Page 67 of Forever Fighting
BRAELYN
I’m crying and I don’t know why. In the last two weeks, I think I’ve cried more than I ever have in my life, and that’s a whole other thing that’s freaking me out. I’m sitting on the toilet with my face in my hands, trying desperately to hide my sobbing, and when that fails, I get in the shower—the inside one this time—and cry in here.
I don’t have my phone with me, but I could really use a phone-a-friend moment. One where I freak out and they listen and tell me it’s going to be okay. That life changes on a dime for all of us and that I have to believe the course it’s charting now will take me somewhere incredible.
I have to believe that because otherwise I’ll never stop crying.
Him calling me “my sexy girl.” His finger in my ass. Safe words. Being spanked. His hand on my throat. All the things we just did replay through my head, and I can’t… Jesus, I don’t know how to make sense of it.
Maybe it’s thewhat did I just dothing or the odd cocktail of endorphins and happiness when that happiness absolutely terrifies me. I thought I was happy with Adam. I thought thingswere great between us. I would have blindly and dumbly married him. How could I have felt so absolute with that two weeks ago and now have everything feel different?
How can I trust myself after that? It’s not even how can I trust men because I trust Roman. Maybe that scares me too because I just had the best, most intense sexual experience of my life with my best friend, but how can he still be my best friend after we did all that? How can I suddenly start to see him differently than I ever have before when I’ve known him literally my entire life?
Is it some strange form of grief or rebound? Or am I finally opening my eyes and looking at what’s been right in front of me all along? Then I almost laugh. Roman doesn’t date women. He doesn’t get serious. Not with anyone.
Is this different?
Am I ready to ask that question and learn his answer, whether it’s yes or not?
I wish I hadn’t married him. I glance down at the sparkling ring still on my finger. I haven’t taken it off. I’m worried I’ll lose it, and he hasn’t taken his off. I don’t know what any of that means. I wish we could have a fresh start and it wouldn’t be complicated from the start.
Ugh. I’m a mess. Again.
Just fucking fabulous.
I give myself a quick wash and step out of the shower so I can brush my hair and get my shit back on straight. My stomach rumbles, and I have no clue what time it is. It could be seven or midnight.
I get into my robe and leave the bathroom to find the bedroom dark and empty. I throw on clean undies and a soft, wireless bra, along with a pair of cotton shorts and my favorite old college T-shirt. Then I woman up and go in search of Roman. And food, let’s be real.
He’s out on the patio, on the edge between the rock gardenfull of flowering plants and the dark wall of sand and ocean beyond it. His short hair is barely rustling in the breeze, and his profile is bothered. Food sits untouched on the table with metal covers on the plates. My friend is troubled. Unsettled. It’s not something he wears well. He buries it deep within himself like an artifact after a sandstorm.
My heart thunders. I have a choice. Embrace the possibility or pretend everything we just shared didn’t happen. Only I know I can’t do the latter. Because I am seeing Roman in an entirely different way and it began before tonight. He’s a rare and special gem. The kind you only uncover once in a lifetime and only see all the facets if you look closely enough.
Otherwise, you see what everyone else sees. The gorgeous face. The tall, muscular body. The tattoos. The brilliance in the kitchen. The broodiness. The fierce boxer.
But he’s Roman. The soft-hearted, will protect you with his life and will do whatever it takes to make you smile while he dominates your ass until you’re screaming for him guy.
All that aside, I don’t know if I’m ready for what this could be.
Sucking in the shakiest of shaky breaths, I cross the stone patio, past the pool that’s glowing until I’m behind him. I know he hears me because his shoulders tense, but I shock the hell out of him by wrapping my arms around his chest from behind and resting the side of my face against his back.
I don’t say anything. I’m not quite up for that. This is still new, and I’m still raw, and I’m still afraid of, well, everything, if we’re being honest. But his body relaxes into mine in a way that draws a smile to my lips and a skip to my heart.
His hands cover mine that are pressed against his chest, our rings clinking against each other, and he releases a tense breath. The kind I wish didn’t ever find its way to his lungs.
“You were crying.”
I lean deeper into him. “I wish you hadn’t heard that.”
“Did I push you too far? Was it too much? Did I hurt you?”
His question almost makes me laugh, though the panic and torment in his voice shatter any mirth before it can form. “No. Not even close.”
“Braelyn, I went easy.”
“I figured.”
He threads his fingers through mine, squeezing them. “But you were still crying.”
