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“I remember everything, Pix.” Those were the words that cracked through my walls as I sheepishly stared up at him under my mascaraed lashes. Scrambling to stay in control, to stay lighthearted, to not waste this one opportunity to build memories with him, I scanned the assortment and snatched up the Bellagio with its beautifully illuminated fountains, waving it in the air in victory.
I remember everything, Pix. The words played on a loop right until we were standing in the cashier’s cage, the sounds from all directions bombarding my senses, while his praise sailed full speed into my chest, and my pathetic defenses crumbled like castles made from Play-Doh after someone left the lid off the container. I’m never letting you go, Pix.
Broderick’s eyes were no longer glossy with one too many fingers of scotch, and it was the clarity in his vision as he said it that threatened to destroy me. Just a stupid little girl, with my stupid childhood crush in a city full of lights and glamor, wishing he meant them like I wanted him to. Instead of saying any of that, I swallowed and smiled, ignoring that it felt watery even to me.
Clearing my throat, hoping the emotion would go with it, I asked, “How’d we do?”
“Made out like bandits. I mean, after the slots.”
Laughing, I agreed, “Yeah, that sucked. Blackjack and Roulette too.”
His brow pinched in the most adorable display of confusion as he tucked his wallet—our winnings, along with it—into his jacket pocket. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen the man even remotely intoxicated. He was cute as hell. “I forgot we did that.”
“Poker was decent.”
“But not like Craps—should’ve just stayed there in the first place.” His eyes narrowed in contemplative curiosity, and I canted my head, watching as he stretched his arm to pull his sleeve up. Eyes on his watch, he muttered, “Perfect.”
“What?” I asked, confused but still grinning, and willing away the want in my chest in favor of a mask of entertainment.
“Come on.”
“Come where?” I demanded petulantly, but when he stretched his hand out, I took it. At least if he iced me out this time, it would be from many, many miles away and I’d be none the wiser.
“Just humor me. Come on.” Rolling my eyes, I followed Broderick’s lead as he dragged my ass through and out of the casino on legs that still felt more like rubber than actual limbs. After a few crackling moments of silence, he asked, “Do you remember that year we were all camped out by the lake and got to see the Northern Lights?”
“Yeah?”
“Just…thinking about the two of us keeping each other warm under that blanket.”
I snorted, shaking my head at the fondness in his voice. “You mean the night James almost decked you for ‘fondling me'?”
“I did not,” he insisted irritably, earning a laugh.
“Oh, I know. I was there, remember?” He’d actually been an infuriatingly perfect gentleman, hand firmly planted on my arm, as he tucked me against his side and we chattered into the chilly air together, refusing to call it a night and move into the tents away from the fire. For me, that had everything to do with the fact that I’d be sleeping with my sisters, and not the gorgeous twenty-one-year-old overwhelming my senses with his warm hug and cinnamon-laced scent. Not that Jameson saw it that way, the overprotective teddy bear he was. “Not gonna lie. I actually loved that Old Spice shit you wore.”
“God, that was a phase.”
“One of my favorites. That was the year I left Mistyvale.” What I didn’t say was in no small part to get away from you.
When Broderick opened the side door of the resort onto the bustling street, he glanced back to me, his eyes far away and pinched in the center, a heaviness to his tone when he spoke. “Believe me, I know.”
Stepping out into the brisk evening, grateful we were in Nevada and not anywhere farther north where the air would bite this time of year, I squeezed his hand. Fairly certain he’d been avoiding me with the same level of dedication the last forty-eight hours, I softly asked, “Where you been, Professor? The last few days?”
“Thinking, Pix. A lot of thinking.”
“Care to share with the class?” I pressed.
He shook his head, cheek curving with the tiniest of smirks. Somehow, my never-ending references to his career path had yet to get old. “Just you.”
Two words. Two words weighed down with so much unspoken implication that my feet felt heavy with them. There was no way I imagined that. It was only his hand in mine, leading me down the strip, that kept me moving.
Voice gruff, he asked, “You remember the day you broke your arm?”
Surprised by his question, I nodded. I’d been fifteen and fell while bouldering with the guys. The look of resolute horror on his face as they made a makeshift bind for my agonized arm was permanently etched in my mind. It was a different fear than my brothers showed. I’d known it then, just like I knew it now with the weight of those deep browns on my face, and tears pricked in my eyes. Fully incapable of holding that intense gaze, I looked to the concrete, even as he squeezed my fingers. I breathed a nervous laugh.
“You held my good hand all the way down the mountain. Held me in the back of Rhyett’s truck. Wouldn’t leave my side until they took me back for x-rays.”
“That was the scariest day of my life. The idea of something hurting you—even back then—absolutely eviscerated me.” My stupid, smitten brain got held up on the emphasis of the past tense. Like, somehow, he cared more now than then. But he was talking again, dragging my muddled brain and hammering heart right along with him. “The year you had braces, I didn’t smile in a single group photo, so that you wouldn’t be the only one hiding your teeth.”
