Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High #4)(87)

I could easily go down to get Maddoc, but I won’t wake up Raven when I know she’s having an even harder time sleeping than normal.

They’d both be pissed if they knew I even paused for such a reason.

I decide to text Royce, asking where he’s at and he sends back a single word.

Royce: out.

I sigh, toss my phone to the floor and tug at my hair.

He’s pissed and I am such a dick.

I replay the day, and it’s not the disappointment or anger I expected that I get stuck on. A second round of burning abandonment eats at me as I remember the way Victoria laughed when I admitted I messed up painting Zoey’s nails and had to try again.

It was so soft, even her eyes smiled as if she could picture it or wished to, like she wanted to be there to see it.

I bet she’d have recorded the sight rather than try and step in to do it herself.

Forcing my thoughts to keep moving, my mind goes to the long drive I took with a sleeping Zoey in the back seat. Only then do I realize it’s the same one I took Victoria on.

I was chasing the comfortable silence she gave me, the sense of ease and clear mind she provided. Having her beside me erased the millions of thoughts that were plaguing me only minutes before.

Zoey was home safe with my family, and my girl was safe with me.

My girl?

My lungs deny me a breath as guilt eats at my betrayal like a feast for the wicked, tearing at my insides and reaching for the gut, the one part of me I’ve always been able to follow. To trust as I was taught, but everything that’s happened lately was a result of my decision.

My instincts left me blind.

Nothing Victoria did was to harm.

Victoria changed my world when she left those hospital records for me to find, and then she came into it and changed it again and again, for the good and then the bad, and the truth followed and with it I was struck.

I am struck.

She was loyal to me when she had no reason to be.

The second the thought hits, a heavy sense of desperation floods my veins, and I’m on my feet pacing.

What the fuck did I do?

I need her.

Her hands and her skin and smile, her glare and the bratty little attitude she loves to give when she’s pushing back.

I want her to push back.

I want her.

My feet carry me to her bedroom, and I lay my knuckle against the wood of her door, slowly pushing it open.

The light of the moon is a little brighter than normal tonight and peeking through the edge of the curtain. It hits the chandelier above just right, illuminating her figure beneath the comforter I picked out for her, in the bed that I put together myself because I trusted no one else to do it right.

Her chest rises, wrestling the sheets and alerting me she’s awake, that she knows I’m standing here in her doorway.

As I grow closer, she shifts to lie flat on her back, the blankets moving with her and falling a bit from her body.

My left knee hits the mattress first, and I climb up along her body, between her open legs until my palms are flat beside her shoulders.

I can see her face now.

She watches me, a softness in her eyes I don’t see often, but the slight lift of her lips is sorrow-filled, and the pain cuts into my own skin.

Every night she waits up for me, expecting nothing and accepting the little I give, and I gave even more to a girl who wasn’t her.

My hands start at her ribs, gently sweeping along her top and down her naked thighs until I can reach behind her knee. I tug, bringing it up to my side, my eyes closing as the heat of her blends with mine, bringing her core closer.

I dip my head, slowly kissing along her collarbone, and her chest inflates sparking a fire in my own.

My hand comes up, fingertips trailing the length of her arms and up over her shoulder until I can grip her neck.

I pull my head back, kissing her chin, and then the corners of her mouth, and I freeze there.

Her shuddered breath has my eyes peeling open, and finally her palms land flat on my chest.

I drop my forehead to hers, soaking in the feel of her.

When her fingertips curl, my hands sink into her hair and I do what I’ve wanted for so fucking long.

I tip her mouth to mine, my lips falling onto the softest fucking pillows— “I lied before,” she breathes.

My eyes fly open, our mouths touching.

Raw sorrow washes over her and I’d swear a cloud of moisture sneaks into the deep, hypnotic brown of her gaze.

Her hand leaves my chest, sliding along my arm until it’s tethered with the one in her hair.

My fist tightens, and I press against her, but then she pulls it back, taking mine with her and cold hard dread seeps into me.

Her eyes avoid mine, seeking out the night surrounding us as she repeats in a whisper, “I lied before... I’m not okay with pretending to be her.”

Ice.

My body turns to ice, stuck, fucking frozen.

I try to pull her to me, but the hand she left on my chest plays as a barrier, pushing me away.

The dark of the night aches behind her words, coating my throat, threatening to suffocate me.

“What… no. Beauty, no—”

She shakes her head, and then the light hits just right, capturing the tear that falls from her eye, and I fly from the mattress, toppling over my own feet and almost falling to my ass.

The knob of her door stabs me in the ribs as I stumble into it, my back hitting the frame as I race backward from her room on unsteady feet.