After the End (6 page)

“Just a thank you,” I insisted as Anna took the wine away toward the living room with a kiss to Tracy’s cheek.

“For what?” Tracy took my arm and led me into the kitchen. There was a knowing, smug glint in her eyes as we walked, the source of which I found as I looked up.

Brady was there. His sleeves were rolled up, there was flour on his cheek, his hair was mussed, and he was laughing with Anna as she searched for a corkscrew. And my heart just… stopped.

“Shut up,” I muttered to her, leaving her side to go to his. Brady greeted me with a warm smile and a hug, careful not to get his mess all over me.

“Sorry,” he said with another laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I’m a disaster area when I bake. But, uh, it’s good to see you, Quinn.”

“You too.” I was smiling back. God, how could I
not
smile back? “You, um.” Daringly, I reached out, an action that started as me fixing his collar but turned, somehow, into my hand just resting over his heart. His smile softened, and he took a step forward, eyes full of something that made my stomach surge, that dangerous, anticipatory lift shivering through me.

The oven timer went off and the moment ended. My hand slipped away; Brady wrinkled his nose regretfully, but he turned to save the flan from burning. Taking a deep breath, I went to the wine like a homing pigeon. Annabeth gave me a sympathetic look, gripping my upper arm for a moment before pouring me a glass.

“So, I have an opening in two months at the gallery. One of my artists just pulled out.” She smiled at me as I gulped down my first drink, eyes straying back over toward the kitchen. Brady was pouring and stirring, mixing something or other, and somehow all of it looked really good while he was doing it.

Wait. Annabeth was giving me that expectant look, which meant probably she’d just said something I was supposed to respond to. I rewound the whole conversation in my mind and blinked, startled.

“Are you asking me to do a showing?” I nearly stumbled over the word. “Anna, that’s really….”

She was just looking at me with those totally accepting, infinitely patient eyes. Kind of like Mother Theresa crossed with a bulldog. She wasn’t going to let me stammer my way out of this. Tracy would push obviously, would take you by the damn hand and lead you to the water and shove your face down and give you a ten-page list on why you should drink. Anna, though, would walk beside you until you didn’t even realize she’d directed where you were going and then would sit there and wait for you to drink on your own. They were a diabolical team. I expected them to take over the world any day now.

“It’s been more than two years, Quinn,” Anna reminded me softly, rubbing her hand along my arm, steel behind her eyes. “That’s a long time to not be happy.”

“A show, though, Anna?”

“A show about what?” Brady had joined us with a grin, his fingertips resting lightly on the small of my back as he reached over to take a glass of wine. I couldn’t help but give him a little smile, nudging my shoulder against his.

“Quinn is an artist. Quite a good one, actually. I’m trying to entice him to save me from having bare walls for two weeks.” Annabeth gave me a look over the top of her glass, what I could only categorize as a smirk in her gaze.

Brady pulled back enough to give me a look, eyebrows winging up. “Really? I didn’t know that.”

Shuffling my feet, I sighed, narrowing my eyes at Anna, who suddenly announced, tone an overt attempt at casual, “I think I need to go check on Tracy and the pasta. Excuse me, boys.”

Evil woman.

“Yeah.” I shrugged once she was swaying her way back to the kitchen. Was it possible for a
walk
to be smug? Because hers was.

Okay. Well, this was a fun party story. Refilling my glass, I glanced up at him, at those wicked brown eyes under the now messy curls, at the flour he probably didn’t even realize was still brushed across his forehead. I reached out to smooth it off his skin, feeling my expression softening, the tense defensiveness I had when broaching this subject fading a bit. Brady had never done anything to make me think he was going to pry or push. He just wanted to know.

“I used to draw and ink my own graphic novel,” I explained with a wry little twist of my lips. “I did some shows with the artwork. It was just something I used to do, you know? But once Aaron got really sick, I couldn’t…. None of the colors made sense anymore.” I didn’t know if he’d understand that—hell, some days it didn’t make sense to me either. But Brady nodded, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and kissing my temple.

“Well, if you decide you want to grace Anna with your brilliance—” He laughed at that and I did too. It was a quiet choked sound, but I laughed. And I didn’t cry. Which was a first for me with Brady, embarrassingly enough. “—I will be the first one in line at the gallery to see your work.”

Rolling my eyes at his teasing, I took his hand and led him back into the kitchen. Back into the circle of warmth, into the hearth where two of my favorite women in the world were busy cooking and trying not to stare at us. “Since no one will let me cook—” I started, and Tracy laughed, shaking her head as she busily stirred sauce bubbling on the stove.

“You mean because no one here is suicidal,” she poked fun at me, sticking her tongue out when I glared.

“
Anyway
,” I said, accidentally on purpose tugging her hair out of its ponytail, “how about I set the table?”

“I’ll help.” Brady smoothly followed me, grabbing the plates when I went for the silverware. “Dessert’s done. I’m officially out of things to do.”

