Thank goodness Branson is blind. I’d hate for him to see me like this. But his nose works fine.
She squeezed a generous glob of toothpaste on her toothbrush and scrubbed hard. After a few splashes of water on her face, she felt ten times better, though still wobbly and weak. Perhaps the virus had run its course, or maybe Branson’s ginger tea had done the trick.
Despite begging him not to come last night, she had to admit he’d saved her. He’d also let his cloak down, revealing a tender side that broke her heart, along with her resolve. And as his wall came down, she realized he might love her after all.
Not that it mattered. How could they ever be together? She could beg him to buy a small island in the Caribbean. They could all move there—she and Branson, Ellie and Laurie—and forget about Carina, the baby, and the rest of the world.
Ha! As long as I’m at it, I might as well dream that Ellie would be cured of cystic fibrosis and live a normal life.
She was powerless to fix this problem. And so was Branson. What’s done was done. He had to take care of Carina and his unborn child. And Stephanie would go on with her life, apart from Bran, and tend to Ellie.
But Steph could give him one parting gift—to tell him how she really felt. She’d thought to hide the truth, to spare him the pain of realizing how close they’d come to having a real marriage. She’d loved him too much to cause him such regrets.
Yet, that was before he’d confessed his belief that no one could ever love him. That idea was eating away at him, destroying the kind and selfless man she knew as Branson Knight. If she did nothing else, she would give him the knowledge of her love, despite the fact nothing would ever come of it.
With fresh determination, she emerged from the bathroom in time to see Laurie stomp out and slam the door so hard the pictures rattled on the walls. Branson stood beside the bed, achingly handsome, his chest bare and a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. Yet he looked as forlorn as a lost puppy.
“Sorry about Laurie,” Steph said. “She can be a little protective where Ellie and I are concerned.”
Bran stiffened and turned his back. “I should go. Give you some privacy.”
“Kind of late for that,” she quipped. “I have on the same flannel PJs as last night, so you can face me. I don’t mind.”
Still facing away, he edged sideways, his cane sweeping the floor. “All the same, I need to get back.”
“As long as you’re here, maybe we should talk… you know… about Carina and stuff.”
“Maybe later.”
As he shuffled closer to the door, she moved to intercept him. “Bran, you’re making this more awkward than it already is.” Grasping his arm, she attempted to whip him around to face her.
He jerked away. “I told you I have to go. Get out of my way.”
He refused to look at her. Not that he could see, but he’d always shown his respect and attentiveness by facing her square on.
Leaning against the door, she refused to budge. “Why won’t you look at me? What’s wrong with you?”
“Why must you always be so obstinate?” He rotated toward her, and she saw his face, a mask of rage, with his hand across his eyes. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From me. From this.” He indicated his hidden eyes. “You don’t want to see it.”
“Bran.” Her soul cried for him. “I told you, already… I don’t care. I love your eyes. They’re blue and beautiful. I don’t even think about them being prosthetic.”
She tried to pull his hand down, but he pushed her away.
“Please… don’t.”
The agony in his voice tore at her. She had to tell him now. It was the only way he would believe her.
“Come sit with me for a minute. Let’s talk.” She tugged on his arm, like a gnat trying to move a boulder.
“We can talk tomorrow.”
“I need to sit. Feel weak, like I might pass out.” It was true. The room seemed to narrow, and her stomach complained about her continued upright position.
Bran’s disposition transformed in an instant. He dropped his cane and looped his arm around her, though he was too mulish to uncover his eyes. “You should be in bed. You take care of everyone else, but you don’t take care of yourself.”