Page 41 of Legally Mine

Brandon leaned over and grabbed my hand. I couldn't pull away, locked as I was by his earnest blue gaze.

"Because I can make that happen," he continued. "I can get you a job at whatever firm you want. I would do anything for you, Red, if I knew it would make you happy."

He squeezed my fingers. It felt like he was squeezing my heart. A few more tears fell, and reflexively, I squeezed back. I hated this.

I considered the option. I could let him help in this way. I could take a fancy job in New York, where I could stay close to my dad and keep him out of trouble. Take the New York bar exam instead of the Boston one.

But the truth was, I hadn't only taken the job in Boston just to pay Brandon back or to afford my dad's treatment. These were the excuses I'd used to ignore the real reason: that I was terrified I'd never see Brandon again.

"Do you want to leave Boston, Skylar?" Brandon asked. His eyes, having lost all their fieriness, were wide and searching.

"No," I whispered. The dam broke. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks, and I couldn't stop them. "I miss you so much. Everything hurts. I see you everywhere, even places you're not. And then, when I had to––"

I cut myself off before I admitted my worst secret. I pulled my hand from Brandon's warm grasp and covered my face, wishing more than anything I were not in the middle of a crowded restaurant full of curious onlookers.

When I dropped my hands, I was surprised to find that Brandon had left his seat and was squatting next to my chair. He pulled my head down to his broad shoulder and let me cry into the sleek lines of his suit jacket as he hushed me softly. I grasped at his lapels, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of him, desperate to be close. It felt so good. And yet, it hurt so, so much.

"Shh," Brandon crooned in my ear. "I got you."

God, I was such a basket case. The doctor had told me it would take a while for my hormones to settle down; clearly, she was right. Brandon, to his credit, acted like there was nothing strange about holding me while I bawled in the middle of one of the ritziest restaurants in New England.

"I'm here now," he murmured again, gently stroking my back. "It'll be okay, I promise."

When I finally got control of myself, I pushed reluctantly from his chest and sat up, dabbing at my eyes. With one hand balanced on the back of my chair and the other on the table, Brandon had me effectively caged with his warmth. He flashed a slightly toned-down version of his signature thousand-watt smile, but one that was meant just for me. It was a little bit sad, a little bit hopeful, and a little bit something special. My heart melted even more.

He raised a big hand and pushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The hand lingered, and instinctually I pushed my cheek into his palm. Tenderly, his thumb stroked my skin.

"Skylar, I swear to God," Brandon said, his voice cracking slightly. "I never meant to hurt you. Do you believe that?"

Slowly, I nodded.

"I...I can't do anything about the mistakes I've made," he continued. "But...I would do anything––anything––to make you happy. Do you believe that?"

He leaned in and pressed his forehead lightly against mine. I closed my eyes again and took in his clean scent. Then I nodded once more.

"I love you, Skylar. Do you believe that?"

I opened my eyes. Brandon was perfectly still; only the rise and fall of his chest betrayed his calm.

"Do you love me yet, Red?"

Another tear fell down my cheek. Those words, which had been at the bottom of every mea culpa letter he'd sent, tugged at my heart more than anything.

"I do," I whispered. "I'm so angry at you. At myself. But I don't want to fight it anymore, Brandon, because I do love you, so, so much. I never stopped."

Brandon closed his eyes this time as he exhaled. When he opened them again, his eyes were alight.

"Thank fucking God," he breathed before he closed his mouth over mine in a kiss that seared every cell in my body.

My arms wrapped instinctually around his neck, pulling him closer. I no longer cared that we were the center of attention in a room that had gone suspiciously quiet. I just wanted close again. I wanted to be where I belonged.

A loud throat-clearing interrupted our reunion all too quickly.

"Um, sir?"

We started apart and looked to where the waiter stood awkwardly, holding our plates of food.

"Your dinner, sir," he mumbled, clearly wishing he were literally anywhere else.

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