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Snap out of it.
I shake my head as I place the notebook in Kaylee's hands. "You can open your eyes."
She does. Her gaze goes right to the leather-bound journal in her hands. "Brendon. This was too expensive."
"My money."
"But, you—isn't this everything you hate? Some mass-produced notebook that costs way too much."
"I'm not that guy anymore." I'm not sure who I am now. Not beyond work and family. Usually, that's enough. But the way Kaylee looks at me—it begs me to fill in all the gaps.
I want to be the kind of guy who deserves her.
"It's so pretty." She traces a heart on the cover. "I'm not sure I can actually write in it." She places the journal on her bedside table and turns toward me. "Thank you."
"Of course."
She scoots forward. Wraps her arms around me. Buries her head in my chest. "Really, Brendon. Thank you."
Fuck, she smells good. Her touch is soft. Sweet. Like she believes I deserve her. "I brought you something else."
"Where?"
"Here." I pull the folded paper from my back pocket. "Our deal."
"Oh." Her cheeks flush as she unfolds the paper. She takes it in slowly.
It's an old piece. A self-portrait. It was right after the accident. When I carried around the weight of it on my shoulders twenty-four seven.
It's a lighter burden now, but it's still there.
My parents died thinking I was worthless.
My last words to them were about how awful they were.
"When did you do this?" She runs her fingers over the faded paper.
"Forever ago."
She nods as she looks up at me. "It's beautiful. But sad."
I'm not sure what to say. I don't share my work with people. Tattoos are someone else's blood and guts. I can show the entire world that.
"There's a lot of hurt there," she whispers. "Do you still feel like that?"
"Less, but yeah."
"I'm sorry. It must have been har
d, everything with your parents. And taking care of Em."
"Taking care of Em was the only thing that kept me going."
She turns over so she's on her side. "You're sweet."
I shake my head.
She nods. "You hide it well, but you are."
