“I’m home free, why is someone uncovering those missions, Gerbil?”
“I’ll find out.”
He would.
And Branch would have to wait.
But right then, he also had to explain.
“When I say Evangeline and I are new, I mean really new. But she’s a good woman and I don’t want my shit to fuck up her life any way that might conceivably happen.”
“You left your shit in a jungle, John.”
Branch didn’t say anything but he wished like fuck that was true.
Gerbil, as was usual, did say something.
“Evangeline is a pretty name.”
“Last name Brooks. Phoenix address. And if you can’t find her, I’ll give you her address.”
“If I can’t find her, puh,” Gerbil scoffed.
Right, now he was acting stupid.
“Just, you know, tag her files or whatever voodoo you do to make sure no one’s getting up in her shit.”
“Consider her covered.”
“Thanks, man,” Branch muttered, opening his fridge and deciding it was high time to throw out the moldy block of cheese that was the only thing, except for a crusted-lip ketchup bottle, that was in it.
Fuck.
He shut the door.
“Jesus, brother, she’s pretty.”
He’d looked her up already.
“Those curls, whoa. Nice eyes too,” he went on.
“Just tag her files, Gerbil,” Branch sighed.
“Well, you have fun tagging her. Can see why you quit abstaining to take a shot with this one.”
“I haven’t been abstaining.”
“I mean relationships not sex.”
“We’ve been seeing each other two days. It’s not a relationship.”
“You want me to look out for her, John. Two days, shmoo days. If you want me to watch over her, it fucking is.”
Christ.
“Can I stop talking to you now?” he asked.
“I hope you don’t ‘slam, bam, thank you, ma’am’ her like you do me,” Gerbil razzed.
He called her ma’am but the one doing the slamming was her.
That was something Branch was not going to share.
“Can I give you a new name when I give you a new identity you can use to set up house and make babies?” Gerbil asked.
At that moment, Branch didn’t want to make Gerald Raines eat a bullet.
He wanted to make Gerbil eat one.
“You picked it, brother,” he reminded him.
“I was having an off day setting up fake identities,” Gerbil mumbled.
Christ, maybe he didn’t want to kill Gerbil.
He wanted someone to kill him.
“Just find out why those files were opened. I’m hanging up now.”
“John,” Gerbil called.
“What?” Branch asked impatiently.
“You’re allowed to be happy. We were all fed the same line of bullshit to enter that fucked-up game. The majority of the missions were solid. We helped people. We saved lives.”
“We took them too.”
“It’s the job of a soldier, brother.”
“And some of the jobs were dirty.”
The words were heavier when he said, “That’s the job of a soldier too.”
He unfortunately wasn’t wrong.
“Think about it,” Gerbil urged. “This pretty girl of yours, if she’s a good woman, give her a straight shot to try and make you happy.”
This from a man who’d yet to make spawn because he rarely left his bunker because he knew precisely just what was in the dark that should terrify you out of your mind.
“I’m not sure happiness is in the cards for men like us, Cameron,” Branch replied quietly.
“That might be the straight-up honest truth, brother, but the true death is the death of hope and you die that death still living, you might as well just be dead.”
“Are you writing a self-help book in your spare time?” Branch joked to lighten the mood.
“Don’t bust my balls, man, ’cause if you … you find it in yourself to hope for something, then go for it, your black brother from another mother might feel the strength to resurrect his own hope. And maybe, just maybe, we live the lives Rob, Di, Benetta, Lex and Piz weren’t given a shot at, this world might turn out not to be the shithole I know it to be.”
And after delivering that, Branch knew the conversation was done.
Because Gerbil hung up on him.
ten
I Don’t Regret It
EVANGELINE
Evangeline speared some leaves in her huge salad, lifted her fork and looked to Amélie before taking a bite.
“Let me think about it,” she said.
They were having lunch. Leigh had called that morning to ask if she had free time. And fortunately, because she enjoyed having lunch with Leigh and hadn’t in a long time, she did.
This invitation, Evangeline knew, came because Amélie had her back and was wasting no time in making sure she was dug in.
And Evangeline was delighted to dig right in.
After her friend, who worked at a vet that also had a small no-kill shelter for animals, just shared pictures of two dogs and three cats who were looking for a home, this lunch was also, Evangeline discovered, about trying to get her to adopt a pet.
She did not find this annoying and she also didn’t find it a surprise. This was Amélie’s way.
Not to mention, Amélie knew Evangeline’s dog had died of cancer about a month after she’d met Kevin. He didn’t like animals (she should have known then he was screwed in the head) and their relationship at the Honey and in life had progressed swiftly. So even though, back then, Leigh encouraged her in a gentle way to get a new member of the family, she’d held back because of Kevin.
She hadn’t done it since him because she got caught up in other things and didn’t think she had the time and attention required to welcome a new pet.
“All right, chérie. Dr. Hill’s practice is there when you’re ready,” Amélie replied.
