Chapter 5
Brandon
“Shh. It’s okay.” I hold Mary in my arms and run my fingers through her damp ponytail. She still smells like strawberries. Her tall, slender frame shakes with every sob. This is something I had almost given up on—holding her, touching her. At the moment, all I can do is try to soothe her pain. Make sure she’s okay. I catch Travis’ eyes, and he gives me a chin lift as he carries Charlotte out of the motel room.
“It’s all right,” I whisper in Mary’s ear.
“No. It’s not.” Forceful hands push me away and she points to the door, wiping her face with the other hand. “Leave.”
My head snaps back and I squint my eyes. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Leave. I don’t want you here.” Her hiccupped words do nothing to hide the anger radiating from her body. Why is she mad at me? She was the one who vanished. I’m the one who should be pissed.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding.” Not only am I shocked that she’s pissed at me, but how the hell, while looking for Travis’ girlfriend, did I end up finding her here, in a motel room? Jesus, this is some fucked-up shit.
“Nope. Go.”
I chuckle under my breath ‘cause it’s either laugh or punch something.
She pulls the door open, but I push it shut. The crash of it slamming makes her jump back a step, and I advance on her. “No.” This is unbelievable. Years. Fucking years I’ve looked for her. And now that I’ve found her, she tells me to leave.
I reach for her, but she leaps to the other side of the bed. Rubbing a long jagged scar on her right arm, she continues trembling with silent tears rolling down her face. The first and only time I’ve ever seen her cry is right now, after twelve years without her. The ache of seeing her so upset is almost as unbearable as being without her.
I take five steps, and I’m in front of her again. She has nowhere to go and hangs her head in defeat.
“You owe me some answers,” I bark. If she’s going to pull an attitude with me, I’ll give that shit right back. Obviously being nice to her is getting me nowhere.
She slowly rolls her head up, connecting with me, and instead of the anger I expect to see, guilt swirls in her eyes.
“I don’t owe you shit” She spits.
“What the hell happened to you?” Crossing my arms, I tilt my head and assess her. “Why are you so pissed off? Where have you been? Aren’t you glad to see me?” There isn’t a word in the English language to express how happy I am to see her. I’ve dreamed and fantasized about this reunion for years and never in a million did I imagine I’d find an angry Mary.
“What do you want me to say? You come in here after twelve years and expect me to jump for joy?” She swallows and looks at the floor before looking back up. Tormented hunter green eyes connect with mine again. “My life has been fine without you in it.”
I wasn’t expecting that punch in the gut. Years of training have allowed me to hide the hurt and not show emotion. I glance around the small room in confusion. “Your life?” How did I miss it? Looking around the space, it hits me. Clothes hanging on a stand, candles on the dresser, a small refrigerator. These are not things included in a normal stay at the motel.
“Your life?” I repeat, dumbfounded. “Care to elaborate on that? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, it doesn’t seem like you’re passing through and need a place to crash for the night.”
She blows out a big breath and sits on the bed, crossing her legs. “I don’t want to talk about it. I just want you to leave.”
This woman is driving me crazy already. She always has. A snotty attitude with the face of an angel and the body of a wet dream. Hell, she looks almost the exact same as the last time I saw her. I don’t know whether to spank her or kiss her.
I’m not able to keep my hands off her any longer, so I decide on the latter. Not giving her time to process, I lean down, grab her face, and press my mouth to hers. She doesn’t move. Not her body or her lips. I nip at her bottom lip then soothe it by sliding my tongue across it. Asking, begging her to let me in. Her body melts into me for a second, and I take the opportunity to lift her up and slide my hands down her back to rest on her hips. She kneels on the bed and snakes her arms around my neck then parts her mouth ever so slightly, allowing me to caress her tongue with my own. She’s nervous, so I go slow. The softness of her lips and the feel of her tits pressed against my chest make me hold her tighter, never wanting to let go.
Christ, she’s beautiful. Everything about her is. She whimpers, and I immediately pull back to find tears rolling down her cheeks. World’s biggest asshole, right here. “Fuck, Mary. Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, I just—”
“You didn’t hurt me. Can you please leave? Please?” she pleads, curling into a ball on the bed. It’s the right thing to do, to let her have some time. I don’t want to, but I will. Honestly, I could use a minute to think and to calm the hell down myself. But only if she stays.
“You can’t leave, Mary. Please don’t do that to me again. Promise me when I come back you’ll be here.”
Her head bobs up and down, but she doesn’t answer, defeat written all over her. The pull to lift her in my arms and take her home with me is so strong it’s almost magnetic. Instead of doing what my body is demanding, I force myself to walk to the door. I take stock of the multiple chain locks and deadbolts then make a mental note to ask her about it. I quietly shut the door and lean against it for a second. Then I go home to grab a change of clothes and feed my cat. Now that I found my Mary, there’s no fucking way I’m letting her out of my sight.
* * *
Brandon,
It’s better and safer for everyone if I leave. I hope you know how much I love you. Please tell your family how sorry I am.
~Mary
P.S. Don’t look for me.
I fold the faded piece of paper up as carefully as I can and put it back in my wallet. I remember my mom giving me the note when we came home from the hospital with my dad. She stood there with a hand on my shoulder while I read it and cried, clenching my chest from the slice right through it. I didn’t understand then and still don’t, really. Mary thought her absence made us safer. Why? I’ve stared at that piece of paper for hours at a time, trying to find a meaning that I was missing—a hint, a fucking clue—but always came up empty.
