Page 14 of Discord
“But why are we here?”
Once more, Brandon ignored me and carried me into the bathroom. There wasn’t enough fight left in me to repeat the question. Watching my heroes descend like fallen angels seemed to have drained my inquisitiveness. No one listened to me anyway, and the humans I considered the best in the world shattered my sanguine perception of reality.
I clung to Brandon with limp arms until he set me down on my feet. He turned on the faucet to fill the tub.
“You need to take a hot bath. This is already bruising.” He ran an index finger down my neck. “At this point, it’s best to apply heat rather than ice.”
He pulled at the hem of my dress, but I grabbed his wrist to stop him. It hardly mattered if Brandon was drawing me a well-intentioned bath. My family members could still walk into my room and catch us in this precarious position.
Sensing my reservations, he let go of my dress. “I’ll wait outside while you take a bath.”
“No,” I responded hastily. “You can’t be in my room.”
Brandon sighed exasperatedly, though my wretched expression inspired his pity. “Get in the tub. I’ll check on you later tonight.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he swiftly cut me off.
“I’ll make sure the coast is clear before I return,” he gently assured. His roving eyes tracked my face before Brandon brushed his lips against my forehead. And then he was gone, shutting the bathroom door behind.
Mia
For several momentsI could do nothing more than stare after the closed door. Brandon’s gentle kiss on the forehead had taken me by surprise. Tender affection wasn’t his style.
At long last, I pulled my dress off with trembling fingers, discarding it on the floor alongside my underwear and bra. Dragging my exhausted body to the tub, I lowered into the hot water.
“Mm,” I moaned. The heat soothed my sore muscles. Knocking my head back, I wet my hair and soaked in the water until I felt fit to pass out.
After what felt like hours, I grabbed onto the edges of the tub to pull myself up. Exhaustion made my limbs heavy and rubbing my hair with a towel was particularly challenging. I did a poor job drying my hair and finally opted to turn in for the night with wet hair. I pulled on the sleeping shirt hung on the wall hook. It was long and came down to my thighs, so I didn’t bother with underwear.
When I flung the bathroom door open, Brandon was browsing my bookshelf. He had showered and changed into a white t-shirt with black sweatpants.
“Feel better?” he asked, penetrating through my haze.
“Yeah,” I rasped.
Tracking the room, I realized Brandon had tidied up. My bed was made, the desk was organized, and the floor was uncluttered. “Did you clean my room?”
Instead of responding, Brandon closed the gap between us for better inspection. Something about my features must have dissatisfied him. He made a disgruntled noise and headed to the bathroom.
With a heavy sigh, I climbed into bed. My curious gaze landed on the enormous, decorative mirror leaning against the opposite wall. The full-length mirror was perfectly positioned across the head of my bed, allowing me easy access to what had displeased Brandon. Puffy eyes, swollen cheeks, sopping wet hair. My disastrous reflection was completed with a purple neck where Milo’s fingerprints had already settled.
I was a vision of perfection. I could have laughed if I didn’t fear a sob breaking loose in the process, and I couldn’t risk restarting the waterworks. Enough crying for one night.
I put all mental anguish on pause as Brandon returned with a towel. My brows knitted when he pulled me to a seated position. He sat behind me on the bed, repositioning me between his thighs and angling my back against his broad chest. Before I could ask what he was doing, Brandon started drying my wet hair with the towel.
I blinked.
I couldn’t see Brandon’s expression with my back to him, so I eyed his reflection in the mirror instead. He was gingerly patting down the locks. The care he exercised during the monotonous process of hair drying looked all wrong coming from him. Brandon was made of muscles, ruggedness, and everything surly. He was big and tough, towering over the average person at six feet three. Such a man didn’t exert caution in performing menial acts that were part of the daily routine.
Yet, his treatment of my hair echoed with explicit meaning: Each strand was cherished.
I couldn’t look away.
There were times when Brandon was hella rude. In fact, he was a jackass. But when Brandon was sweet, he was damn near perfect. Even the tedious act of drying my hair was special when Brandon did it. It made me feel like the only woman on the planet.
A feeling I had shut down months ago stirred inside me. I longed for Brandon, deeply and wholeheartedly. There was no way to describe it other than yearning.
Regardless, we evaded catastrophe once tonight when no one bore witness to our actions. Taunting fate a second time was idiotically reckless. In a desperate attempt to stop us before we crashed and burned, I used my line of defense.
