He follows me with his eyes as I roam the room.
“I hope they die a painful death. I hope they lose someone and it hurts so bad they can’t fucking breathe. I hate them, Fenton,” I bite out, spinning around and looking at him. “I despise them.”
He swallows hard. “I can understand that. Of course they’re to blame.”
“Absolutely. If it weren’t for their carelessness and heartlessness, my brother wouldn’t be God knows where with guns pointed at his head right now.” The image skates through my mind and the tears form once again. “He doesn’t deserve this.”
My sight blurs and I drop my phone on the floor. Fenton is to me in a split second, scooping me up in his arms. I rest my head on his shoulder and cry.
“Shh,” he whispers, nuzzling my face with his head. “Shh, rudo.”
“I have to have him back,” I choke out through the tears. “This is destroying my family, especially my mother. I think she’s going to have a nervous breakdown or a heart attack. It’s impossible to live a normal life knowing he’s over there . . .”
We enter the bedroom and he lays me on the bed. He doesn’t break contact, just angles me so he can slide in behind me. We lie there in silence, me crying, Fenton rubbing my back, my arm, smoothing my hair.
Once I calm down, he kisses my cheek, letting his lips press against my skin for a moment longer than necessary.
“Do you need to go home?” he asks.
I turn over to look at him. His face is etched with concern, his eyes trying to figure out mine. But this time he won’t because I can’t figure them out myself. “No. There’s nothing I can do there. I just . . . I want to be here with you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m happy I got this call while I was with you. You just . . . you make it a little easier. Just knowing you’re here.”
His smile is forced, the lines around his eyes deep. I remember he was dealing with something too, before I got my call.
“Are you all right? You got a call . . .”
His eyes flutter closed for a brief moment. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will,” I say, trying hard to smile.
He jerks the blankets up over our bodies and turns me around so I face the wall.
“We’ve had a long day. Let’s get some sleep,” he whispers.
“Maybe we can have lunch by the pool tomorrow,” I say, sleep settling over my brain quickly. The crying was the nail in the coffin and I can’t keep my eyes open.
Fenton responds, but I can’t focus on his words. I just settle in, finding a rhythm in the beating of his heart, and force myself to think about boats and kisses.
Something shakes me. I groan and turn away after a night of letting the demons that come around in the darkness have a party in my brain.
“Brynne. Wake up.”
The voice sounds far away. It’s too soft to make out exactly. It’s too much work to try to open my eyes or to figure out what’s happening, so I drift back off again.
Pressure descends on my thigh and I’m tussled back and forth.
I drag my eyes open and wipe the sleep out of them. They’re swollen from a night of intermediate crying and sobbing and my head has a dull throb of what I fear is the start of a banging migraine.
Fenton, fresh from the shower, is bent over me. As I allow my pupils to adjust to the light, I breathe him in. He smells like cotton and musk and my senses are enveloped by the comfort it brings.
“Good morning,” he whispers, running his hand down the side of my face. I lean into his touch, his warmth.
“Morning. What time is it?”
“It’s early, just seven o’clock.”
“I thought you had a meeting?”
He takes a deep breath and holds it a long second before releasing it in a heavy huff. “I did, but it got rescheduled. I have the jet on the runway waiting on us in an hour.”
I scramble to sit up, to knock the fog out of my head. My stomach plummets when I remember the disastrous night before—my parents, Brady, Fenton’s call. I remember him carrying me to bed and holding me throughout the night. When I fell asleep, we’d discussed what we would do today.
What changed?
“I know I planned on a staying a couple more days,” he says, his voice trembling with a hint of uncertainty, “I just think it’s best we get back now.”
“Okay.” I don’t say anything more. I feel whipped, completely defeated in every sense of the word. Being here with him was the distraction I needed and now it’s over. I’m Cinderella and the clock has struck midnight. I’ve gone from being happy, in a complete dream, to being thrust back into the vile real world in one fell swoop.
“Don’t look like that,” he says, lifting my chin with his finger. I can see the hesitancy written all over his handsome face, the way he seems to be giving me room or taking some for himself. Whichever way, it stings.
“We both have a lot happening right now,” he says, “and I need to be at the office handling this. And you probably want to be with your family too, right?”