Unspoken Vow (Steele Brothers 2)

“Fuck.” I climb off him and reach to free him.

The second I do, he pulls me into his arms, and we lie side by side. I’m surprised I don’t have the itch to get up and get dressed and be less vulnerable, but right now I need to let it all out.

Sobs rack my exhausted body, and if I’m honest, I don’t even know where it’s coming from.

“What did I do?”

I cut Brody off by kissing him. “These are … I think they’re happy tears? I think my body hasn’t embarrassed myself enough around you and thinks being the clichéd guy who cries after sex will top it off nicely.”

Brody eyes me, trying to figure out if I’m lying.

“I promise. I just …” I wipe my eyes. “That was perfect.”

A big hand cups my face. “As long as you’re okay.”

“I am now. Now I know how it can be.”

Brody kisses me softly. “I’m going to go get cleaned up, but I’ll be right back, okay?”

Reluctantly, I let him up and roll onto my back.

I watch him walk around the bed and head for the bathroom, but I’m not gonna lie to myself. As soon as he’s out of sight, the vulnerability sneaks in and I have to get up and at least put my boxers back on. It’s a safety precaution, because if the need to escape is there, I won’t be running buck naked down the streets of Southbank.

I wish my need to protect myself again didn’t come so soon after a perfect moment, but hey, at least it didn’t come in the middle of sex.

My brain so badly wants to make a coming in the middle of sex joke, but I’m still trying to shake off the disappointment of the high being chased away so quickly.

Brody comes out of the bathroom and doesn’t even blink at me being dressed again. He just goes and puts his own clothes back on.

Then he approaches and kisses my cheek. “We have stuff we should probably talk about.”

“Like what?”

“Are you guys decent yet?” yells a voice from the living room.

Brody sighs. “She’s back.”

My stomach growls. “Clearly, I’m not as upset over that as you are.”

“I am kind of hungry after that.” Brody rubs his wrists which are all red.

I take his hands in mine and kiss the irritated skin. “I hope one day we can do this without the restraints. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“They’re fine. Definitely worth it. Let’s get the rest of our clothes on and pretend we didn’t fuck the whole time Rachel was gone.”

Yeah, that might be possible if Rachel didn’t give us a knowing look as we leave the bedroom and head for the dining table where she’s waiting for us.

“I thought you were going for a long, long, super-long dinner?” Brody asks.

“That was the plan, but then I felt like a loser eating by myself, so I decided to bring stuff home and just hope things were, umm, short. I figured, it’s been almost two weeks, right? It’d be like opening a can of Pepsi after shaking it.”

“Hey,” Brody protests. “There was nothing short about—okay, you know what, maybe let’s not have this conversation?”

Rachel laughs. “Good plan. Anyway, after wandering around aimlessly past a few restaurants, I settled on Thai. Hope that’s okay.”

“I’m starving,” I say. “I will eat just about anything right now.”

Rachel looks up at the roof and mutters, “You boys are making this too easy.”

I snort laugh.

As I take the seat next to Rachel, who’s at the head of the table and across from Brody, she gently pats my arm.

“I’m so happy you’re back.”

I think I’d spent a whole twenty-four hours with Rachel before I ran away from her brother. Maybe she’s not as overprotective as Brody is, but I expect her to be a little mad.

“You’re not angry at me for running away and hurting Brody?”

She looks me square in the eyes. “Your reasons for needing to run away are as valid as Brody’s need to quit his job. Sometimes you just gotta do you.” She rolls her eyes. “God, now I’m making it easy. Do you.” She laughs. “That’s funny.”

I miss her joke completely because I get stuck on Brody quitting his job.

When I look at him, his head is in his hands.

“Didn’t really get the chance to tell him that part yet, Rach.”

“You quit your job,” I say. “Like, your job. With your dad. As a lawyer.”

Brody’s lips twitch on one side. “I didn’t quit being a lawyer. I’ll find a new job. Something less … morally compromising.”

Guilt kicks me in the gut. “B-because of me?”

“Yes, but—”

“You can’t quit because of me and my fucked-up issues. I won’t let you. I’ll call your dad myself if that’s what it takes for you to not change your whole fucking life because of me.” That’s too much pressure. Too much to live up to. And they’re not his issues. They’re all mine.