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Part II: Badlands
"You carry your baggage, and if you don't start unpacking your bags get heavier as you move along."
- Bruce Springsteen, Rolling Stone, 2016
Chapter 18
"Babe. Babe, wake up. Brandon!"
Another unintelligible shout echoed through the bedroom before Brandon jerked awake.
"What? Who?" he asked, his eyes wide and glazed until they found me and slowly came back into focus.
"Hey," I said as I sat up with him. "It's okay." I rubbed his big shoulders. "You just had another nightmare."
Brandon said nothing and slowly regained his breath. His skin, completely bare after we had fallen asleep naked together, was covered with a thin layer of sweat. That might have been normal for mid-September in Boston if we hadn't been in a sky-high apartment with central air. Under my fingertips, I could feel his heartbeat pounding through the carotid artery. The tremors vibrating through his muscles slowed down as I lightly massaged his deltoids, biceps, and painfully tight trapezius muscles.
It was a process that had become routine. Eventually, he began to relax, and I laid back into the pillows stacked against the headboard so he could lay with me, head on my stomach. He slid an arm around my waist, then sighed deeply.
"Thank you," he murmured sleepily. It was the same thing he said every night.
I continued to stroke down his back and up through his hair. "Of course."
The flutter of his eyelashes blinking over my bare stomach told me he wasn't going to fall asleep this morning––no surprise there, since we'd already done this once tonight. The sky was already lightening over Boston; the sun would be up in another hour, and with it, Brandon would go for the several-mile run that seemed to get longer every day, before returning with his trainer to spar in the gym he'd set up in one of the spare rooms.
He rolled onto his pillow and rubbed a hand over his face. "God, I hate this place. I feel like Gordon Gecko living up here. It gives me the creeps." He sighed. "Have you found anything worth buying yet?"
In the month since we had gotten engaged, life had managed to calm a bit. I had immersed myself in my new job while Brandon continued the long process of selling his stake in Sterling Ventures while he stepped up his campaign appearances. Overall, it had been good to have a bit of calm and normalcy while Brandon and I adjusted to our life as an engaged couple.
It only made sense, for instance, that I move in completely instead of putting my furniture in storage. But even that hadn't been a completely smooth process since Brandon, in his stubborn, misguided way, had hired movers to bring the rest of my furniture over, including the double-bed swapped out for the king we normally shared. It took three nights of sleeping with his feet hanging off the end and me elbowing him in the gut before Brandon finally conceded that his bed was superior.
I gave him a look that, even in the dim light, would clearly say, "Are you kidding?" I was currently putting in around sixty hours a week at Kiefer Knightly. When was I supposed to have time to house hunt?
In response, he just held up his hands in surrender.
"Sorry, sorry," he said. "Margie can do it. She has good taste."
"Didn't Margie choose this place?"
"Yeah. But that was because I told her, and I quote: 'Find me a place as heartless as I feel'." Brandon glanced up with an impish smile. "Too dramatic?"
I rolled my eyes. "A little. But I can't talk. I was literally a mad woman in the attic at about that point too."
Brandon sighed as he toyed with my engagement ring.
As calm as things had become, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were in the eye of a storm. Other changes were afoot. Primary season was kicking into gear, and Brandon had his first debate with the other five mayoral candidates of his party scheduled next month. His campaign staff frequently made house calls to the apartment in the evenings, and he had been splitting his time between divestiture negotiations in LA and Washington and the campaign headquarters in the bottom floor of Sterling Grove.
The trial was also moving forward. Zola had called three days ago to inform us that Messina had been arrested at last, and they were proceeding with the criminal charges. The arraignment was today, and despite Brandon's strong opinion that I leave it alone, I wanted to be there. The therapist I'd been seeing recently thought it was a good idea to face my attacker. I agreed, and so did Dad, who had been released from his program last week and was now living with Bubbe while he continued physical therapy for his hand and looked for a job.
I tried to push my hair off my face, but Brandon held tight to my hand, not yet willing to relinquish his hold.
"Just a few more minutes," he murmured, his eyes shuttering as he leaned into my fingers. "God, I love you."
I smiled. "I love you too. But if we're not going back to sleep, there are things to do before we leave."
Brandon groaned into my thigh. "Well, at least waking up in a cold sweat is good for something today."
Before I could answer, he heaved himself up, ab muscles flexing ostentatiously. I ogled him openly as he moved about the room, heading into the walk-in closet and coming back out dressed in his running gear.
