After the End (17 page)

Brady exhaled slowly, eyes closing for a moment before he wrapped me up in his arms. “I love you,” he whispered, and I shivered at the words, at what they meant. At how big and huge and terrifying, at how small and simple and hopeful.

Before I could try and say anything, before I could sort through the rush of emotions, Brady nudged my shoulder lightly with his chin. “Don’t even think about it, O’Malley,” he murmured, and I could feel his smile against my skin. “I just wanted to say it. I don’t need you to say anything back.”

Relaxing into him, I nodded. I couldn’t yet. I wanted to. I felt myself craving that word, knowing Brady was worth giving it to. But not yet. I was still too raw to offer that part of me.

We wound up eventually moving out of the bed after Winston had come to complain at us a second time. He curled up happily in Brady’s arms as we padded out to the kitchen, Brady’s boxers slung low on his hips and definitely a nice sight to wake up to. I showed Brady where the cat food was and he took care of the obviously starving to death drama queen while I started up the coffeemaker and banged around for a large pan.

“What are you doing, Mr. Industrious?” Brady’s arms wrapped around me, his chin resting on my shoulder as he watched me carefully mixing flour and sugar and eggs. “Why I do declare”—his Southern accent was terrible, but he did it with gusto—“are you
cooking
for little old me?”

“I promised you pancakes,” I reminded him archly. “Coffee should be ready soon. Is His Royal Butterball fed?”

“Apparently he was only minutes from wasting away,” Brady informed me seriously. “We were lucky, this time, to save him from a food coma.”

“Yes, he is so neglected.” Said abused cat was currently winding around our legs, purring loudly. His squished face turned up to me, eyes blinking closed as he kneaded the ground, doing a little happy wiggle. “And he’s definitely not getting pancakes.”

“You’re such a hardass.” Brady kissed my neck and I leaned back against him, taking a moment just to bask. I liked basking.

“That’s me.” Nudging him toward the coffee, I laughed at his pout, turning to brush my lips against his cheek. “Go. Have coffee. Let me cook.”

It was quiet and simple, the two of us. The sun was warming the room, shining through the window. There was the soft clink of dishes as Brady made coffee for us both, as I dropped the pancake batter into the heated pan, and I felt content. I felt like I’d woken up, finally, like I could see a life that was bigger than haunted rooms and empty beds.

I felt like maybe Aaron was with me, arms wrapped around me, nudging me forward.

History is for the living, my heart
.

My pancakes were, as promised, horribly misshapen. But Brady ate four and proclaimed them delicious. Winston wound up on his bare feet as we sat at the table, happily sleeping. Brady stole the paper but granted me the funny pages first, grinning at me as I laughed. Our hands wound up twined together as we sat in comfortable silence, as we greeted the day together.

A loud ring blared into the stillness, startling me. Brady cursed, nudging Winston up, digging through the scattered piles of clothes for his pants. “It’s probably my crew,” he said, finally finding his phone. “Yeah. Hang on, babe, I need to take this.”

He walked a few steps away, just enough to give himself a little privacy. I caught the soft hum of the conversation, but I let it wash over me while I gathered our dishes, as I refilled our coffee. He came around the corner, looking positively sheepish. “I’m so sorry. I need to go in.”

“At….” I checked the clock, a little surprised by how early it was. “Quarter after nine on a Sunday?”

“Yeah, well.” He looked embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Normally, after big events there’s a lot of cleanup, but I kind of, you know. Left early last night. With you.”

I paused, mug halfway to my lips. Quirking up an eyebrow, I studied him. “That’s kind of horribly adorable,” I decided, fingers curling under the waistband of his boxers to tug him forward into a kiss. “You are the worst boss.”

“I really am.” His breath caught in his throat when I nipped his lower lip, and he took my mug out of my hand to set aside while he backed me up against the counter. “I’m such a slacker.”

I nodded in agreement, brushing our mouths together again, grinning widely when his hands slid under my boxers to curve around my ass. He pulled me into him and we met in a long, slow kiss. Brady bent me back over the counter, and I wound my fingers into his hair, tasting syrup and coffee and
him
.

