Branded (Fall of Angels #1)(83)

I’m no longer part of this family.

All I am is Dixie … a girl who so desperately wanted something better. Something worthwhile. Something she could be proud of.

I take a deep breath and lick my lips. The rain tastes like freshly mown grass and new beginnings.

Maybe it’s time to finally move on.

So I look up from the dull ground and focus on the sunlight breaking through the gray clouds. That’s when I notice him …

A man in a black suit, holding an umbrella in one hand and a crutch in the other as he stands behind a tree beyond the graveyard. When our eyes meet, he knows I know he’s there, but he doesn’t seem to care. Maybe he wants me to see that he’s here for me.

Always watching over me. Never too close to get in my way, but always near to remind me I’m not alone.

And even on this bleak, shrouded day, I smile.

He smiles back.





Chapter Thirty-Nine





Brandon



In her knee-length black dress, she walks down the gravel path, exiting the graveyard. I can’t stop looking at her. She’s just as beautiful as she was when I first met her all those years ago, if not more beautiful now that we’ve both grown up.

Our eyes connect again, and I feel inclined to look away, but I don’t. Something about her perfect face forces me to engage. It doesn’t allow me to walk away.

So I stand and wait as she walks to me with soft steps, almost as if she’s tentatively waiting for me to approach her too. But I stay put. It’s not my place to decide when the time is right.

She swallows, and I do too. My body feels jittery as though I’m supposed to run or do some stupid push-ups against the tree even though I have a fucking crutch. Does it look dumb? It probably does, but I need it to be able to stand although I wish I could chuck it in the bushes right now and make it disappear.

Damn, just looking at her smile makes me feel like a goddamn teenager again. The last time I felt this way was when she stepped into my papa’s shop for the first time and bought that awful shirt.

God, that feels like ages ago.

“Hey,” she murmurs when she’s in front of me.

I clear my throat. “Hey.”

“Are you visiting someone, or are you spying on me just for fun?” she asks, winking.

There’s only one reason I’m here, and that’s her.

But I don’t want to sound like a stalker even though I definitely am.

“I’m just your friendly neighborhood bodyguard,” I jest.

A cute, lopsided grin spreads on her lips. “Do I need a bodyguard?”

I smirk. Touché.

I don’t know why, but I felt compelled to be here as her father’s service ended. Like she needed me to be here so she could close that chapter once and for all without fear of losing everyone in her life. Even if she hates me, at least she still has that.

But being next to her, side by side, while they put her dad’s body in the ground seemed a bit too close. I only wanted her to know I was there and that she wasn’t alone in her misery.

I tug on my collar. “I came to give you this,” I say, pulling my pendant off and holding it out to her.

She blinks a couple of times. “I can’t take that,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s your papa’s pendant, right?”

I’m surprised she remembers. “My papa gave this to me after my ma died. In our family, it’s customary to give this to someone you want to protect,” I say, pushing it into her hand and closing her fingers over it. “I want you to keep it. Please.”

She looks up at me with those same innocent eyes I once saw when she stood in front of me in my papa’s shop, and all I can think about is how badly I want to kiss her pain away.

But my lips don’t have that kind of power.

A tentative smile edges her face. “I … don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” I reply, and we both look down at the ground, unable to look each other in the eyes. There’s so much I wanna say to her, but I don’t know where and if I should even start.

So I opt for the most important words of all. “I’m sorry.”

I can’t say it enough. No number of apologies will ever bring any of her family members back, but it’s a start.

Her chest rises and her nostrils flare as she takes in a breath as if she’s inhaling my words to the fullest. Then she nods a few times, licking her lips.

She doesn’t have to say anything. I should be the one to say all the words, but there aren’t enough in the dictionary to describe how sorry I am for putting her through all that anguish.

“I should’ve known my uncle was the culprit. I should’ve known you were speaking the truth. I should’ve—”

She puts a finger on my lips, and says, “Don’t. Just … don’t say anything please.”

I nod. Every word I utter fails to give her peace.

She has every right to be angry, and I won’t even attempt to take that emotion away from her. Nothing I do or say will erase what I’ve done.

So I grab her hand and press a soft kiss to the top before turning around and walking off with my umbrella held high while my head slumps. Not because of sadness or despair. It’s the guilt that weighs me down. The shame that drags me away from her.