11. Brady

11

Brady

P anting, I press my forehead to Lanie's, and stare at her pretty face beneath the moonlight. I fucked her twice today, and dammit, my dick is still inside her, snug and warm after the perfect orgasm and I already want her again.

"I've never had sex on one of these lounge chairs before," she murmurs, and I shift to keep the bulk of my weight off her.

"Glad to hear that."

"Now who's the one who sounds jealous," she teases.

I laugh. "I'm surprised we didn't break the damn thing." I slowly inch out of her, and miss her warmth as I stand. We'd haphazardly tossed our clothes everywhere when we stripped and jumped into the pool just before I ravished her. Now she crosses her arms as I reach for the pool side towel and wrap her in one, using the other to wipe between her legs. She quivers as I gently clean her up.

Once done, we both dress. Instead of leaving and locking up, she sinks back into the lounge chair, zero urgency about her even though I know she's tired. Unable to help myself, I bend and kiss her.

"Thank you," she whispers, her palm cupping my face and I lean into her touch.

As my insides quiver, fearing I might be getting in deep with this woman, I blow her off with a joke. "There you go thanking me again."

She goes quiet, contemplative, and I'm about to ask what's on her mind when she speaks.

"I owe you an apology."

"Are you kidding me? The sex was phenomenal. You don't owe me an apology for anything and I'm the one who owes you a thank you for getting naked with me."

She sits up, and I put my legs on either side of the chair and drop into it, facing her. She blinks several times and I sense a new kind of vulnerability, a nervousness about her. My throat constricts as I wait for her to elaborate.

She finally breaks the quiet, her body tensing. "No, Brady. I owe you an apology for this afternoon. You asked me a serious question, and I brushed you off. That wasn't right of me." I draw in a breath as she runs her fingers up and down my arm, the seriousness about her sending warning messages to my brain. "I just don't like to talk about my past."

"You don't have to."

"I know." She glances up, and I follow her gaze, staring at the stars twinkling overhead. "I think I might want to."

Her body begins to shake and I don't think it's from the night air. I move closer and put my hands on her legs as she crosses them. "Okay."

"You and me," she begins. "We're not so different. I used to think we were complete opposites, but not so much anymore."

"Is that why you always avoided me? You thought we were too different?"

"Yes and no." She glances past my shoulders, staring into the dark of the night. "I avoided you because I'm not looking for a relationship."

"Right, which is why we're banging and poking," I tell her quickly as she focuses back in on me. "I'm not looking for more, either," I continue, just in case she thinks I might be falling for her or something.

She nods in understanding. I told her enough for her to know I can't take on the responsibility of one more person in my life.

What if you let some of the other responsibilities go?

Knowing I can't do that, I lightly stroke her legs, heating her with my palms, and wait for her to continue. "I worked a lot." After that statement, she goes quiet and glances down, and folds her arms across her body when a hard shiver moves through her. I take a clean towel and drape it over her shoulders to keep her warm. But I don't think her chill is from the cool night air. "I made money, but my parents always took it."

Okay, that takes me by surprise. I don't think she wants pity—hell, I wouldn't want it—so I don't tell her I'm sorry. "Why did they do that?"

"Drinking, gambling…always out of work." Her eyes lift and move over my face, and I keep my expression neutral. She's not looking to shock me. "I always wanted their approval." A beat of silence and then. "I always wanted their love."

My throat tightens to the point of pain, making my next words hard to push out. "They withheld it."

Her laugh is harsh, almost maniacal. "Oh yeah." I rub my hand along her arm, offering warmth and comfort. "Here's the thing, Brady. When I tell you there's always a catch, it's because there is. People don't give without wanting something in return."

"I'm confused. They took your money, and wanted something in return?" I take in the pain on her face and as I try to wrap my brain around that, anger and sorrow, rage and hurt hit at once. I run one hand through my hair, unable to handle the bevy of emotions. Not that I'm surprised, I've always buried them.

Pain registers in her eyes. "No," she whispers that one word shattering around her as she swallows hard. "It was me. I was the one who wanted something in return."

"You?" I realize I'm still drunk on lust, but none of this is making sense. "I don't get it."

"I'm the awful one. I didn't give, without wanting in return." Pain morphs into guilt as her eyes slide away. "I was the one who wanted something, so you see, I know first-hand what tit for tat means because I was that person. I was the one who gave money, and wanted something in return."

