Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High #4)(73)

“On it.” His footsteps pound along the pavement in the same second as he goes to make sure Zoey is taken farther away.

Away from the girl who gave her away.

Who didn’t want her.

How could she not want her?

My jaw is so tight I can hardly crank it open enough to speak. “Get the fuck out of here before I flip out and scare every person in this fucking place.”

“Talk to me,” she pleads, her palms on her stomach, where our daughter grew.

My eyes are glued to the soft pink fabric there, the same color my daughter is wearing today, and I can hardly fucking breathe.

“Just for a minute, a few seconds even. Please.” Her hands lift, and I follow.

The wind chooses that moment to blow her hair forward, and it whips me across the face, a scent I know well and wish I could forget.

“We can... go the other way, away from...” Her eyes slant, moisture building within them.

“Your tears won’t work with me, Mallory, but if it gets you away, fine,” I force past clenched teeth. “Turn around and walk until I tell you to stop.”

Her smile is weak, and she quickly walks backward, her eyes snapping over my head and hardening a moment before she spins and walks away.

I stand there, heaving, un-fucking-sure and gut twisted.

I look to Maddoc, who shakes his head urging me not to go, to Raven who glares after Mallory, her hands in fists, but I don’t look at Victoria.

I can’t, and I don’t even want to think about why.

I follow Mallory out.

I don’t yell for her to stop until we’re halfway into the parking lot, but she’s quick to whip around, big crocodile tears streaming down her face.

“I said your tears won’t work, so turn them off.”

“I can’t. I just...” Her eyes move behind me.

I growl, getting as close as I can without touching a single speck on her. “Stop fucking looking!”

She nods, her blue eyes coming back to mine. “How long have you had her?”

My chest caves at the question.

I’m standing here in front of the mother of my daughter, who apparently didn’t even know Zoey was finally where she belonged.

I should be screaming in her face, telling her what a piece of shit she is, and how she gave away the most precious person in the world, but looking at her...

The creaminess of her skin, the slope of her eyes, the small peak of her nose and soft crimson cheeks... the golden curls framing her face, and the way she keeps lifting her left hand to move them away.

Mine flies out, gripping onto her wrist to keep it still, because I can’t take it.

It’s too fucking hard.

Too fucking much.

I’m standing in front of the one person in the world I should hate more than any other, deep in my soul and with every fiber of my being, but looking at her all I see... is my daughter.

Our daughter.

Half her and half me.

Fuck.

I swallow, my hold on her tightening, shaking. “You’ve got a lot a nerve approaching us like that.”

“This is the last place I thought I’d see you. I was just… shocked.”

“I don’t care, you should have run the other way when you did.”

“You won’t hurt me, Captain,” she whispers, her free hand coming up to wrap around mine. “You’re good, even when you don’t want to be.”

“Stop,” I rasp through the burn in my throat. “What do you want?”

She swallows, a small smile lifting the corner of her lips, and she dares shuffle closer. “Can I say hello?”

“What the fuck?!” My head tugs back. “No. Fuck no. Are you crazy?”

She ignores me, and my pulse beats harder, the blue in her eyes bright and on mine. “What’s she like?”

I throw her hand away, yanking back with a shake of my head.

“Don’t.”

“Please.”

“Mallory,” I seethe, dragging my hands down my face before pinning her with a hard glare. “Go. Stay the fuck away from me. From all of us.”

I turn on my heels and rush off.

“You don’t have to tell her who I am!” she shouts.

I freeze, but I don’t turn around.

“You can say whatever you want. I won’t even speak.”

When I don’t immediately keep walking—why don’t I keep fucking walking?—she adds, “I can… be a stranger at the store or… something. Anything.”

I bite into my cheek, squeezing my eyes shut.

“I just want to look at her. Just once. Captain, please.”

My pulse beats heavy against my ribs, and my head throbs, an instant migraine forming.

My vision fogs, my mind is muddled, which must explain the stupidity that follows.

“You know my number,” I rasp when I shouldn’t.

She’d never dare to call.





My phone vibrates in my jeans twenty minutes into the drive, and again fifteen later, but I don’t pull it out.

Not a single word is spoken on the drive.

It helps that Zoey fell asleep within minutes of being on the road, but the silence plays as a broken whistle, forever screaming into my ears and threatening to blow the drums.