growl of “Stay away from her” as he passes.

  “That teacher was kind of weird,” Brenna says as she climbs into her booster seat. Normally I’d ask her why she’d say that, but now I quietly watch her fumble with her seat belt from the rearview mirror.

  A warm hand settles on my knee. “You okay?”

  I nod. “I knew that would happen sooner or later. Lou warned me that he was back.”

  “Well, now it’s happened and we move on. It’s all in the past, right?”

  I force a smile. “Right.”

  “Okay, I’m ready!” Brenna announces, kicking her legs.

  Brett turns to regard her for a long moment, a pensive look on his face. I don’t pry, though. I’m too busy wondering if we need to move out of Balsam.

  Chapter 30

  “Hold on a sec!” I holler, hugging the towel to my body as I dart from the bathroom to my bedroom, to throw on my pink sundress, my skin still damp from my shower. I glance at the clock: eleven a.m.

  Keith’s sleeping, so I know it’s not him. Besides, he usually lets himself in with his key.

  I head for the window, because neither Brenna nor I ever open the door without checking anymore. Actually, Brenna’s been banned from opening the door until further notice.

  A black Suburban is parked outside.

  I hold my breath as I throw open the door.

  “What are you doing here?” I sound like I’ve been running laps, my voice breathless.

  Brett grins. “I can’t surprise you?”

  “Of course you can. But I thought—” My mouth drops open as I finally notice the absence of crutches and the new walking cast that protects his leg. “Oh, my God! They took it off!” I knew he had his eight-week doctor’s appointment this morning, but neither of us had expected this.

  “Doc said I was ready.”

  I can’t help the squeal as I throw myself at him, my arms coiling around his neck.

  That charming laugh of his sails from his lips, warming my chest. “Take it easy. I’m still getting used to this thing.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just so happy for you.” My face feels like it’s about to split from smiling, even as I ask, “So, what did your leg look like when they took it off?”

  “Horrible. Withered and scarred. I’ll show you later. Come here,” he whispers, dipping his head to lay a sweet kiss on my lips, his arms circling me, pulling me in tight against him.

  He was here only yesterday. I can still feel where he was, deep inside me, and I ache for more. “It’s Brenna’s last day of school today.”

  “Yeah, I think I remember her mentioning that.” She’s been marching around the house for the past week, counting down the days at the top of her lungs.

  “That means she’s going to be with me pretty much all the time.”

  His breath skates across m
y lips. “I figured.”

  “So . . . you’re coming in, right?”

  He smiles, not missing my meaning. “To celebrate getting my new cast?”

  “Sure, whatever you wanna call it.”

  My whole body shakes with his deep chuckle. “Actually, I thought we could get out for a bit first, before I let you use me for my body.”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  “Come on, let’s go. Unless . . .” His eyes drift past me, to the baskets of dirty laundry I was about to lug down to the Laundromat, already three days overdue. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Yes. I mean, no, it’s not a bad time and yes, we can go.”

  He reaches out to toy with a strand of my wet hair. “Okay, well . . . the sooner we go, the sooner we can come back.” Excitement flickers in his eyes. And perhaps a touch of nervousness.

  I grab my keys and purse and trail him out.

  The busboy at Rawley’s, Gibby, quietly tosses bags of trash into the Dumpster. He’s never said much to me, but I offer him a polite wave as usual and then climb into the SUV.

  “I could have driven us.” I admire the lush lilac bush on the corner, the branches sagging under the weight of the conical flowers, still dripping from an early-morning rainfall. Balsam is now in full bloom.

  “I wanted to give Don one more day before I get back behind the wheel.” A little louder, “You’re gonna miss driving my ass around, won’t you, Don?”

  “It’s given my life meaning,” the gruff bodyguard replies in a deadpan tone, though I catch his eyes crinkling in the rearview mirror as we coast down the quiet street.

  “You’re allowed to drive with that?” I nod toward the new cast.

  “There’s no law against it. I’ll still get Don to drive me into Philly for my appointments, but if I’m around here, I can drive myself.”

  I can’t hide my smile. He’s talking like he plans on being in Balsam. A lot.

  “You know, this is a really nice little town.”