Chapter Fifty-Five

“You now know more about me than anyone else,” Braden says to me. “Anyone.”

My shoulders weigh—in a good way—with the knowledge of his statement. “You can trust me, Braden. All of your secrets are safe with me.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair. “I do trust you. More than you know.”

“More than I know?” I lift my eyebrows. “How can—”

He shoots his bourbon down his throat and groans. Then he regards me. Sternly. “This can’t continue.”

My heart plummets. Whatever he’s getting at, it can’t be good. “What?” I ask softly, my voice cracking.

“Reardon found my weakness. I went to him, threatened him, and instead of going after me, he went after you, Skye. My Achilles’ heel.”

I rise to go toward him, but he stops me with a gesture.

I drop my ass back into my chair. “Everyone has an Achilles’ heel, Braden.”

“I don’t.” He pours himself another finger of bourbon. “I can’t.”

No. This isn’t happening. Not after everything we’ve been through to be together. Not after he trusted me with his most guarded secrets.

No, damn it! No!

“Don’t you see?” He slams his glass down on the table. “I can’t keep you safe.”

“But you did keep me safe.”

“Because of circumstance. What if the doorman hadn’t texted me?”

“But he did.”

“Damn it, Skye!” He stands and hurls the glass against the wall.

I cower against the crash, against the tiny clear shards that rain onto the carpet. My heart is at once still yet beating thunderously. I feel… I feel…

I gather my will to say what needs to be said.

“You told me in the cornfield that there was only one master of control between us,” I say, my lips trembling. “You. You, Braden. You’re in control, and you protected me.”

“What if I can’t the next time?”

“Who says there’ll be a next time?”

“I was wrong,” he says. “I didn’t think anything could touch you. Touch us. I didn’t realize…”

“Didn’t realize what?” I urge.

“Even now, it surprises me how much I love you. How much I need you in my life. To be without you will be torture.”

I stand again, wanting—no, needing—to be near him. I tentatively reach forward. “You don’t have to be without me.”

“Don’t you get it?” He rubs furiously at his temple, as if easing a throbbing ache. “I have to let you go. I can’t take the chance—”

I close the distance between us and fall into him, resolving not to shed the tears that threaten. He thinks I’m the strongest woman he knows. Now is the time for me to prove him right.

“I won’t let you go,” I say against his chest. “I won’t. I refuse.”

“Oh, Skye…” He kisses the top of my head.

I ease back and meet his gaze. “We didn’t work this hard to be together just to have it torn away from us. By Beau Reardon? By Peter and Garrett? No way, Braden. I don’t accept this. Not for a fucking minute.”

“You don’t have a choice.” He shakes his head. “Neither of us does.”

“Bullshit.” I pound my fist on his chest. “If it would truly be torture to live without me, why would you subject yourself to that?”

“For your safety.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“What if I hadn’t come tonight?”

“You did.”

“Damn it! Fight fair, Skye.”

“Why should I? You’re not.”

He levels his gaze on me. “I always fight fair.”

“Not with me. It’s your way or the highway, always. Well, not tonight, Braden. We’re not in the bedroom at the moment, and this time I’m getting my way.”

My heart is beating like a hummingbird’s. Fast and twittery. I’m ready to go to battle for the man I love, even if he’s the one I’m fighting.

“I can’t lose you,” he says, his voice resigned. “Not like I lost her.”

His eyes are sunken, as if he’s resolved to his fate.

I curl my hands into fists, ready to win this war. “I’m not your mother, Braden.”

He sighs. “I know.”

“She made a choice. She chose you. I’m making that same choice. You want to condemn us both to torture without each other? I won’t let you.”

“I didn’t keep her safe,” he says into my hair. “I lost her.”

I pull back and grip his strong shoulders. “You were six years old, for God’s sake! Are you going to hold a child to some insurmountable standard?”

“Don’t you?”

Fair question, and one I wasn’t expecting. “No,” I say. “Absolutely not. My parents’ separation was not my fault.”

For the first time, I believe the words with all my heart. My journey is far from complete, but I’m moving forward. And with each step, I understand myself a little better.

“And your mother’s death was not your fault, Braden. It isn’t. It never was.”

He cups my cheek, then, running his thumb over my top lip.

“I won’t give you up,” I say. “You’ll protect me. And I’ll protect you. That’s how it is when you love someone. We both have an equal obligation to each other.” I cover his hand with my own.

What seems like an eternity passes between us, our gazes locked. Braden doesn’t cry, but his eyes are glazed over with what I suspect are unshed tears.

I hold my own tears back—for him, and also for me.

Finally, he smiles. It’s weak, but it’s a smile. “I’ll never truly control you, will I?”

I move forward and brush my lips against his stubbled cheek. “Braden, did you ever honestly believe you would?”