She was lowered to the couch, and Brandon disappeared somewhere. Without a word, he returned with a box of tissues, which she accepted. Without looking at him, because how pathetic was she? She went through about five tissues before coming up for air, then reached for another because she still wasn’t ready to look at him yet.
How had she allowed herself to act this way? How did years of practice and stone-cold emotions erode in one evening?
“Need something to drink?” Brandon asked in a low voice. Quiet and comforting. Cautious.
Stella shook her head and yanked another tissue out of the box. “I’m sorry,” she told him.
Brandon tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, allowing his hand to linger on her face. “For what? Being human?”
Stella snorted and toyed with her wadded tissue. “This isn’t human,” she argued. “This is the funeral scene from Steel Magnolias.”
Brandon was silent for a moment. “I won’t pretend to know what that means.”
She laughed, despite the uncontrollable garden hose spewing from her eyes. “Most men don’t.” She pulled in a shuddering breath. “I hate her,” she whispered.
Brandon put an arm around her shoulders and ran his fingers through her hair. “No, you don’t.”
“You have a really annoying habit of trying to tell me how I feel,” she shot back.
“Not trying to overstep bounds or anything,” he reassured. “But you wouldn’t be this upset if you hated her. You’re this upset because you love her.”
She blew out a breath, thankful the waterworks had finally subsided. Her eyes were dry, but the rest of her felt carved out and hollow. “I guess you’re right.” Brandon’s arm along the back of the couch, cradling her head, felt good. Comforting and strong and solid. The perfect juxtaposition to her life. And how ironic was that? A man who was all wrong for her in every way represented everything she’d spent her life looking for. She sounded like a living synopsis for a Nicholas Sparks movie.
“Does she know?” Brandon asked, voice low and deep.
“Does she know my love/hate relationship with her?”
He chuckled, which rumbled deep in his chest. “Smart-ass. Does she know she brought a man into your life who took advantage of you?”
Stella continued to shred the tissue in her hands. “She does now,” she answered, remembering their earlier confrontation. The confusion and hurt in her mother’s eyes. Stella’s regret over her outburst and finding it so easy to talk to her own mother that way. What kind of daughter did that? Moisture welled in her eyes again, reminding Stella she was a long way from self-awareness.
Brandon’s arms tightened around her shoulders. “Don’t do that again.”
“Do crying women make you uncomfortable?” she queried. Even though she doubted much of anything made Brandon West uncomfortable.
“Depends on what they’re crying about,” he answered. “But you?” He gave her hair a playful tug. “Makes me uncomfortable as hell.”
Instinctively, Stella pulled away but Brandon’s arm tightened on her shoulder, preventing her escape. His nose nuzzled her hair. “Don’t think you need to hide from me, Stella. Seeing you cry makes me want to comfort you. All my chivalrous instincts come out, but if I put my hands on you, we both know where it’ll lead.”
“But you’re putting your hands on me now,” she pointed out.
He grunted some noncommittal answer and pulled her tighter. His heartbeat sure and even beneath his chest contradicting the up and down of her own heart.
“He never raped me,” she blurted. Because, for some reason, she needed him to know.
“You don’t have to tell me about it, Stella,” Brandon said.
But she needed to. Didn’t he realize she’d never be able to move forward until she forced herself to confront it?
“It’s okay,” she pressed. “But I need you to know that he never forced himself on me like that.”
Brandon turned to look at her. “Any kind of force on a woman is too far,” he told her. “I don’t care what kind of contact it is. Force is force.”
She nodded, understanding his logic and feeling her insides melt at the fierceness in his eyes. “The first time it happened, I was shocked. So shocked that I thought someone was playing a practical joke on me. Because something like that couldn’t be real, right?” she asked Brandon as though he had the answer. The muscle in his jaw ticked. “At first I tried to play along with him when he’d ‘accidentally’ touch me. But then his advances became bolder, cornering me in the kitchen and slipping his hand under my shirt, telling me that my mom wouldn’t care.”
More tears leaked out, as Stella remembered the paralyzing fear of a man twice her size, knowing he could overpower her with little effort. Not having a clue how to fend him off or protect herself. So she’d stood there while he’d breathed heavily in her ear, touching her breast with one hand and stroking himself with the other. A shudder trickled through her body. “After a few times I started staying the night at a friend’s house. I don’t think my mom even noticed I was gone.”
Brandon cursed under his breath. “How old were you?”
Stella swallowed to quench her dry throat. “Fifteen.”
He abruptly stood from the couch, leaving her cold and missing his solid weight next to her. “And you never told anyone?”
“What was I supposed to say? That my mom’s boyfriend cops feels on me in the kitchen and I stand there and let him?”
Brandon loomed over her and gripped her shoulders. “You tell someone that you’re being molested by a sick bastard who deserves to have his dick sawed off.”
She gazed into his eyes, seeing the fury and retribution she’d always longed to see from her mother. “Why are you so angry?”
“Because I want to kill him, Stella.” He gave her a gentle shake. “I want to slowly take him apart for destroying you like that. It’s because of him you don’t like to be touched, isn’t it?”
After that, any time a man got close she’d automatically think about Terry and his sour breath on her neck while he got off on touching her. Eventually the memories had prevented her from being able to get close to anyone. The thought of any person invading her personal space or putting a hand on her made her want to throw up.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Then, yeah, I want to fucking kill him.”
“That’s”—she shook her head, trying to find the right words—“just about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He drew back at her response and gave her a puzzled look. “Sweet?” he echoed.
Her mouth turned up, despite the heaviness of the conversation. “Yeah. No one’s ever stuck up for me like that before.” She lifted her shoulders. “It’s kind of nice.”
Brandon plowed his hands through his hair, then pinned her with a look. “You have to talk to her.”
Stella shook her head, knowing who he was talking about. “I can’t.” When he looked unconvinced, she went on. “You don’t know her. She won’t understand.”
Brandon stalked forward, then squatted in front of her. “It doesn’t matter if she understands. You have to tell her for you. You’ll never be able to put it behind you if you don’t open up about it.”