Page 9 of Brody
In the rearview, he briefly glanced my way, his expression filled with remorse.“I’ve regretted that decision every day since.”
I snorted, watching the back of his head from my position in the rear seat.“You’ve regretted that decision every day?”My words emerged low and dangerous.“What utter bullshit.”My laptop snapped shut with more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the confined space.
“You know what’s ironic about your story?”I said, staring at his reflection.“When I was ten, my father abandoned my mother without explanation.She was a genius researcher, but that betrayal destroyed something in her.”
I observed his focus flick to the rearview, then back to the road.
“She buried herself in her lab after that.Meanwhile, I was essentially raising myself, learning that love is just another word for goodbye.”
My cheetah awakened.I pushed her down viciously, shifting away from the center of the back seat as if to create more distance.
“When my mother died, I was seventeen, and my grandmother, the great Tabia Dhahabu, couldn’t be bothered to take me in.Too busy with her pharmaceutical empire.”I tapped my fingers against the armrest.
His grip clenched on the steering wheel, but I wasn’t finished.
“Then you came along,” I said, my speech dropping to a ragged whisper.“The universe’s cruelest joke.A fated mate, the one bond that’s supposed to be unbreakable.”
My throat constricted, old wounds tearing open.The memory of that day in Kenya, the initial joy, the crushing dismissal, crashed into me like a physical blow.I could still feel the hollow cavity his departure had carved behind my ribs, a space that never quite healed, that ached during thunderstorms and lonely nights.
“And what did you do?”My voice broke.“You took one glance at me and disappeared, just like every other person I’ve ever cared about.”
The pattern had carved itself deeper with each abandonment.My mother’s lab coat becoming more familiar than her embrace, the house silent except for the periodic slam of the front door as she left for work before dawn.My grandmother’s assistant called after the funeral, her voice clinically polite as she explained Ms.Dhahabu was “too occupied with the merger” to take in her only grandchild.Each departure etched the same message into my bones:examined and found wanting.
“And you…” My breath hitched with humiliation at the memory.“You were supposed to be different.The universe literally designed you to want me, and even that wasn’t enough.”
I swallowed hard against the burning in my throat, hating that, after all this time, the wound could still feel this fresh, this raw.I’d built my entire identity around never needing anyone again, constructing barriers so high and thick no one could breach them.Yet here he was, dismantling them brick by brick with nothing more than his presence and the bond that refused to die despite decades of neglect.
I leaned forward, my reflection appearing alongside his in the rearview.“While you were busy with your daily regrets, I was putting myself through three doctoral programs and creating treatments that could save lives.So forgive me if I don’t swoon over your explanation or your guilt.”
I sat back against the leather seat, the material creaking with my movement.“You tell me your sad story and expect me to do what?Fall into your arms?Thank you for finally explaining why you broke me?”
But even as the words left my mouth, I could feel the mate bond between us pulsing like a living thing.My skin prickled with awareness, tiny electric currents dancing across my nerve endings.Every inhale of his essence—sandalwood and citrus—sent a wave of heat cascading through my core, my body betraying me with primal recognition.
My heartbeat stuttered then accelerated, syncing with his rhythm without my permission.The invisible tether between us pulled taut, an almost physical ache that intensified with each mile, making my fingers tremble against my laptop.
I shifted against the leather seat, trying to create more distance, but it was useless.The air in the confined space felt charged, molecules vibrating with potential energy.My skin felt too tight, too sensitive.
“Your guilt isn’t my problem,” I continued, fighting to keep my words steady.“I stopped needing anyone the day my father left.I perfected self-reliance when my mother immersed herself in research instead of parenting.By the time you cast me aside, I was already an expert in not being wanted.”
When his focus found mine in the reflection again, I saw something that made my chest ache despite my wrath.Genuine remorse, bone-deep and raw.
“Do you know what I did after you left me in Kenya?”I asked, my voice barely audible over the engine.“I spent three days in my tent, alternating between sobbing and raging until I had no tears left.Then I packed up my research, flew back to the States, and buried myself in work so deep that I wouldn’t have to feel anything ever again.”
His breath caught audibly.“Rozi, I…”
“And the worst part?”I spoke over him, ignoring his attempt to interrupt.“For years afterward, I’d wake up in the middle of the night, thinking I’d caught your scent.I’d leap out of bed, convinced you’d finally come back for me.”My laugh was hollow, brittle.“Pathetic, isn’t it?”
“No,” he whispered, his tone rough with emotion.“It’s devastating.”
I blinked back the sting of tears.“Don’t flatter yourself.I got over it.I got over you.”
But the traitorous skip in my heartbeat betrayed my lie, and from the way his nostrils flared subtly, I knew he’d heard it too.
I crossed my arms over my chest, staring out the window at the passing landscape.
“I just wanted you to know why I turned away,” he said, his stare meeting mine briefly in the rearview.
Fury exploded through me with such violence, I nearly choked on it.Years of abandonment, of wondering what was wrong with me, of building walls and a career and a life, and he thought a five-minute car confession would fix it?