The four words at the bottom are what twisted the knife in my heart. She didn’t want me to find her. Didn’t want to be with me. But I know it’s a lie. Deep down, in the bottom of my gut, I know it’s a lie. She loves me . . . just not as much as I love her.
I’m sitting in my car at the motel. It goes against every instinct in my law enforcement blood not to do something about the hookers who are clearly working in and out of these rooms. But I’m not here for them, and I’m not on the clock. I’m only here for one person, and right now, she’s walking out of her door with a tight-ass tank top, leggings, and bright pink Nikes.
She doesn’t see me approach her from behind. “Hell. No.” I growl.
“Jesus! You scared the shit out of me! What are you doing?” She leans on the side of the brick motel with a hand to her heart.
“What the hell are you doing? It’s four in the morning.”
“Oh, my God. You’re following me!”
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her, but I still know her. And right now, she’s scared. Her act of annoyance is fake. This anger bullshit is a cover-up for fear. Of what, I’m not sure yet. But I’m going to find out.
“Damn straight, I am. You ran once. It’s not happening again.” After finding her last night, I took care of some stuff at home then came back to the motel and hid out in the parking lot. My tinted windows prevented her from seeing me through the glass, but as soon as I saw her come out of her room, I couldn’t sit in my car anymore.
“I don’t even know what to say to you. Go home, Brandon. It’s pointless.” She leans down to stretch, and my eyes take in all the beauty that is Mary. Always more of a tomboy, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in a dress or skirt. Her body twists and turns, and I bite back a groan.
When she takes off in a jog, I quickly catch up. Glad I changed into track pants last night, I keep pace next to her. I know what she’s doing. Well, I know she’s avoiding me. Seeing her in one piece last night—safe, healthy, alive—I knew from taking one look into her troubled eyes that she ran. The one truth I was unwilling to face. I made up scenarios in my head about her writing that note against her will or that it was fake. My initial reaction was that somebody took her. I refused to believe that she left me. That shit hurt. I thought I meant something to her.
We’re jogging at a fairly fast rate through an old park, the sun is barely up, and I’m not quick enough to grab her before she trips on a branch and falls. Her hands brace the majority of the impact on her body, but one hip slams on a rock and she yells out in pain.
“Shit. You all right?” I kneel down next to her and try to help her up. She pushes me away and scoots back until she’s sitting against a tree.
Her tears fall onto the dry soil while she catches her breath. Seeing her in pain, any kind of pain—emotional or physical—brings me to my knees. I sit on an old tree trunk a few feet away and wait. I’ve waited twelve years. A few more minutes won’t hurt.
“I was fine,” she whispers. “I forced myself to be okay. I accepted it.”
“Accepted what?”
“It was my fault.”
“I’m not following. What was your fault?”
The glazed-over look she shoots me makes her almost unrecognizable.
“Everything.”
Frustration takes hold, and I move to squat down next to her. I wipe away the tears with my thumbs and lift her head so she’s looking at me.
“I’m clueless here, babe. Fill me in.”
Her sad eyes blink another tear out, and she says, “Your dad.”
No. “Please tell me that you don’t blame yourself.”
She nods.
“God, Mary. Is that why you ran?”
Her body is a blur as she abruptly stands. “Yes. Okay? I did it because there’s no way I could ever be around you again. You or your family.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“It’s my fucking fault your dad can’t walk, and I’ll live with it for the rest of my life. Not only that, but Scott Smith told me that I’d pay for getting him shot. And I couldn’t risk hurting you or your family anymore. I had to disappear.” Inhaling a huge breath, she continues, “You have your answer now. You see I’m fine. So please, stop trying whatever it is you’re doing. Just go home and leave me alone. It’s better for everyone.”
I shake my head and rub the back of my neck in frustration. This is fucking unbelievable. She gets a few feet away, when I say, “He can walk.” Her knees weaken, but she manages to stay upright. I walk until my lips are next to her ear. “And Scott Smith is in jail. He was caught a week after he shot my dad. He’s not getting out anytime soon.”
She twirls around and her ponytail hits me in the face. “But . . . how?”
I pull her closer and leave one hand around her waist while the other twirls the long brown strands that are still so soft they feel fake. The fragments of myself that I’ve been missing piece back together when I touch her. “How what?”
“How can he walk? The nurse in the hospital said . . .”
“She was wrong. He’s not entering a marathon or anything, but after many sessions of physical therapy and his notorious determination, he’s able to take a couple of steps with a cane.”
Small hands push me away. “Don’t patronize me!”
Before she gets any further, I grab her wrists and pull her to me then press her against a tree. She can’t get away from me again; I won’t let her. “I’m not patronizing you. He’s fine. He’s happy. Nobody blames you. The only thing anyone is angry at is that you left us. You fucking left me!” I would never hurt her, ever, but I step back and take a deep breath, needing to distance myself to collect my thoughts. I wished for her every day, but now that she’s in front of me, I don’t know how to react.
“Didn’t you care at all what you were doing to me? Did you ever think that maybe talking to me would have been a good fucking idea? ”
“I was keeping you safe.”
“That’s not your job! It was my job to keep you safe, to protect you . . . and I fucked that up.” I look at her scar, and she rubs her arm. “I should have been there.”
“I can’t do this right now, Brandon. I just can’t.” She places her hands on my face. “I’m here. I’m alive. Now go. Live your life and be happy. It’s better without me in it.” Then she presses her lips to mine and jogs off.