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I bit my lip. Brandon tensed.
"Please," I said. For what, I didn't know.
"You know," Katie said, looking at Brandon with a desire she didn't bother to mask. Then her eyes flashed, all kindness evaporated. "For an educated broad, you're pretty fuckin' stupid."
I gulped and said nothing. Right then, I couldn't deny it.
"Let's go," Brandon urged. And we did.
~
Brandon sat quietly with me on short drive to my family's house. David navigated the backstreets of Brooklyn silently, while Andy, the bodyguard, was basically a piece of furniture. We pulled to a stop outside of my family's brown house on K Street. The sagging eaves seemed to bear a little more weight in the coming twilight.
Brandon looked up to the front seat. "Guys, can you give us a minute?"
With a brief nod at us through the rearview mirror, David left the car, followed by Andy. Their solid forms leaned against the side of the doors outside, blocking some of the excess sunlight. Brandon turned to where I sat, still numbed by the exchange in the shop.
"You have to let me help," he said quietly.
"You already did," I replied more bitterly than I intended. "That's why I'm in this mess."
Brandon sighed with a sharp look. "No, we're in this mess because your dad is an addict and got entangled with the wrong people."
"Yeah, but now they know about you." I clasped my hands in my lap, suddenly very interested in the tiny wrinkles on my knuckles.
"Skylar, did you really think they wouldn't figure that out?"
I looked up. I felt completely sick. "You can't get involved. You're trying to run for office. What if Miranda catches wind of this? Your career, your life...it could all get screwed up if you start buying people off like––"
"Skylar, do you really think that's the only option?" Brandon cut in gently. He picked up one of my hands and sandwiched it with his. "Sometimes I think you forget just who––what––I am. You see me as a normal guy, and while I love that about you, the truth is, babe, I'm just not." He took a deep breath and continued. "This guy has absolutely no idea what kind of power I have. And I can make his life a living fucking hell if I want to."
He tugged a little on my arm, begging me to turn toward him.
"You can't do this on your own, Red," he said as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Let me in."
The gesture broke me. I was so incredibly powerless in this situation, in everything lately, and more than that, it seemed like whatever I did only made things worse. I started to shake against the soft leather seat. Brandon grasped my wrists and gathered me quickly against his strong, solid form, warm through the thin cotton of his shirt.
Green eyes or blue? The question came unbidden, and I pushed it away with a sniff. It wasn't important now, not with everything going on.
"Shh," Brandon hummed, pressing my head into his shoulder and stroking my hair. "It's going to be okay. Nothing is going to happen to you. Nothing is going to happen to your family. I promise."
He held me tight, forcing me to inhale his sweet, almond-laced scent. Soon, the shakes subsided, and I started to feel halfway normal again. He was right. At some point, I realized, I needed to stop holding so tightly onto everything and let Brandon in.
"Okay," I mumbled into his chest. "We'll do it together?"
Brandon pressed his lips into my hair, and I could feel him nod against the top of my head.
"Always," he murmured.
After we sat for a few more moments, I felt strong enough to get moving.
"Well, we'd better go in," I said. I nodded behind me at my family's house. "If we don't have dinner before heading back to Boston, my grandmother will make stew of us both."
Looking over my shoulder, Brandon smiled. "I'm actually pretty excited to see Bubbe again," he admitted. "I've been dreaming about that blintz of hers."
"I think tonight she's making brisket."
Brandon grinned. "Sounds great!"
