Page 168 of Branded
I was cooking two babies for Pru and Marcel.
I was building a life here for myself.
I was locking those demons down forever so that I could have a happy life, a peaceful life. Auntie to my friends’ kids, soaking up all of their joy so that I didn’t risk rattling the demons who were hanging out in the dungeon, didn’t risk setting them free. I would be the best bridesmaid-slash-co-maid-of-honor I could be. The best travel buddy. The best babysitter. I would always bring a pie or hosting a pizza and makeup party or cook dinner or…I would make a small space for myself in my friends’ lives.
I would survive on that.
But letting anyone in deeper?
I couldn’t do that.
Couldn’t risk it.
Not even if the message from all the romance novels I read was to be open, to be vulnerable, to hand over those demons so my man could slay them.
My hero didn’t have wings.
My hero didn’t carry a sword.
My hero didn’t have a morally gray conscience that would have him burn down the world for me.
My hero didn’t exist.
“I don’t think you two need to talk,” Oliver quipped, causing me to blink, to jerk out of my own head. He winked at me, directed his comment at his wife. “I think all Beth needs is a jersey with the number eighty-two on it.”
Raph’s number.
Raph’s jersey.
“I guess don’t need to keep worrying about finding an excuse to pull him in for a talk anymore,” Hazel said back, smile growing as she squeezed my hand. “I know my girl will take good care of him.”
Because that’s what I did.
I stepped in.
I made things right.
But then I stepped right back out, slipping into the background, letting the happiness of fixing and helping and making right fuel me.
That was what I did for my charities.
That was what I was doing for Pru and Marcel.
That was what I would do with babysitting and friends’ vacations and Cheese Night Extravaganza. I fixed, but my castle gates stayed firmly closed…or at least the doors to the basement were securely locked (in the case of Pru and Hazel since they were closer to me than anyone else and actually had made it inside the castle’s first floor).
But even as I thought that, about all the security methods in place, my stomach churned and worry bubbled through my veins.
Because Raph didn’t strike me as the type of man who would be satisfied to be locked outside of heavy castle gates or be barred from an entire floor.
He didn’t have wings.
He couldn’t fly.
His conscience wasn’t gray, and he wouldn’t burn down the world.
But he had skates.
So maybe he could fly that way.
