Her face fell and her eyes narrowed.
“I know what you’re doing. You think that whatever you have to tell me will make me stop wanting to be with you; I’ll leave, and you’ll be vindicated of your fucking absurd notion that you are unworthy to be loved by me.”
“It will,” she said.
“Well, baby, you’re just going to have to trust me then and see what happens.” I smiled this time. “Let’s get into the bed, shall we?”
SO into her bed we were going. Buck-ass naked, but not to fuck.
Both of us tense, unsure of how we fit into the other’s life. I knew where I wanted her in mine, but she seemed pretty adamant about where I could be in hers. Sex was okay, but love wasn’t, apparently. How was it possible to find the one woman on earth I needed to make life bearable, only to have her believing I shouldn’t love her because she wasn’t worthy?
My heart was being fucked from all directions.
I held out my arms to her and embraced her as she fell into them, loving how her soft skin melted into mine when our bodies aligned. I tugged her down into bed, tucked the sheets and blankets that smelled of her around us, and waited . . .
She talked and I listened. Her heart had been broken before, and mine was being broken now as she told me her story.
“I was truly born on the wrong side of the tracks as you say in America. The wrong side of the sheets is what it was called back home. My mother went to London for a semester abroad when she was in college. She met my father, Michael Harvey, and very quickly fell madly in love. She also fell pregnant with me. But my father was already married and had a family. My mother and I were his secret. He loved us and was a steady part of our lives, but we would always be the shameful secret that must be hidden away because that’s just how it was. He was an MP, a Member of Parliament, and I never took his name. That is why my last name is Casterley like my nan. Dad had money, and he kept us well looked after, which was fine when he was alive—but there was no provision for us when he died. The one exception was my university education, because he’d set it up when I was born in my birth name. It was the one thing his sons couldn’t take, because legally it was mine. I have two half brothers I’ve never met in person.
“My parents died while they were on holiday together, still very much in love as they had always been. It was fast and it was final, and before I could really process my shock, I was sent here to my nan, who is my only living family on my mum’s side. It was hard at first, but I did settle in, and came to love living on the island. I finished high school here, and managed to find my place in a strange new world. When it was time for university, I went to Suffolk because it was close to home, and my nan. I excelled in my field of study, and my college years were happy. I couldn’t have wanted or needed anything different in the time in my life before I met Marcus. I was close to finishing up university and hoping to work in one of the prestigious firms in the Boston designer loop after graduation.
“My friend Zoe, who was also my roommate at the time, went with me to a bar where we had far too many tequila shots and not enough common sense to fill a thimble between us. Marcus was there that night and he took a liking to me. I am sure he also put something in my drink because I don’t remember going home with him. I was a virgin before I met Marcus. He was very attentive at first, and I don’t even know why. He was a law student about to take the bar exam and eight years older than me. So, without much of an idea of how or why, I was suddenly with this man who’d become obsessed with me literally overnight. He just inserted himself into my life, and I couldn’t escape him, because I was too young, and too naïve, to even be aware of the risk until it was too late.
“He got me pregnant and then demanded I marry him. I never should have agreed, but given my mum’s history, I did it for the baby’s sake. He moved us to California the minute classes ended. I didn’t even get to go through graduation ceremonies. Los Angeles is where his family lived, and that’s when my nightmare really began. Marcus had a mental illness I am certain, and his erratic behavior just grew worse as my pregnancy advanced. He would get angry at the most insignificant things and fly into a rage, terrorizing anyone within range.
“His family also ran some criminal enterprises of smuggling guns and other black-market items. They used their storage rental units as a front for the real business of smuggling I think. I tried to stay out of their way as much as possible, but it wasn’t always easy for me to do that, because he used drugs to manipulate and control me. Prescription painkillers—I don’t even know what drugs he gave me, just that they helped block out the nightmare that was my life. Which was living with a sociopathic criminal and expecting his child. I didn’t want to have a baby. I was only twenty-two years old, just starting out, with so many hopes—only to find myself pregnant, in an abusive relationship, and addicted to drugs.
“Then the accident happened and he died. I was in a coma for three weeks before I woke up. Once my head was clear of the drugs, I knew I could get help and escape for good. I still worry that Marcus’s dad will show up on my doorstep someday and try to make me go back to California, just to punish me for living instead of his son. Or to make sure I never talk to the police about them. I don’t really know if they would try to hurt me or not, but I don’t want to take the chance, either, so living on the island has its benefits, being so much more secluded.
“When I notified the hospital authorities I was in an abusive family situation, they quietly helped me into a women’s shelter in San Diego. That shelter saved my life, because it was mostly a place of peace. I needed sanctuary after a year of mayhem and chaos. I lived there for six months, learning self-defense and how to be strong. It took my near-death to wake me up so I could have a second chance at living. In total I was away for eighteen months, but like I told you before, having a purpose has made all the difference in helping me to move forward. When Nan needed me, it was time for me to make my way home to Boston, and so here I am.”
