Authors: Aliyah Burke
She stomped by him to the door and slammed it behind
her as she vanished inside. Her words created something cold and
ugly in his gut.
He rose and walked to the door. After a short pause,
he opened it. He heard her slamming things around in the kitchen,
so he went there. Her back was to him, and he leaned in the
entryway, waiting for her to face him.
“I’m not letting this go.”
She whipped around, and his heart caught in his
throat at the evidence of her tears. The streamed down her cheeks.
Why is she crying?
“Hermione?”
“Don’t. Just leave me alone, Brody. Go back to being
Alton Rivers and your life in California. I…I’m done with
this.”
“I’m not going anywhere until we figure this
out.”
“No!” She slammed the pan on the burner. “You don’t
get to decide you want to talk now. I wanted to talk before. To
know why you left. Then…
then…
we had something to discuss,
about us. Now, we don’t.”
Behind the tears was pain and anger in her gaze. “I’m
here now.”
“And, you need to leave.” Her hands shook, and she
flexed her fingers a few times.
“What aren’t you telling me?” She fixated her stare
at a place on the floor and took several deep breaths. He
approached her and settled his hands on her shoulders. “Why are you
refusing to talk anymore, Hermione?”
“Let it go,” she said with a shake of her head.
“We can’t move on until we get past this block you
have.”
“We wouldn’t have to if you’d been a man and had
stuck around.” She brushed off his touch and tried to walk
away.
He gripped her upper arm, preventing that feat.
Smack.
He’d not been expecting the hit.
“Go, Brody. Before I say something I can’t take
back.”
He couldn’t follow what had pissed her off so badly.
“I’m not leaving this time.”
“Bullshit. You have to get back there; you’ve said so
already.”
“I can return.”
“Didn’t for ten years.”
He threw up his hands, pissed as well now. “We have
gone over that, Hermione. I fucked up. I admit it. Are you going to
hold that over my head forever? I can’t change what dumbass
decision I made all those years ago.” He tried to calm down and
realized maybe he should leave for the night. At least go take in
some fresh air. “I’m not spending my entire life apologizing for
that. I’ve done so already. Let it go.”
Her expression turned ugly and unforgiving.
“Leave.”
He knew there would be no getting through to her
right now. She was beyond livid, and if he pushed, all he would do
would be succeeding in pushing her further away from him. That was
the last thing he wanted. He wanted her closeness, not another
hurdle between them. “I’ll be back in the morning, and we can talk
then.”
She followed him to the door, where he stepped out,
and when he looked at her there was a deadness in her gaze. “You
should, you know.”
I wish I knew what she was going on about.
“I
should what? Apologize again? Why? You won’t forgive me for it.
What more do I have to do for forgiveness?” He needed his heavy bag
to work off his frustration and anger. On one hand, he understood
her right and need to hold onto the anger. But, on the other, he
didn’t, for they couldn’t move on until she let it go and gave him
a fair shake for starting once more.
“Live ten years with the knowledge your unborn child
never made it into the world. That, on our wedding night, I was
going to tell you I was pregnant and, instead, lost the child a
week later. Live with that, and then, tell me if a simple apology
is going to be enough.” She slammed the door in his face.
Her words nearly took him to his knees. He ran what
she’d spoken through his mind over and over, unable to believe what
he heard. The clicks of her locks engaging told him she did not
intend to let him in once more. And, so he was out, short of
busting down the door.
Her eyes didn’t want to open when the alarm went off.
Bumbling around, Hermione smacked the button, cutting off the
annoying beeping. Drained. That was the only word she could come up
with to describe how she felt. Both emotionally and physically.
For so many years, she’d kept that secret, even from
her best friend, Mel. Her pregnancy, the loss, and the suffering
she still went through each year on the month he or she should have
been born. Until last night. Brody had pushed her to the edge, and
she’d let it slip.
Part of her had expected him to pound on the door and
demand entry. Hell, his alter ego, Alton Rivers probably would have
kicked down the door to get to his heroine. Hermione punched her
pillow and forced her eyes to open.
