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“But—”
“No.” Sloane put a hand on Bree’s arm, barely making contact. “No buts. He does. You can be mad all you want, but you can’t doubt that.”
Gavin watched, completely poleaxed, as Bree’s lips softened from a scowl to a tremble. “I don’t. It’s just…”
She hesitated, and in that moment, Sloane slid back out of the way so Bree could look at him, unimpeded. Fresh tears coursed down her face, and even through all the emotion running rampant in his head, he had the urge to cut the conversation off in order to protect her.
But instead, he listened.
“It makes me mad. I keep telling you I’m not a baby anymore, but you treat me like one anyway.” Her breath sobbed out of her, but she continued in a torrent as if she’d been suddenly uncorked and spilled hard. “I hate being the new kid, the different kid. The kid with no mom. I just want to be normal, like everybody else. But I can’t. I can’t change any of that stuff, and I don’t…I don’t…”
She choked out another sob, and Gavin’s feet moved before his brain commanded them to. He covered the steps between them without breathing, only exhaling after Bree let him pull her close.
“I don’t know how to be normal anymore,” she cried into his shirt. “Everything’s so backward and weird, and nothing feels right without Mom. All this stuff keeps happening without her, like you making omelets and me getting my stupid period, but it’s all so different without her here. I hate it. Ihateit. I don’t want to change! I want her back.” She shook in the cradle of his arms, and as much as her weeping ripped at him, he refused to let go.
At the very least, he could protect her in this.
“Okay.” Gavin repeated the word until he lost count of how many times he’d spoken it, his earlier anger completely obliterated by the need to erase the hurt sawing out from Bree’s lungs in cries so deep, they belied her size. God, how had he missed the level of her grief? How could he have not seen all this hurt that was so clearly in front of his face?
She’d been right here in front of him the whole time. He should’ve known.
“Bree, listen,” he said, pulling back to look at her only after her sobs had subsided into intermittent hitches of breath. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you felt this way. Well, not like this, anyway.” Christ, even now he was botching this. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Bree shook her head and wiped her face with the back of one hand. “I was mad at you. We were a family, but then you left, and you didn’t come back until Mom got sick. I didn’t want to tell you anything private because I thought you’d just leave again anyway. I thought she’d get…better…and you’d go back to Chicago…”
She paused for a shaky breath. “But then she didn’t. And then after she died, you were busy with the grown-up stuff, like bills and work, and I thought you’d think I was weird because I was still sad.”
“You think I’m not still sad about Mom?” Gavin stared at her, unable to say anything else.
Bree hesitated, then eked out a tiny nod. “You just seemed so normal, so calm. And then you were at work a lot, like nothing had ever happened. So, I felt weird that I still missed her so much.”
“I think about Mom every day,” he insisted. “No matter what it looks like.” God, all those hours he’d spent researching his mother’s treatment plans before she died, the mind-numbing details he’d had to sort through to plan her funeral—not to mention all the times he’d walked out the door to go to work just to get away from his grief for a couple of hours—Bree had been stuffing her own grief down the whole time.
It had been well over a year since he’d come back from Chicago. Over ayearof her thinking he didn’t care.
And he hadn’t realized how deep her distress was.
Brand-new tears tracked over the light smattering of freckles on her cheeks. “I didn’t know how to tell you the part about, you know. Wanting to be like everybody else. It’s embarrassing, and I feel stupid. It’s hard to be normal without a mom.”
“None of that is stupid. I wish you’d told me.” Gavin brushed a hand over her face and forced strength into his voice. “I know it’s not ideal. I know I’m not Mom.” He swallowed hard over the understatement. “But, you’re right. If I’d listened better, I might have been able to help you with some of this.”
Bree sniffled. “I shouldn’t have said what I did about you taking me in.” She dropped her head, her words threaded through with emotion. “I know you love me.”
“I do love you, Bree. But it’sbecauseI love you that I do what I do.” He worked up a small, self-deprecating smile. “I know it doesn’t always feel like it, but I really do have your best interests at heart. It’s my job to take care of you. And that includes keeping you safe and making decisions that you’re not ready to make yet, even if you don’t like what I decide.”
Bree furrowed her brow. “Like whether or not I need a babysitter?”
Every cell in Gavin’s body froze, and he whipped his head toward the spot where Sloane had stood—God, had that only been twenty minutes ago?
But it was empty.
He blinked back at Bree, who was clearly waiting for an answer. Discovering Sloane’s whereabouts would have to wait.
“That’s one thing, yes. It’s not that I think you can’t take care of yourself. It’s just that a lot could happen while you’re here alone, including you just being lonely. And I don’t want that.”
Her lips parted. “I thought you didn’t trust me.”
“You’ve got to admit, kiddo, some of the things you did before we left the city didn’t argue well for you in the trust department.”