“Crap.” He pulled back but I moved with him, feathering kisses along his jaw, his lips, the curve of his nose. “I actually do need to go. But, uh….” He kissed me again and for another few moments that was all there was. “Dinner tonight?” he managed, breathless, and I nodded.

“My place or yours?”

That beautiful smile bloomed across his face, and he rested his forehead against mine. “How about mine? I’ve got the makings of a frittata and a bottle of white I think you’ll like. Maybe about six?” His phone rang again and he pulled away with a groan. “Okay. I’m going to go use the shower, if that’s okay?”

“Towels are in the linen closet,” I agreed. “Though I kind of think you’re going to be overdressed?” A quick laugh escaped me at his crestfallen look; his tux had been incredible last night, but probably showing up to work in it would send the wrong message.

I playfully pushed him toward the bathroom. “Go. Shower. I’ll get you something of mine to wear.”

My closet, though large enough to fit a dresser in along with lots of shelves Tracy had helped me install, was slightly better than disorganized.  I did manage to find a pair of jeans and a T-shirt I was pretty sure would fit Brady. He was a little taller than me, but my shoulders were broader, and I thought they would do in a pinch. Shifting through my drawers for clean boxers, I paused.

There was a box on my dresser labeled “Aaron’s Clothes.” A few of his cardigans hung next to my own sweaters, but the rest of his things were packed away. I’d tried so hard when I first moved in to get rid of them. The best I could do was put them away in the closet and try not to give in to the urge to pull them all out again. To bury myself in the remnants of him.

Eyes closing against the sudden burn, the twist in my throat, I tried to remember to breathe. To not break down. It seemed so
stupid
, to be standing there holding clothes for the guy I was now seeing while Aaron’s things were in a box. It seemed impossible I could begin to be happy without him. It seemed petty and wrong.

Could he wear the clothes, though? The things I’d packed away? As much as it hurt, Aaron was beyond any of that now.

Clutching the clothes I’d found for Brady, tears in my eyes, I very firmly shut the closet doors.

T
HE
day passed slower than I would have thought possible. After Brady had left for work, I’d gone into the store, moving some inventory around and helping my cashier ring up Sunday afternoon shoppers. It was busy enough I thought for sure the time would fly; after the sixteenth time I’d checked my watch, though, I had to reassess that assumption. Even reorganizing the racks didn’t seem to help the hours slip past. But I was now sporting a paper cut and my shirt was speckled with dust, so I had that going for me.

After a while, the crowd died down and I slipped to the back with my things, intending to find the Thanksgiving decorations I’d bought years ago with the best of intentions and never remembered to bring out. Aaron had thought the giant paper turkey was hilarious. I wanted to dress him up like a superhero, with a purple mask and a bow and arrow. TurkeyEye. It’d be fantastic.

Tossing my bag onto the couch, I began digging through boxes. Christmas decorations were at the front, since that was the one holiday I usually managed to get organized for. Behind that were some Halloween things I’d forgotten existed, and I got tangled up in a fake spiderweb for a moment, nearly falling over as I tried to beat it off of me. Turned out fake spiderwebs felt far too close to the real thing.

My hip bumped an easel and I struggled to maintain my balance. Cursing loudly, I grabbed at the canvas before it fell, managing to keep myself and everything else from hitting the floor. Now I had an armful of paints and canvas and was standing in the middle of my studio with the easel teetering accusingly at me.

After a moment, I barked out a laugh. I didn’t believe in actual ghosts, in spirits lingering after death. But if I did, I’d be tempted to blame Aaron for this.

“Okay, okay,” I muttered, putting the canvas carefully back into place. “Bossy.”

The sketches from the other night were in my bag, and I got them out, carefully smoothing the creases out of the paper. For a while I just stood there, heart hammering, chewing on my lower lip in uncertainty. It’d been so long since I’d picked up a brush, I half expected to not remember which end to use. Hesitantly, I dug around in my supplies for the charcoal. My paints were no good now, but I didn’t want to use that as an excuse. If I was going to plunge back into this, I had to just take a breath and jump.

Finding a large sketchpad, I settled myself at one of the tables. Charcoal in hand, I considered the blank paper for a long moment. I nearly gave up right then, put the sketches aside as wine- and dancing-induced craziness and moved on. But, jaw set, I dashed a curved line across the paper, marring the perfect white expanse.

