Unspoken Vow (Steele Brothers 2)

“I was tempted to tell Law today,” I admit. “I was close, but at the last minute chickened out, and we agreed not to, so I didn’t.”

Brody pulls me closer. “If you ever have the urge to tell people but are worried I won’t be okay with it, don’t be. I mean, Reed is going to kill me when he finds out, but I can deal with Reed.”

“Why will Reed kill you?”

“He told me you were off limits.”

“Oh God, why did he do that?”

“He’s worried about you. He sees you like a brother, you know.”

“He does?”

“Well, considering he wants a life with Law, you shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I … I don’t think I’ve been particularly nice to him. I’m not mean, but—”

“He understands your situation. He supports you. I don’t know why you find it surprising when people sympathise or make exceptions for you after what you’ve been through.”

“Anxiety and PTSD shouldn’t give someone a ‘be an asshole without consequences’ pass.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Brody grunts. “Babe, it’s late. I need sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

I wince and must tense because Brody senses it immediately.

“Shit, what did I do?”

“Umm, can you, like, not call me that word?” I can practically feel Brody’s scrutinising stare in the dark.

“Okay?”

“Sorry. Reminds me of someone.” Not a technical lie, but it still makes me feel like shit for keeping Kyle from him. And he always used to call me babe. Now the use of the pet name is like hearing nails on chalkboard.

“No problem …” He wants more, but like needing the restraints, I need to keep my biggest obstacle, my biggest mind-fuck, locked in its cage.

I can’t give him what he needs, no matter how loud the voice of rationale is yelling at me to just tell him. That voice always asks me what’s the worst that could happen. And if my imagination has anything to say, it flies to worst-case scenarios like Brody telling me it’s too much and walking away or even worse but more unlikely, Brody telling me I’m the weak person my psyche believes I am, and I’m not worthy of him.

Karen always tells me to challenge those thoughts.

Logically speaking, even the worst person in the world wouldn’t say something like that to someone’s face. The chance of Brody doing it is next to impossible. Yet, I still can’t bring myself to say the words I need to.

I stayed in an emotionally abusive relationship because I ignored all the signs that it was actually abusive. Then it escalated, and I almost lost my life.

No matter how many times I’m told that’s entirely Kyle’s fault, I still take blame.

I could’ve done things differently. Protected myself more. Not forgiven him for his possessive traits or noticed them for what they were—giant red flags.

“How long do you think it’ll be before your sister’s asleep?” I ask.

“She probably is now. Her eyes were practically closing the minute her head hit the pillow, but maybe give it ten more minutes.”

Brody untangles himself from me, lands a chaste kiss to my lips, and then rolls over to go back to sleep. I’m envious of the way he can drift off so fast.

I wait twenty minutes to be sure and then get out of bed as quietly as I can.

Meatball makes a soft thump as she jumps off the bed and follows me to the door. With a sigh, I pick her up to carry her to my room.

The living room is silent, and my breaths practically sound like Darth Vader. All I can hope is Brody’s right about Rachel being a heavy sleeper.

I’m about halfway to my door when I find out that’s not the case at all.

“Roommates with benefits, maybe.”

“Shit,” I hiss and practically drop Meatball. She jumps from my arms and scurries off somewhere.

“I’m Rachel.”

A flashlight from a phone lights up the room, but I only see a glimpse of the mysterious Rachel before the light blinds me.

I hold up my hand to block the light. “Anders.”

“I was wondering how long you’d wait before making a break for it.”

“So, you decided to scare the shit out of me? You’re like your brother. You both need to come with bells. You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“You’re supposed to be in your room.” She’s still kinda a dark figure with a voice, so it feels weird talking to her silhouette.

“We were … hanging out.”

“Uh-huh.” She sounds unconvinced.

“Well, goodnight.”

“Wait …”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Is this a ruse to interrogate me?”

She chuckles. “No. I just … don’t see me getting to sleep anytime soon, and, well, you’re awake.”

It’s not like I’m going to get much sleep either way—it’s just going to be one of those nights.

I walk to the opposite side of the couch where her phone light is no longer blinding me, and I get a good look at her.