Page 321 of Branded
“I should let you get home,” she murmured. “You’ve had a couple of late nights, too.”
I was wiped, yes, but didn’t want to say goodbye, didn’t want to go home to my empty house, didn’t want to sleep in my bed alone again, and I didn’t want to leave her, not with that look in her eyes, not with her telling me she was used to it.
The fatigue? The staying up late? The rough nights?
All of the above?
“Gorgeous,” I said, stepping closer, boxing her in, her scent in my nose, all those soft curves against my body. “What exactly are you used to?”
“I…” She bit her lip, looked away. “It’s late. I should get going.”
Fingers in her hair, tilting her head back, locking my gaze with hers, needing to know what the fuck was going through her head, what was putting that look on her face. Was it the past? Because then I’d do my fucking best to make it so that those memories didn’t intrude on her present. But if it was that present, was in her life now, then I was going to lose my mind…and then I was going to fix it.
“Spill, Jules,” I ordered. “Is someone hurting you?”
Her brows dragged together. “No one is hurting me,” she said, that frown still in place. “Well, outside of last night.” Her soft addition fucking eviscerated me.
“Fuck,” I whispered, dropping my hand, stepping away.
I’d gotten it in my mind that I was going to fix her life, going to make things right for her.
But she’d already built out her life into a good one, already had a job and a son and a place that was more like a home than my empty ass house. And what did I bring to her? A psycho ex who’d hurt her, who’d kept her up, who’d?—
Her body was suddenly against mine, hand resting on my jaw. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
She wouldn’t.
Jules was nice. She didn’t drive the knife home, didn’t twist it and try to wound in the biggest, most painful way.
She stroked gentle fingers through my beard, said softly, “I really didn’t.”
“I know,” I said, covering her hand with my own, peeling her fingers back and pressing a kiss to her palm.
“I just meant that I’m a single mom,” she explained. “One who works the closing shift at a bar. I’m always tired and I’m equally used to not getting enough sleep.”
I hated that for her.
Fucking hated it.
“But the hurting stopped when I left California,” she whispered. “Matt—you know, the owner of CeCe’s—I got lucky when I applied. We clicked, and he watched out for me until I got settled. He and his partner found my apartment, and they were great when Ethan was little.” Her tone held love, and fuck, I was jealous of a gay couple again, jealous of the way they’d taken care of my woman. “They’re still great,” she whispered. “But they have their own lives, especially now that they adopted their little girl. We’re still close, but I’m not at their place all the time anymore.” Her lips turned up. “Something they probably prefer.”
They’d be idiots if they preferred that.
Jules was fucking beautiful—and not just on the outside. She had an inner light that shone brightly, that filled the space around her.
I craved that light.
Needed it.
But I needed to know all of her. Including the heavy parts she might want to keep buried.
“Was your dad physical with you?”
In other words, who in the fuck did I need to kill?
That froze her, set her light dimming slightly. “No,” she whispered. “His expertise was hurting me by not giving a fuck about me, emotionally, bodily, or otherwise. Oh. And eviscerating me with words on the odd times I deigned to notice me.”
“And Nate?” I ground out.