“I didn’t think kicking down your door would have
gotten me any favors with you.”
She squealed and jackknifed up in bed. Brody sat
across from her in the overstuffed chair occupying the corner near
the window. His long legs stretched out before him, covered in the
pair of light denim jeans he wore with a brown belt, encouraging
her gaze to swing up to his groin and the large length she knew was
there. The rich green shirt highlighted his dark skin, and she did
her best to ignore the pulse of desire that swamped her in a single
breath.
“What are you talking about, and what the fuck are
you doing in my bedroom?”
“You muttered about Alton kicking down your door. I’m
telling you this is your life and not a movie. I know that’s not
the way to go, and seriously? You don’t know why I’m here? You
didn’t expect me to take that news you dropped on me without
warning last night and leave you alone, did you?”
“I didn’t expect to even tell you.” She shoved a hand
through her hair and rose from the bed. Stopping to stretch, she
looked over at him once more. “How long have you been sitting
there?”
“All night. I was tempted to crawl into bed with you,
but you needed your sleep.”
“Doesn’t feel like I got much, at all. You can leave
now.”
His gaze heated as it traveled over her simple blue
nightshirt.
“You were restless all night.”
She’d believe it.
While she walked to the bathroom, he sat right there
when she left a time later, dressed in a simple white dress she
would be wearing to work today. “Didn’t I ask you to leave?”
He rose, moved toward her, and she gulped. Damn man
was all too fine for her own sanity.
“You demanded it last night, mentioned it this
morning. But, after breaking in to your house, why would I leave
merely because you asked me to?”
“Because Alton Rivers doesn’t need a B&E on his
record?”
His smile bordered on a sneer. “Alton Rivers has
nothing to do with this.”
“Really?” She brushed by him, heading out to the rest
of her house. Swinging by the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of
the coffee that awaited her before making her way to the back
porch.
He followed her; she heard him. She walked to the
railing, set her cup down after drinking a sip or two, and rested
her head against the pillar.
“I’m not leaving, Hermione. I deserve an
explanation.”
“You deserve shit, Brody. I owe you nothing. I
stayed, remember?”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have stayed.”
“I don’t need to hear this. How could I have told
you? I found out the night before the wedding. It’s not as if I saw
you again. So…now, you know.”
“Hell no, that’s not how this is going to go.”
He reached for her the moment she picked up her
coffee and the unexpected movement of him turning her had hot
liquid spilling all over his shirt.
“Shit,” he hissed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” She put the
cup down and reached for him.
He yanked his shirt off and dabbed at the moisture on
his skin.
“Are you okay? Did I burn you?” She brushed his hands
away to look for herself.
The play of muscles beneath her fingertips flexed,
and she slowed her inspection until it was more just touching him.
From her periphery, she noticed the balled up shirt fall to the
wood beneath her feet. He slowly brought her chin up until their
gazes locked.
“I know I keep saying this, Hermione, but I’m so
sorry. For everything.” She opened her mouth to reply, but he shook
his head. “No, you’re going to listen to me. I didn’t lie when I
said I still loved you. I always will. I want a future with you.
For a while, I thought of asking you to Hollywood with me, but your
life is here. I want one with you. I’ll commute, be on location for
filming, but then, be here with you. In this house. I want to marry
you, as I didn’t ten years ago. I want to hold you at night. Make
love to you until the wee hours of the morning.”
Tears sprang into her eyes.
He sank a hand into her hair as his other settled
along her hip, his fingertips grazing along her ass. There was
nothing but seriousness in his gaze.
“I want to be here when you come home from the bank
and talk to you about your day. I want to talk to you about the
baby we lost and see if you want to have another one. Or more than
one.” A light kiss against the corner of her mouth. “I want back
into your life. If you’re not ready to give me a chance, I’ll buy a
house here and wait until you are.”
She held onto his waistband, her thumbs skimming his
bare skin above the belt. “Brody,” she began.
