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I’m finally home.
And Brandon Dixon is the first person who’s given that to me.
* * *
Brandon passed out as soon as he pulled the blankets over us and never moved again. Not while I figured my shit out. Not as the late afternoon sun faded and the silvery glow of the moonlight slipped into the room. Not when I rolled over and pressed a kiss to his chest. Or when he rolled over and I wrapped an arm around his lean waist and let my fingers trace the sexy muscles beneath his ribs. But the minute I press my lips to his bare back, his breathing changes. And as I moved the tips of my fingers gently over the raised skin there, Brandon’s entire body goes rigid.
His back is covered in raised, white scars, barely visible in the moonlight. Little circles. Similar sizes. My fingers circle each one before I press my lips against them.
Someone hurt him.
These aren’t the kind of scars you get from an accident. They’re too similar. They’re... “Brandon...”
“Don’t, Ashlyn.” He stops me in a clipped tone. No room for question. But he doesn’t turn over. Doesn’t face me. “Don’t pity me.”
“I don’t,” I whisper. If anything, I understand. “Who hurt you?”
He doesn’t answer me or look at me, so I wrap an arm around his chest and rest my chin on his shoulder. There’s no way I’m about to let this man ice me out. Not now. “How about I don’t pity you if you don’t pity me?”
After another long minute, he rolls over slowly and gathers me in his arms. I drape my arm over his chest until I can feel the strong, steady beat of his heart, and my mind drifts back to our time in the elevator. “Abuse comes in so many forms. Not all of them are visible, big guy,” I whisper. “I can’t stand being stuck in an elevator because whenever I had a bad practice or a bad performance, my coach locked me in a closet for hours. Sometimes days.”
When his muscles tighten beneath me, I lay my palm flat on his chest. “Your turn.”
“We’re coming back to that,” he promises as his chest rises up on a long inhale. “I started sleeping on the floor in front of Maddie’s door when I was little. I’m not even sure how old I was. It was just something I always did. Before I even understood what they wanted, I knew the men my mom brought home wanted something from my sister they shouldn’t want. It got worse when we started bouncing between foster families. Maddie got older, and the way those sick fucks looked at her got more obvious. I don’t think I slept on a bed until I was in college. It worked most of the time. But we had this one foster father...”
His words trail off, lost in thought, and I wait.
Too scared to push.
Not wanting him to close up, now that he’s finally sharing.
His fingers move in my hair, and I tilt my head back to look up at him.
“Eventually, we got moved into the last house either of us would have to live in. That family turned out to be the best one we ever had. Thank fucking God. I’m not sure I’d have ever left Maddie and gone to college if it wasn’t. That one was safe enough. But it was the house before that. The one we moved to right before I started high school. We weren’t there long, but it was enough.”
His voice changes. As if he’s back there again instead of here with me.
“I was a big kid, buthewas bigger. A grown fucking man, preying on kids. Didn’t matter though because I was fighting forher. Protectingmyfamily. That kind of thing gives you a strength you don’t know you have. He tried hitting me, but I hit back.” Brandon swallows then adds, “That’s when he tried other shit. The scars are from cigarettes. But at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. He never fucked with Maddie again. That was all that mattered.”
Tears slip down my cheeks, and I press my lips to his chest, right above his heart.
He’s baring his soul to me.
Maybe one day, I’ll be strong enough to give him that too.
ASHLYN
It’s chilly outside Saturday morning when I walk down to the teak lounge chairs we have beside the lake with my coffee in hand. My favorite, soft, cashmere throw is wrapped around my shoulders. Goosebumps pepper my legs, and I curse myself for not changing out of my sleep shorts. Then I look out over the lake and take my first deep breath of crisp air and relax.
This view,right here, is why I finally bought this house. It’s like a perfect painting come to life, especially now. It’s early enough that the fog still rolls in off the lake in a soft, dewy haze. The leaves have started falling, but some still cling to the trees in vibrant yellows and burnt orange. And the waterfalls are perfect. They play a calming soundtrack which relaxes me instantly.
It’s my little piece of heaven. My haven. And I love it.
I left Brandon sleeping in my bed after losing track of how many times we reached for each other into the early hours of the morning. My body aches in that sinfully delectable way that only comes from the perfect kind of overuse, and I’m loving that too. I think it’s safe to say I may never want to sleep alone again.
Wait, that’s not true.
I tuck my feet up under myself and open my journal.
