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“No. I never told them.” She laced her fingers, trying to still the way they were shivering. The coffee she’d drunk felt like a whirlpool in the pit of her stomach. Any minute it might come up.
“And Jamie. Does he know?” Aiden’s lip curled down. He wasn’t looking at her, unable to meet her gaze.
“I contacted him, but he wasn’t interested.”
A choking noise came from his throat. “And you didn’t think to contact me?”
“And tell you what? That I’d been an idiot?”
“That you’d slept with my brother within a year of telling me you’d love me forever. I’m not stupid, Brooke. I can do the math.”
A stray lock of hair fell from her ponytail, and she pushed it away from her face. Aiden turned to look out of the window, his broad back flexing beneath his shirt.
“I’m not a slut,” she whispered. “I’m not.” Even if people thought she was. And she could live with the whispers, with her parents’ condemnation. But she couldn’t live with Aiden’s disgust. It tore at her, making her body feel inside out.
“I don’t know who you are,” he said, still looking away from her. “I don’t know you at all.”
She squeezed her eyes shut to try and push out the pain. All these years she’d dreamed about him, longed for his arms. Not once had she imagined how awful it would feel when he hated her.
“You should go,” he said, his voice thick. “It’s getting late. No doubt your son will be wondering where you are.”
“His name’s Nick. And he’s not only my son. He’s your nephew. Don’t you want to know more about him?” she asked, her voice imploring. “He’s your family, too.”
“No.” Aiden shook his head. His dark hair was short, revealing a thin sliver of tan skin between his hairline and collar. She knew how that sliver of flesh felt – the skin soft, the hair coarse. She’d run her hand around it enough times.
“Aiden…”
“You need to go.” This time his voice was urgent. As though he was standing on the edge of something, trying not to fall off. His body tensed, his biceps flexing against the thin sleeves of his shirt. For the first time ever, Brooke felt the size difference between them. He’d never hurt her – not physically – but she felt afraid. Because if anything, he’d end up hurting himself.
“I’m going,” she said breathlessly, stepping back to give them both some space. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
She didn’t bother to reach for a hard hat. Right now she couldn’t give a damn about health and safety. The need to get out of there outweighed everything else. It took a second to close the gap to the door, one more to reach for the handle and curl her fingers around it. As she pushed it down, she turned back to look at him one more time, but his back was still firmly to her.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, though her voice was soft enough for him not to hear. Even if he had heard her, he made no response. Yanking at the door, she escaped onto the metal steps leading down to the path, breathing in a mouthful of air as she ran toward the gate.
But when she got there she realized she didn’t know the code. Her breath was shallow as she reached for the handle anyway, making a futile pulling gesture which failed to move it one inch. The next moment she felt him beside her, his shadow long and dark as it stretched out on the dusty ground. He keyed in the code with six loud beeps.
The gate clanged as the lock released, and he pushed it open, holding it with his hand for as long as it took her to escape into the parking lot. Before she could turn to look at him she heard it bang close, and she was alone again once more.
Her car was one of the only ones left in the lot. She headed toward it, grappling in her purse to find her keys. It was only when she was safely inside, the driver’s door closed and her hands resting on the wheel that she finally let herself go.
She’d done what she needed to do. She’d told him the truth. But right now, all she wanted to do was cry.
* * *
He waited at the gate until he heard her engine start up, and the rumble of her tires as she pulled away from the parking lot. Leaning back on the metal, he closed his eyes for a minute.
“Damn.” Her words had begun a maelstrom inside him, one he wasn’t sure he was able to contain. He wanted to hit something – anything. But he wouldn’t do that. Not now and not ever.
He wasn’t that kid any more. Maybe he hadn’t ever been. Yes, he’d been in a few fights in his time, but they usually involved standing up for somebody else. Right now the only person he wanted to fight was himself.
“Damn!” He shouted it this time, his words disappearing into the dusty air. His muscles con
tracted, not getting the memo he’d tried to send down from his brain. Because right now punching something felt preferable to thinking about what happened.
He stalked back to the office, his shoes leaving imprints in the dusty soil. And as soon as he walked into the office he saw her coffee cup resting innocently on the table. How long ago was she holding that? Ten minutes? Rage boiled up inside him as he reached out and swept it to the floor with his balled fist, the papers covering the surface sliding with his violent movement and scattering to the ground.
It didn’t make him feel any better. In fact he felt worse, because now he was going to have to pick everything up and rearrange it so nobody knew what he’d done.