“And then you met me,” I said.
“Yes, I met the most wonderful and patient man, who has never made me feel pitiful or weak. He tells me I am brave and smart and beautiful. He makes me laugh, and he makes me cry, too, but the crying is not his fault.”
“It’s not your fault, either, Brooke.”
“He makes me happy, makes me feel so safe, and is such a gentleman always—all-w-w-ways—”
She broke down and couldn’t say any more, so I just held her in my arms and drew my hand over her hair for a long time, imagining a world where there were no fucking lunatics like Marcus Patten, and no innocent young girls being terrorized without hope of escape, and nobody to help them.
How could she think that anything she’d just told me would alter my feelings? The things she’d just shared were all nonissues for me. Only the old New England society into which I’d been born kept track of any of that shit. It wasn’t the 1890s anymore for fuck’s sake. I’d lived in that superficial world for so long, it took Brooke bringing me into the real one to even realize it existed. I had some work to do, but there were good ideas rolling around in my head now. I would figure it out, but most of all I would be patient, because time was what Brooke needed.
I turned to the side to find her lips. She needed to be kissed for a very long time . . . and cherished, to help her remember she was once whole and could be so again.
When I kissed her, she came to life in my arms.
Like Sleeping Beauty in the fucking fairy tale, my beauty came to life in my arms.
Brooke
His weekender bag open on the floor was the first thing I saw when I woke up alone in my bed the next morning. Caleb hadn’t packed his bag and left me. He was still here, somewhere, as daylight blasted in through the slits in the shutters.
And I was still pinching myself.
Caleb was so unlike Marcus. He was also unlike any man I had ever known. He was patient and so very considerate, and he listened. Caleb was the most attentive listener. He never made me
feel like he was sorry for me, either. He went out of his way to tell me I was brave or smart. He saw things in me I didn’t see in myself, and now that I’d had a taste of his good opinion, I wanted more of it. So much more. Caleb would give me the world if I let him.
Could I possibly let him?
I pushed my face into the pillow he’d slept on and tried to catch his scent. It was definitely there, the notes of earthy spice I’d come to associate with him mixed with the unmistakable scent of sex. Lots of sex. I imagined how he must have looked while he’d been sleeping soundly in my bed: no doubt sporting some sexy bed head, the big body and long limbs that’d been all over me last night at rest and relaxed, his steady even breathing softly filling the silence.
I knew there had been a shift since last night, and it was a big one for me.
The picture of Caleb in my mind spoke of loyalty and strength.
I was now more afraid of losing him than I was of loving him.
I would be smiling when he first laid eyes on me this morning, I decided as I got out of bed and headed into the shower. He should have smiles coming from me, especially after the dreadful row and the things I’d said to him last night. Why had he made love to me so sweetly after hearing everything? Why did he want to be in my world? What man would sign up for the train wreck that was surely going to be life with me?
Unless . . . he’d meant it.
I’d never known that sort of love. Never known unconditional, fearless love. Apart from Nan. But from a man? Was it really possible?
There was something to be said for unburdening one’s biggest fears, because I did feel so much lighter in my heart today. If he truly did love me, after what he now knew, then at least I could believe for him . . . it was real.
I went out through the back and headed for the high coastal plain. Maybe a little pixie was whispering into my ear that he was outside, looking over the land, and I might possibly find him there. Caleb didn’t waste words. I have the means to make it happen. Watch me. He said exactly what he intended, so I wondered—I even dared to hope—if he really was going to come and be in my world with me.
I texted him.
B: Where are you?
C: I’m still here, baby. Do u miss me?
B: Always. <3
C: Where are u?
B: I’m at the grassy rise behind the cottage.
C: Take the south path and u will find me.
My Caleb could give proper directions.
B: Ok on my way.
After pocketing my phone, I went in search of my man. My man. Yes, I was claiming him as mine. I might not be able to keep him forever, but for right now, and in this place—he was mine.
I spied him about twenty minutes later. He wasn’t difficult to spot. I could find him in a crowd easily now, because I was familiar with his body shape and build—which was all lean muscles and tall. He was in dark jeans and a black Henley with his coat unbuttoned. And he looked absolutely delicious to me as always. He’s said he feels love for you.
But my Caleb wasn’t alone. Another man was beside him, pointing across the field as if he was familiarizing Caleb with the island. My heart sped up as I went to him. He must have felt my presence, because he turned toward me. His face lit up with one of his gorgeous smiles as he held out his hand beckoning me to come forward.
How could I not fall in love with this man?
He drew me into his side with his arm snug around me, and put his lips to my cheek. I felt him inhale against my skin and instantly knew what he was doing. I did the same to him whenever I could. The scent of a lover was powerful in its ability to produce feelings of comfort. Caleb was breathing in my scent right now in front of a stranger. It was done discreetly, under the guise of a welcome kiss to the cheek, but it was oh-so-very intimate to me.