“How many furry babies do you have now?” Evangeline asked after taking her bite, chewing, swallowing and while forking up some more.
“My two feline beauties that you know who miss you, so you must come visit, and we got a dog for Olly. He’d lost his and the time was right.”
Amélie’s cat Cleo probably missed her, that kitty was sweet and social. Her Stasia had been so sadly abused, she took a cat’s aloofness to new levels so she probably never even knew Evangeline existed.
“Things good with your Olly?” Evangeline asked, sparking a smile at her before taking another bite of her salad and watching Amélie’s face turn to sheer beauty as it got soft with thoughts of her lover.
“They are,” she replied, her voice as soft as her expression.
“I’m happy for you, Leigh,” Evangeline replied quietly in return.
“Me too. I was beginning to give up hope. He was a dream come true.”
Those words hit Evangeline in the stomach in a way she couldn’t quite decipher if it was very good … or very bad.
“I’m glad and I can’t wait to meet him,” Evangeline said.
“I can’t either, darling.” Her look changed slightly, but Evangeline caught it. “And I’m looking forward to when you return to us at the Honey.”
Evangeline shifted in her seat and also straightened in it. “Leigh—”
Leigh lifted an elegant hand (the only thing she could do—everything was elegant about Amélie).
“That’s all I’m saying, Evangeline. No more on that topic. You know you’re welcome. You know we all want you back. You know we all want you to heal. And you know, I, personally, feel it’s crucial to you in a myriad of ways to return to your true self, your passions, who you are, to complete that healing. It’s up to you to decide when it’s time or if there is a time. But I’ll say to you now, if a hurt that cannot heal was delivered to you, that’s understandable too. A break of
trust like that in our world is very hard to overcome. There will be no judgment. We all will understand that too. And we’ll take you however you give yourself to us.”
God, she loved Amélie.
Which made it immensely difficult to sit there and listen to her saying the things she’d just said without sharing that she needn’t worry. She was taking steps to heal that hurt.
But more, it was difficult to sit there and not talk to a sister in the life about the path she’d chosen to do that, the partner she had in that effort (who didn’t know he was her partner in that sense) and the new kind of difficulties she’d bought herself in trying to perpetuate a vital break in a man who might prove unbreakable.
Which might again break Evangeline’s heart in a way she sensed already in what she had with Branch, especially after what he gave her that morning, would be far harder to heal than what Kevin had done to her.
Amélie would have good advice. She’d listen and she’d share. Or she’d just listen, if Evangeline simply wanted a sounding board.
But she couldn’t say a word.
And it stunk.
Damn, but she hated Branch’s stupid NDA.
All she could do was look in her friend’s eyes and say, “I think I’m making some strides in that too.”
Relief rushed swiftly through Amélie’s eyes and Evangeline knew her friend was trying to protect her by trying to hide how deep that went.
Which deepened Evangeline’s disappointment she couldn’t talk to her friend about all that had happened the last few days.
“Either way, Leenie, either way,” Amélie replied.
Evangeline smiled at her and again tucked into her salad.
* * *
That evening, in her car, Evangeline turned the corner on her street holding her breath.
Hers was one house from the end. It wasn’t a long street, and she expelled her breath seeing Branch’s truck parked in front of her home.
She drew in a breath again and tamped down the hope.
This had been her struggle all day.
She’d lost hold on it that morning after what had happened with Branch. His taking her in his arms. His sharing all he’d shared. His words. His irate concern. His exposure of hints of his personality. His calling her his Domme. His request to connect with her physically in a deeper way. His calling her “baby” and “honey” and …
Angie.
No one called her Angie.
That was all Branch’s.
And she loved it.
But a day had passed, and outside of striping his ass, telling him he was making dinner and stopping him right before he walked out her door to leave her mark on his cock with her lipstick, she had not left him with any instructions. She had not made certain that he checked in so she could be certain she was on his mind in an effort to make sure that mind didn’t take him places she didn’t want it to go.
So seeing his truck in her drive was a huge relief.
But she knew she had to go cautious and keep her expectations low.
Giving a man, even one like Branch, two orgasms he clearly enjoyed and perpetrating a mild break to the point, after he received one, he couldn’t wait to pull her into his arms was a step in the right direction.
That didn’t mean he didn’t have a whole day to retreat.
One obstacle down, she thought as she parked under her carport, he’s here.
Now, onward.
She grabbed her purse and attaché, opened her door and threw her legs out.
She experienced another hint of relief when she entered the house and saw him strolling, wearing cargo pants again, this time switching it up by wearing a navy tee that did very nice things to his eyes, from the family room to the kitchen.
The TV was on and the air was filled with delicious smells.
She looked at his face.
Damn.
He’d used that time to retreat.
He was there. He’d clearly cooked. He’d made himself at home, watching television while waiting for her to arrive.