Protectiveness grips every bone in my body. "Lanie." I touch her chin, bring her gaze back to mine. "No, baby. You are not the awful one. If your parents withheld love and you gave them all your money because you thought it would make them love you, that's on them. Kids shouldn't have to pay for their parents' love."

She takes a fueling breath, her eyes full of compassion—for me—as they search my face. "Just like kids shouldn't have to be responsible for their parents," she whispers quietly, but she's not trying to be mean. Her words are coming from her heart, and a part of me knows she's right—has always known things were backward at home. It's just…I'm responsible for them. It's the way it's been since we lost Dad.

Should it be that way, though, Brady?

"I guess none of our parents could stand on their own two feet, and counted on us in different ways." The thing is, Melanie is trying to get me to see my childhood for what it is, wanting me to let things go, but holds guilt for her own actions, unable to see it how I do.

"But mine promised they'd do things with me. Hell, all I really wanted was their attention, maybe play a board game or something. I wasn't asking for big, elaborate trips." She sniffs and wipes her nose with the towel. "They were always so happy, and full of promises before I handed the money over, then boom, they were too busy, or sick, and couldn't do any of the things they'd promised. Yet, I fell for it every damn time. You know what Einstein says." She snorts out a cynical laugh. "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result."

With her face tightening warily, and paling slightly, she uncrosses her knees and I stand, moving in behind her. I adjust the back of the chair, sit back down and settle her against my chest. I lightly stroke my hands through her hair, and remain quiet as she deals with her thoughts.

She exhales slowly. "Nothing but broken promises…"

At least now I understand why she doesn't expect anyone to hold up their end of the bargain, and has commitment issues. She expects everyone to drop the ball, and it does remind me that we can't have more. What if I promised her something and couldn't be there for her—like I couldn't be there for my mom when I wrapped my car around a tree.

Yeah, okay, I see that a little more clearly now, thanks to Melanie, but it doesn't change the fact that my biggest fear is for someone to need me and me letting them down. It could so easily happen and if I ever did that to a woman who's had nothing but broken promises in her life, I could never live with myself.

"I went to see a school counselor, and that's when things really changed for me."

"For the better, I'm guessing, because look at you now, Lanie. You're an amazing woman."

She gives a barely there chuckle, but it's forced. "Thanks. I'm trying to better myself."

"You are bettering yourself."

"That could change if I don't make this next tuition payment," she jokes, but there's an underlying truth to her words. I should know. I joke about everything to hide the truth, just like she is now. "Anyway, the counselor set me up with a psychologist."

"How did you manage to pay for that? It's not like your parents were going to help out."

"Right," she says her body stiffening, and I can almost feel the tension coiling through her. "You're pretty smart, Brady."

"Not just a pretty face and hockey player," I tease and place one hand on her stomach.

"I had to hide my money," she admits, her voice cracking slightly. A beat of silence stretches on for a few moments, that truth hovering in the air before she continues to speak. "I had to tell my parents that my shifts were cut short, or that my shift was canceled and things like that. I hated lying, you know how much I hate liars, but the only way to go was to hide the money. The psychologist was really helping me."

"I'm so happy to hear you were getting the help you needed." Although I sense this story is going to go dark, and fast.

Her muscles tighten and I can almost feel the effort it's taking to push the words past her tongue. I give her hand a squeeze, and for the first time ever Lanie feels fragile beneath my touch. "It was going so well, until my mother found my money in an old shoe box that I had hidden under my bed." A tremble goes through her and I squeeze her tight, offering her my strength and support, and her body softens as she accepts my comfort. Honestly, I never get close to women, but that's changing, right now, right here, with her, and I'm not sure I can do anything about it.

It takes effort to keep my voice steady. "She went through your stuff?"

She puts her hand over mine, like she's seeking my touch…needs it. "Yeah, they didn't believe me when I said I was losing shifts." She pauses, her breath a shallow rasp as she gives me a glimpse beneath her tough bravado. "I mean, I was lying to them."

I dig deep for control, when all I want to do is go find her parents and pound some sense into them. How could they not see what a treasure they had in Melanie? "You had no choice."

"I despise dishonesty, Brady. I hated it in myself at the time."

"You needed help, Lanie." I swallow against a gritty throat as my blood runs cold, rage roaring through me. My voice is deceptively calm when I say, "You did what you had to do and so maybe there's a time when dishonesty is needed."

She nods, although I sense she doesn't believe that, and continues. "I wanted the money back. I asked for it. They wouldn't give it to me and told me they needed it to pay bills, and that I was lucky I had a roof over my head. Then they told me I was to give them my next paycheck or leave."