“Not done. Acting is in my blood, Hermione. I love
it—the rush and the fun. The travel. But, compared to you, it is
nothing. If you want me to stop, I will after this film.”
“No, you have to do what calls to you. I just…I just
don’t know.”
“We need to talk about the miscarriage and work
through that before we can move forward. I get and understand that.
I have to make amends in your eyes. I’ve changed, Hermione. And,
yes, you were right when you said I was only back for my own
reasons. Not denying that. However, you, Hermione Wilhelmina
Windsor—named after the virtuous queen of Sicilia in Shakespeare’s
The Winter’s Tale
, as well as a feminine take on William’s
name—reminded me of the love I foolishly pushed away and left. If
it takes me one year or a hundred, I will claim your love as my
own.”
“Brody,” she whispered as tears fell from her eyes.
She couldn’t believe he’d remembered what she’d told him the reason
was for her having the name she did. Why her English professor
parents had named her what they had.
He slid his hand down and gripped her hair, tugging
her head back and burying his face in her neck. She allowed her
eyes to drift closed even as the sun crested the horizon, filling
the sky with oranges, yellows, and purples.
“I love you,” she admitted to him and the morning
air. “I’ve always loved you.”
f
Epilogue
Brody stepped from the SUV and looked around
Cottonwood Falls. It was good to be home. He cast a glance up at
the house, aware that Hermione was still at work and wouldn’t be
back for another few hours yet.
He’d flown in early to surprise her. He’d missed her.
They still had rocky moments but were making progress. He had stood
beside her when the reporters had arrived, proud of how she’d
handled the questions.
Hermione had traveled out to California once, but he
could tell when she was there how uncomfortable she was and hadn’t
insisted she come back again. Hopefully, though, she would agree to
come with him this time.
He’d gotten three more movies ever since the release
of his big break and was very busy on location shooting. Still, he
made it a point, even if he needed to capitalize on the few hours
of sleep he was granted, to call her and speak with her once a
day.
When he was here in Cottonwood Falls, people treated
him like Brody, instead of the action star, Alton Rivers, as they’d
had when he first come back. He liked that, being able to walk into
the diner and eat without being swarmed. Being able to go to the
high school games and cheer on the students from his town. Or, even
playing baseball or a pickup basketball game with guys he went to
school with. Here, things didn’t become a news article.
After three trips to his SUV and back, he finally had
everything out and began setting it up. The winter days were cold,
and the sun set early. The slice of Hermione’s headlights across
the front windows had anticipation burning in his gut.
He stepped out on the porch to meet her. “Hello,
beautiful.”
“Brody, I thought you weren’t arriving until
tomorrow.” She hurried up the steps and into his arms.
Their lips met, and his hands found their way below
her coat. “I missed you,” he muttered. “Caught an earlier
flight.”
“I missed you, too.”
“How was your day?”
She smiled. “Good. I got to hang out with Bastian
Müller today. He’s back from Arizona and working the wildfires out
there. Haven’t seen him in a while.”
“I remember him. He was what, two years ahead of us?
Hung out with”—he snapped his fingers—“the one who left to join the
Marines. I don’t remember his name.”
“Grey Sorenson. And, Grey didn’t join the Corps; he
went to the Navy. I believe he’s a SEAL.”
He brushed some of her hair back. It hung loose
around her face, how he loved it. “That’s right. Let’s go inside. I
have supper ready.”
“Do your Hollywood peeps know the mighty Alton Rivers
cooks dinner when he’s back in Cottonwood Falls more than one night
a week?”
“Nope. Or that I do dishes.” He opened the door and
waited for her to precede him.
“I’m not sure I believe it, either,” she teased,
stepping in, only to draw up with a gasp. “Oh, my God, Brody. What
is all this?”
“Flowers.” He kissed the side of her neck before
pushing the door shut behind him and assisting her off with her
coat.
“You brought me Amazon Lilies?” She moved toward the
two-foot tall potted plants. Their white flowers emanating a sweet
scent to the air. “And Passion flowers, water hyacinth, water
lilies, and some type of orchid.”