Page 322 of Branded
A flash of pain in her eyes. “Nate didn’t get physical either. He just…manipulated me, made me feel safe, and then the moment I dared to step outside the tiny, lidded box he wanted to keep me inside, he smashed my heart.” A breath. “He was really good at eviscerating me with words too.” Her throat worked. “And, of course, he hurt me when he decided that he wasn’t going to be a father to Ethan. Mostly because I knew that one day it was going to hurt Ethan, hurt the little baby that I already loved even though he hadn’t even been born yet.” Another breath, a deeper, longer sigh, sad in her eyes. “Which, I think, is his worst crime of all. How”—she gestured to her sleeping son—“how could someone not want that in your life?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “How he could not understand the gift that Ethan is—the gift that you are…” I shook my head this time. “Miller is a fucking idiot. And the same goes for your father. You are both fucking wonderful.”
Her eyes went glassy. “Cas…”
I cupped her cheek. “You are beautiful and bright, a good mom, smart as hell, and bright, Jules. I mean it, sweetheart. You fill every room you’re in with all that bright inside you.”
“Honey, I—” She shook her head again, watery eyes drifting over my shoulder. “I’m just…me.”
“And you just being you is fucking beautiful.”
Her eyes shot back to mine, held for a long moment, emotions swirling in her pretty brown eyes.
And then she lost it.
Twenty-Six
Jules
You fill every room you’re in with all that bright inside you.
How did I respond to that?
Not with tears.
Not like I was doing in that moment, the burning beginning in the backs of my eyes, a prickling moving forward, surrounding them on all sides as moisture pooled, and blurring my vision and…
Letting go.
The dam had broken, and the tears escaped, clinging to my lashes, dripping down my cheeks.
And then there were warm arms around me.
And maybe that was why I found that I could cry.
Because I knew those arms would catch me, would wrap around me, would hold me tight, whisper kind words to me, would wipe my tears.
“It’s okay, gorgeous,” he murmured, smoothing his palm up and down my back, tugging me against him, holding me so tight that one second, I felt as though I were crumbling to pieces and the next moment, I was put back together, the cracks filled in with superglue. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Which was what I was afraid of.
Because he wasn’t telling me to not cry, wasn’t telling me to stop.
He was letting me lose it while he held down the fort.
While he held me together.
That was what finally made my tears dry up, finally had me stepping outside of that beauty he’d just given me, and back into reality.
A breath. Two.
“Sorry,” I whispered. And then I was reaching for my cheeks, wanting to wipe the tears away.
But he beat me to it, gently brushing the tears from my face, and then leaning forward, his head dropping, he kissed the skin beneath my eyes, kissed away the remnants of my waterworks.
And just that quickly, I was ready to start sobbing all over again.
Luckily, I wasn’t a total melting pot and despite his beautiful words and his gentle touch and the fact that right then he cupped my cheek and told me, “Let it out, gorgeous. I’ve got sisters, and I’m used to tears,” I managed to pull it back together.