The hours slipped by me almost unnoticed. My fingertips were smudged all over with charcoal, my head was bent over my work, and one by one, the papers piled around me. Over and over I drew Brady, his eyes, his lips, the curve of his back. The strong lines of his legs. The gentle grace of his fingers. I knew that form. I’d grown to know it, and it eased me into something more. Eventually, Brady merged into the sun god I’d sketched before. Not him any longer, though I took his curly hair, the bold tilt of his lips, the confidence in his shoulders. I made it into something new.

And I had a story.

My phone rang loudly, startling me. Blinking, dazed, I looked around the room, fumbling for my phone and nearly knocking over half the things on the table. Finally, I managed to pull my cell out of my bag, snapping it open just before it would have rolled over to voicemail.

“Hello?”

“I’m going to try really hard not to be offended at the fact it’s now nearly five and you haven’t even called me.” It was Tracy’s voice, heavy with teasing impatience, heaving out a long-suffering sigh I knew all too well. It was the “of course you can have the last of the coffee or the final cookie I don’t need it at all I’ll just sit here in caffeine withdrawal and silently, stoically starve” sigh. Sadly, it didn’t work on me any longer.

“Wait, what? It’s almost five?” Crap. I really had lost all track of time. I started to bundle up my sketches, the ones of Brady put aside. The others, though, the story that had been working itself out in smudged charcoal across paper, I hesitated in tucking away. Instead I spread them out on the table, humming quietly to myself as I started to see the order of them.

Tracy was talking. Damn it. I tried to focus, frowning as I struggled to jump back into the flow of conversation.

“I mean, no one called me crying or angry or drunk, so that’s got to be good, right?” Tracy paused and I obviously was supposed to chime in there. Sadly, I had absolutely no idea what she was asking.

“Sorry, I was in the middle of something. Still haven’t gotten my head out of it.” I deliberately turned my back on the workbench, giving Tracy my full attention. “Give that to me again, Trace?”

I could practically feel her rolling her eyes at me over the phone. “You went home with Brady last night, I assume?” she asked.

“Oh.” I felt heat hit my cheeks and squirmed in my chair, suddenly wishing I hadn’t picked up the phone. Talking about this was so much easier over a few drinks or a pastry. “Yeah.”

“And you feel…,” she prompted me, and I could hear her grinning.

I paused, worrying my lower lip. “A little upset,” I admitted. “Just, you know. Aaron. But mostly…. Tracy, it was
really
great. Brady was perfect and it was amazing and God, the way he kisses.”

“Oh my God, I am so happy for you.” There was the noise of Tracy’s footsteps in the background, the quiet beep of her unlocking the car. “And it’s normal for you to be upset, hon. It is. The important thing is you’re not stopping there. You feel it, sure, but then you let yourself be more than that. I’m so proud of you, Quinn.”

“We had breakfast together,” I said, smiling to myself as I turned lazily on the stool. “We’re having dinner tonight. I think… he said he loved me.”

She was quiet; the engine started, the noise faint, but I could tell she was just sitting in the car. “What did you say?”

Shrugging, I fiddled with a charcoal pencil. “I don’t know, yet, Trace. I mean, I’m definitely…. It’s all
possible
right now, you know? When I let myself look past Aaron and everything, I feel all those things, that rush and the want and all of that. Love is just a huge word for me right now. I’m not sure I can go there yet.”

“Please tell me you didn’t freak out when he told you,” Tracy said, only half kidding. “I totally did when Annabeth told me, and seriously, I still feel guilty about it.”

“No freak-outs,” I assured her. “Amazingly. He told me he knew I couldn’t yet, and that was okay, and okay, seriously, Trace, how is it possible he’s, like, a prince? Because I know I’m crazy—I can feel how crazy I am sometimes—and he just keeps showing up.”

“We are both very lucky to have found sane people who are completely taken in by our charms,” she agreed somberly. “Some days I’m pretty sure Anna has to be, like, the reincarnation of a saint or something. Joan of Arc.”

“Mother Theresa.”

“Francis of wherever, the one who talked to animals.”

I barely kept back the snort of a laugh. “I think you’re thinking of Doctor Dolittle.”

“Wasn’t that the chick who got English lessons from the singing professor?”