Chapter Nineteen

Brielle

I turn as far away from him as I possibly can, unwilling to let him witness the raw pain of rejection filling my eyes.

Humiliating enough that I put myself out there and got stomped on, I lament in my head, even as I am fighting to keep tears from escaping and coursing down my cheeks. But after the way he acted the day that we met I really should not have been surprised.

I lean my head until it rests on the window that I just rolled up and watch the world outside pass by in a blur of misshapen colors.

That is, until I begin to feel seasick, and then I close my eyes and let the tears fall at will, making sure I stay silent.

Be rational for just a minute. He never said never, Bri, just not while you have someone stalking you. Don’t you remember what he said to you in your kitchen?

I do, my wounded heart rails back silently against the logical voice in my head, every word of it. But that sure as hell doesn’t seem to matter much now, does it?

When we stop in to pick up the groceries that Pete pre-ordered, I take advantage of Allen being distracted to move further back in the minivan again, if for no other reason than to physically distance myself from the amazing man who has just rejected me out of hand.

When Allen is finished stowing our food in the back, he retakes the driver’s seat, then looks back at me. Fortunately, I have already wiped my face to rid myself of any tell-tale evidence of my mini meltdown.

Without a word, I lean my head back and close my eyes, shutting him out of my view. I hear him sigh, then start the engine, and the gentle sway as we get back on the road lulls me into a fitful sleep.

***

At some point, I become aware of a strong hand with a feather-light touch shaking my shoulder.

“We’re here,” he says, and I come awake with a start, my fight-or-flight instincts in full swing before I remember that I am in ‘the clunker’ with a man that once said he wanted me but evidently did not mean it.

I brush his hand aside and climb out of the minivan under my own power, then move to the rear to grab my suitcase with my left hand and three plastic grocery bag loops with my right.

“Lead the way,” I tell him, and hate myself for the ‘queen bitch of the universe’ quality to my voice.

Allen raises his eyebrows but does not speak, moving ahead of me to unlock the door instead.

“You can have the bedroom, I’ll take the couch,” he mutters as he swings the door open for me then retreats to the Caravan to bring in the rest of the food.

I straighten my shoulders to mask my disappointment, set the three grocery bags on the counter, and head down the tiny hallway to the single bedroom in the place.

I dawdle for as long as I can, putting my clothes away in the dresser, until at last only my bathroom items are left. These I set on top of the dresser, reasoning that the bathroom probably has limited counter space.

You can do this, the primal self-preservation part of me that kicked in hard immediately after Tony comes slithering forward and whispers to me. Just stuff it back down. No muss, no fuss. Quite simple, really - just slip your mask back on and keep going.

But as I look in the mirror that hangs on the wall over the simple wooden chest of drawers and see my pale, drawn face staring back at me, I know the truth.

Allen Jones has awakened something in me that I thought had been destroyed all those years ago – hope -and nothing will ever be quite so simple again.

Allen

I watch as she brushes past me to step into the cabin, no emotion on her face, before I turn to get the rest of the food unloaded and brought inside.

Nice work. You just blew it with her – again - even if you were trying to make the right choices.

“Dammit,” I mumble to myself. “If she would just listen…”

I trail off, realizing what needs to happen, but hardly believing it. I need to come clean about the first time we met – be completely honest, about all of it - and hope that Brielle doesn’t decide to walk away for good.

I carry the rest of the bags into the cabin and focus on putting our groceries away, letting my brain drift for a while.

When all the bags are empty and she still hasn’t reappeared, I pull out my cell phone and check for messages.

There are two new ones.

Marlon was not able to pull any prints from the treehouse. Still working on voice analysis – Pete.

Dammit, I think to myself. I need at least something about this case to move forward in a positive way.

The one from Mark makes me laugh.

I think they got bored and went home! LOL.

I glance up at the closed bedroom door just down the little hall, and sigh.

Cook her something, pops into my head. Brielle will at least come out of there long enough to eat, and maybe you can talk to her.

A smile comes to my lips as I open the fridge again to retrieve what I need.

***

Forty minutes later, I am knocking on my own cabin’s bedroom door.

“How do you like your steak?” I call out to her anyway when she ignores me and does not open the door.

“Medium well,” Brielle finally answers, and I punch a fist up in the air because even hearing her voice again feels like a huge win.

The next twenty minutes or so I spend putting the finishing touches on the meal. I pull the casserole dish of au gratin potatoes out of the oven, then head back outside to flip the steaks.

When I come back in with the steaks, hers a perfect medium well and mine medium, I stop short. Brielle has ventured out into the open living room/kitchen combination and is watching me.

“It smells good in here,” she admits in a casual tone that offsets the storm leaving shadows in the green eyes I adore.

“Have a seat,” I gesture to the two-person table, and she does. I move her steak to a new plate, scoop up some potatoes to go along with it, and carry her meal and the salt and pepper over to her.

“Thanks,” Brielle says listlessly, never taking her eyes off me.

“Something to drink?”

“Water’s fine, thanks,” I get in return, every syllable brimming with aloof detachment.

Once the glasses are on the table, I fill my plate and join her there. Silence reigns supreme as we eat, and when the plates are emptied again, I reach past mine to take her hand.

My heart flutters at the contact, and I know she feels it too when she gasps and blinks rapidly. But she does not shrink back from me, and I take that as a good sign.

“I haven’t been honest with you about the first time we met,” I say earnestly, and feel her body tense.

She closes her eyes and sighs, a deep exhale that underscores the exhaustion suddenly evident on her face.

“Allen, I really don’t want to do this with you anymore.”

“Just hear me out, Brielle. Please,” I beg her, and wait until the tiniest nod from her gives me permission to continue.

“I used to be married. Her name was Mary, and she was my entire world,” I reveal, and notice that Brielle has opened her eyes and is watching me again.