They gave her a fucking ultimatum…

As my racing heart stutters to a stop, I note the defiant tilt of her head, and I whisper. "You left." I blow out an excruciating breath full of anger, everything in me hurting for the little girl who just wanted her parents in her life.

"I did, and it was hard, but it was the best thing that ever happened. I stayed with a friend for a bit, slept on her couch, and then her parents got tired of me so I had to quit school in my senior year, and get a job so I could find a place to live. I ended up renting a room downtown. It wasn't much, but it was mine."

I softly stroke her hair as she opens up, a new kind of vulnerability about her, one she hides from the world—and believe me, I know all about hiding. Jesus, if I didn't like her already, I sure as hell would now. I take a deep breath, an unfamiliar fullness in my chest making it a little hard to fill my lungs. I press a tender kiss to her temple. "You did the right thing."

"I never felt like I had anything that was mine before. For the first time, I never had to worry things were going to be taken from me in a moment's notice."

My heart thumps for the little lost girl who had nothing but struggles, but dammit, I admire her courage and strength to walk away from that horrible situation. Fuck, this woman deserves a family—a real family. I reach for her hand and find it trembling.

"A few years later, I ran into my psychologist and she was the one to convince me to get my GED." She tilts her head back to look at me, a deep determination on her face. "She encouraged me and after I got it, I decided I wanted more."

I squeeze her hand tighter, breathing in the fruity scent of her hair and her lightly fragranced skin. "You deserve more and you're all kinds of amazing, Lanie."

"Thank you." She wiggles, snuggling in tighter against me. "I enrolled in college years ago and now I'm doing my masters. I want to help others."

I really love that about her. "Do you see your parents? Do they have any idea just how amazing you turned out, despite them?"

"No," she tells me, her voice thinning to a whisper. "That was the end of the relationship." There's hurt in those words, but there's also healing.

We both go quiet for a long time, lost in our thoughts. After a while, I break it and say, "You know, not everyone breaks promises. Not everyone wants something for nothing." She stays quiet and I add, "I bet you're going to tell your clients that."

"Yeah," she answers quietly. "And I know what you're going to say next."

"In my head again, are you?"

She chuckles, a new lightness about her, and I can't help but think after opening up, and sharing that painful past with me has somehow lessened the weight of it. "No, I just know you're going to say, I don't know how to take my own advice. I've heard it from Brighton, too."

"Maybe I was going to say, how about you let me take you back home, and put my cock in you again?"

She sits up, turning to me, desire flickering across her face. "I like the idea of that."

Jesus, everything about this woman throws me off balance. I stand and pull her to her feet. Her body bangs against mine as my hands span her small waist and she shakes her head, a tiny laugh bubbling in her throat.

"What?" I ask.

As fatigue overtakes her, she covers her mouth and tries to stifle a yawn. "What is it about us?"

"Meaning?"

"After sex, we both spill our deepest, darkest secrets."

"Yeah, crazy," I agree, my chest tightening.

She laughs. "Damn emotions."

I stiffen at that one word. Emotions and vulnerability. Something I was never allowed to feel, something I had to constantly hide. But dammit, I can't seem to do that around this woman, can't seem to ignore the fullness in my chest. Everything in her honesty—my own honesty when I'm with her—has created a new kind of closeness, intimacy between us, and I can't let that happen. Fuck, I don't believe in love at first sight or instalove. Christ, we've only been sleeping with each other for one weekend. No one falls that fast.

Ah, but you've been watching her from afar for a long time now, dude.

"We should get back home. I have some footage I need to go over tomorrow before Noah and I have our conditioning the next day." That's when another thought hits. "Maybe I should go sleep in my own bed," I suggest, even though all I want to do is take her to bed and make sweet love to her all night long. Sweet love? Who are you, Brady? "We don't want our friends to catch us in bed together and get the wrong idea."

She cocks her head. "What idea would that be?"

"That we're sleeping together."

"So," she teases, drawing out that one word. "The right idea."

"Uh, yeah."

She grabs my T-shirt and tugs, the corner of her mouth lifting in a half smile. "Come on, Coddy. I already told Brighton. But don't worry, our secret is safe with her and Noah."

I follow her, my thoughts on my friends, and the things we discussed tonight at the pool. If she doesn't want anyone to know, it might be too late. I scrub my chin, worry niggling its way through my body as she glances at me over her shoulder.

She must sense the unease in me, because her eyes narrow, and her smile falters when she asks, "Did you tell Conner?"