I gave him the smile I’d promised myself I would this morning when I’d wakened. I saw only happiness in his eyes, no demands and no hurt like I’d seen in them last night—just love. At least I could say it inside my head now and not fall apart. Baby steps.
He introduced me to Asher Woodrow, whom I’d never met in person but had heard mentioned by the locals. He was rather stoic, but polite in a broodingly handsome sort of way. Apparently Caleb and Asher went all the way back to their Boy Scout days on the island, but had lost touch over the years. He owned the Blackstone Island Airport and also the helicopter charter to and from the mainland. I was content to be an observer as they finished their conversation about helipad access at the airport in an exchange of sorts with Blackstone Global Enterprises’ own helipad in the heart of the city. Caleb was just full of surprises with the news he owned not only a helicopter but a private helipad in the city of Boston.
And just like that my good feelings of baby steps took a dive. How very deep was the gulf between his world and mine.
It still didn’t change my longing for him to choose to be in my world with me. How could it not? How would any woman not want Caleb to choose her? I still had trouble understanding why a man like him was still single in the first place. Why was that? What about the women in his past?
I feared I might never belong in Caleb’s world with him.
After we said good-bye to Asher, we walked back up the path hand in hand, enjoying the stunning sight of an autumn sun over dark-blue water with the lighthouse standing watch along the rocks. I loved the beautiful views from the island.
“What were you up to so early this morning?” I was definitely curious now.
“I was eager to explore the south end of the island and orient myself to the land that is available.” No wasted words from my Caleb. He said what he meant to do, and then he did it.
“I wondered . . . I hoped,” I said as I turned toward him.
He stopped and pulled me against his chest and held me as we both watched the sea and the sky blending into continuous shades of blue. I breathed in his spicy male scent and tried to understand and accept all of the goodness I felt with Caleb. He was pure and simple goodness in every way . . . for me.
“So, when I build a house here, you won’t be mad at me?”
I lost it. Fell apart again, for what felt like the hundredth time with him, and sobbed into his strong chest. “Nev-v-ver m-mad at y-you, Caaa-leb.”
He held me and smoothed his hand over my head. Caleb understood I was happy crying and not sad crying, so at least there was that. And he wasn’t running away from me at a fast clip, either. I’d given him many opportunities, and still he kept coming back for more emotional torture. It had to be utter torture for him. Men didn’t like drama and emotional breakdowns. How could he bear it? I could barely stand myself when I did it. But Caleb just held me and showed his care and understanding in the most perfect way.
“I want to talk to you about a few things. Can we sit?” he asked me softly. “We can use my coat for a blanket on the grass. This is such a great view and we should enjoy it while the weather is good.”
“Yes, I’d like that very much,” I answered him with my cheek still pressed to his chest as I looked out at the sea, reluctant to separate my body from his.
He spread out his coat for us and sat down, situating me between his legs in front of him so I could lean back onto him. Surrounded by his touch and warmth, the panic of a few moments ago left me. It passed as if it had never happened.
“I got up early this morning and did some research.”
“You were researching land for sale so you can build a house here?” I asked.
“Well, yes and no. The property search came later. This morning I wanted to know about the sudden onset of strong emotional responses, crying in particular.”
“Oh?” My heart sped up. “Did you see my picture pop up when you typed it in the search bar on Google?”
He laughed. “Sorry, but that was very funny.”
“I’m glad you think so. It’s lovely to be able to laugh about this with you.” I paused dramatically. “Otherwise I should start crying.”
“Well, no, your
beautiful image did not pop up, but something quite interesting did.”
“Tell me.” I dared not hope there might be some form of treatment.
“The site I found said it is one of the most hidden of all neurological disorders—a condition called pseudobulbar affect, PBA.”
“It has a name?!” I was shocked.
“Here, let me read it to you from the site itself.” He tapped into his phone and started reading. “People with PBA are subject to uncontrollable episodes of crying or laughing without an evident reason. While the exact causes of the disorder are not fully understood, it appears to be associated with injuries to neurological pathways in the brain that control emotional response. It is often seen in patients with diseases like ALS, MS, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, and in those who’ve experienced brain trauma,” he said with emphasis.
“Brain trauma . . .” I breathed.
“Let me finish the last bit,” he scolded gently. “In some cases, a patient with PBA has an underlying brain injury he or she wasn’t even aware of. One of the main things that distinguish PBA from depression is that the emotional episodes are unpredictable and very short, ranging from seconds to minutes, and they occur multiple times a day. They require a great deal of energy to hold back.” He squeezed my shoulder. “You were right, Brooke, about not feeling depressed, because I don’t see that in you, either. But you did have a serious injury,” he said, while tracing the scar along my hairline with his finger.
“I was in a coma for three weeks . . . because that is what your brain does after a traumatic injury. The accident—I knew it did something to me. I felt that I was different, but I didn’t delve further because I figured there was nothing to be done about it. Plus, I was so grateful to be alive, when I could’ve died so very easily, I just didn’t dwell on the fact the episodes were happening more frequently.”