But he was not relaxed and at ease.
His discomfort was not awkward like it had been the night before, but it was there.
And his expression was remote.
No “Honey, I’m home!” then.
And no welcome-home kiss.
She sensed Branch didn’t kiss even if this was an intimacy that usually the Master or Mistress would prohibit or grant during play.
But they were not in a club’s playroom, where the scene was all there was.
They’d been in her bed and on her couch in her home.
He’d had opportunities to take a kiss.
He’d had opportunities to show he wanted one.
He’d taken neither.
Evangeline did not allow the depth of her disappointment at this to pierce the carefully controlled bubble of hope she was nurturing.
But she still recognized the disappointment.
“Hey,” she called, giving him a small grin and tossing her attaché and purse on the counter by the door before she cleared it and closed it behind her.
“Hey,” he replied. “Work good?” he asked.
“Yes. Busy. Maybe too busy. I need to slow down.”
He made no reply, just stopped by the island and regarded her.
She advanced slightly, getting close-ish, putting a hand on the island to brace herself to lift a foot and slip off her slingback. “You? Good day?”
“Good as they can be.”
That wasn’t a very upbeat answer.
“Started out all right, though,” he continued.
She slipped her other shoe off and gave him a look and a raised brow.
“All right?” she asked.
His mouth moved not exactly in a grin and he gave one shake of his head before he changed the subject.
“Chicken enchiladas.”
She stared. “Homemade?”
“I got a dick but that doesn’t mean I can’t cook.”
“Of course not, a number of the best chefs are men.”
“A majority number,” he returned.
“That’s only because when something as,” she lifted her hands and did air quotation marks, “common as cooking hits elite status, men horn in and take all the glory when there are thousands, probably millions of women who could kick their ass given just a toaster oven to build miracles.”
“Don’t doubt that,” he muttered, the blankness in his eyes no longer totally blank.
There was a light there, dim, but with anything Branch gave her, she’d take it.
“Is dinner ready?” she asked.
“Whenever you are,” he answered.
“Great, honey,” she whispered and watched the light in his eyes flash out instantly.
She stood, feeling its absence like it lit her soul and all had suddenly gone dark, but she powered through that quickly, trying to figure out what flipped that switch to “off” while continuing to speak.
“I’m going to go get changed. You want to dish up? I’ll be back in a second.”
“Got it covered,” he muttered and started moving around the kitchen.
She carried her slingbacks up the stairs and quickly changed into a slouchy, dip-backed knit top in electric blue and a pair of dark-gray, drawstring, soft-knit yoga pants
She piled her hair up on her head and psyched herself up all the way down the stairs to persevere.
It was day three. She was a recently-brought-back-to-life Mistress with the most challenging sub she’d ever had on her hands. He was an experienced sub so her challenge was not about that. Her challenge was vastly different and vastly more important. And she was facing it coming off another sub whom she had not read was also challenged.
One of the totality of differences between Branch and Kevin (for they were not alike in any way) was that, whatever was screwing with Kevin’s mind, he’d hid.
Branch wore the fact that he was damaged and he didn’t want to be fixed like a badge.
&
nbsp; She turned the corner of the stairs and saw him on her whiskey-leather, deep-seated couch in front of the TV.
Her plate was sitting on the coffee table and there was a glass of red wine beside it. Steam was coming off the plate, and as she walked toward him, she saw the humongous portion he’d served on it looked delicious.
She also saw Branch had not achieved a new level of comfort in her house after spending time in it, cooking in it, hanging in it and being played with right in that very space he sat, on the edge of his seat, again hunched over his plate, eyes to the TV.
He looked to her and she saw in the time it took her to go upstairs and change, the blank he’d slammed down had turned void.
He’d retreated since that morning.
But in the last ten minutes, he’d withdrawn.
Damn it.
She didn’t do anything but walk around the back of the couch, take her seat and claim her plate.
“Looks good,” she murmured.
“Good,” he murmured back.
“Thanks for pouring me some wine,” she said.
“Not a problem,” he replied.
She took a bite and watched him eat, eyes to the TV.
Wow.
It was good.
“Delicious, Branch.”
“Glad you like it, Evangeline.”
Evangeline.
Not Angie.
Damn.
His gaze turned her way and he said, “Don’t have HBO. Heard this was good. Been wanting to catch it for a while. Is it cool with you?”
She looked for the first time to the television and saw there was an episode of True Detective on, first season.
He’d pulled up HBO GO.
She’d never watched it but had always intended to.
She looked back to Branch and said, “Yes. Haven’t seen it but I’ve wanted to.”
“Want me to start it at the beginning?” he offered.
She shook her head. “I’ll catch up later.”
He did nothing but dip his chin and resume his attention on the TV.
She ate. She sipped her wine. She couldn’t eat but half of the portion he gave her even if it was exceptional, the chicken so tender and flavorful, she wanted to know how he managed it.