We went into the dining room, the sound of the clatter of pans and the women’s voices fading as the door swung shut behind us. Moving around the table, I carefully arranged the forks and knives in their appropriate spots. Brady was opposite me, setting the plates onto the linen tablecloth. My eyes kept going to his, over and over, our gazes meeting in a spark of heat before I forced my head back down. The clatter of a plate on the table made me glance up again and there he was,
looking
at me.

We danced, the two of us, around the table. Putting silverware down. Plates. Napkins. Mundane actions and yet every one made heat surge in my gut because during each one he was silently watching me, movements graceful, hands so careful with each piece. We moved closer to one another until he was pressed against my back, arms wrapped around me to put the last plate down.

“Done,” he breathed against my neck, nose nudging in behind my ear.

With a low noise, I turned, grabbed his tie, and hauled him in for a kiss. An arm braced on either side of me, Brady went willingly, leaning me back across the table. Neat place settings scattered under me, but hell if I cared. Our tongues tangled together, the warm press of Brady’s lips on mine turning into a hungry gasp of need, a sharp thrill as we melted into one another.

The frantic kiss slowed into something sweet, into softness and my hand tangling into Brady’s hair. We parted, heaving breaths, lips sliding along each other’s as if we couldn’t bear to move further away. “Hey,” I finally said, a smile spreading across my face.

Brady laughed, nuzzling his nose against mine. “Hey, yourself,” he murmured.

“You sent me pie.”

Brady lightly nipped at my lower lip. Objectively, my first thought on that would have been
what the hell
because who
bit
someone, but the jolt of desire that hit my stomach at the little spike of pain totally shorted out any of my protests. I must have made a strangled, soft noise because Brady grinned, smooth as honey, and did it again, catching my lip between his teeth and then sucking away the sting.

“I did,” he replied, voice a rumble I could feel in every inch of me.

“With no crusts.” Odd how utterly hoarse my tone had gone, like all the air had gotten caught in a ball in my throat.

“None at all.” Brady kissed me again, one hand sliding down my side to settle at my waist.

“Thank you,” I whispered, lips moving along his jaw to his ear. I could feel his smile against my cheek and he breathed out a laugh, quiet and low.

“I’m glad you came tonight.”

God, so was I.

Finally, we stood again, fingers tangling together as we straightened our clothes, as we laughed over swollen lips, as he kissed the blush on my cheek and I stood up on the balls of my feet to press my lips against the soft skin just in front of his ear. We rearranged the plates and silverware and napkins, grinning at one another. Sharing that moment between us with every look.

Slow, yeah. Glacier slow. But Christ, he just looked so good tonight.

“Ta da!” Tracy came into the room bearing a platter filled with steaming ravioli and butter sauce. Annabeth followed with bread and salad. We bustled about, helping them set everything up, Brady grabbing the wine and our glasses, and then we settled in.

Brady took a deep breath, grinning and raising his glass to Tracy and Anna. “This smells delicious. Much better than the frozen pizza I had planned.”

“Agreed.” I toasted them both, but my gaze kept being drawn to Brady, sitting across from me. His hair was still mussed from where my fingers had been caught in silk-soft waves, his cheeks were flushed a bit, and I liked to think it was more than just the wine and the candles that made him smile like that. It was terrifying to feel the surge of heat again, to be caught up in someone’s eyes. It was like I was waking up, bit by bit, the fog of the past two years melting in a puddle of peach pie and borrowed scarves.

After dinner, Brady and I found ourselves in the kitchen, washing dishes side by side, the gentle clink of plates and cups underscoring the soft music coming from the other room. We were silent, the two of us, bubbles caught on my arms, Brady’s head bent over the drying rack.

I’d kissed him. Impulsively, sweetly, I’d kissed him. In that moment, there’d been no Aaron at all. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what that meant. Ever since he’d died, ever since someone had taken my heart and laid it in cold dirt, had covered it with etched stone, people had been telling me to
move on
. To mourn him and to learn to live again.

It’s what he’d want
, I’d been told.

You deserve to find someone new.
As if it was that simple. As if my life could be shaken like a snow globe, turned over and inside out and the view changed. It was a puzzle, missing pieces forgotten as I struggled to make a new image whole.

I wouldn’t want him to move on. That was my deep, dark secret. If I’d been the one to die, if it’d been me, I wouldn’t want him to find solace in someone else’s arms. Those were
my
kisses, soft and gentle on his lips. My laugh that had lit up the sky. My hands that had held and stroked and made real. He’d been mine, and I was his. I still was his, wasn’t I? Isn’t that what love was?

Except I’d kissed Brady.

Except I wanted to do it again.

The water swirled down the drain, disappearing in a curl of velvet soapsuds. For a beat, there was nothing. Just us, Brady and I, standing and staring down at the sink.

“I miss him,” I whispered, voice breaking. “Every second, like I’m screaming all the time, and I can’t stop. I want to go up to people and ask them why they can’t hear it. Why they can be smiling or laughing, why can people
eat
or
drink
or
live
when he’ll never do any of it again. How can I be happy without him? How can anything make any fucking sense?” My eyes went to his, to those damned beautiful depths, so kind and so confused. I could see it in his expression; what could he say? What could anyone?

“But then I kiss you.” I moved a step forward, a magnet on string, his iron sweet solidness drawing me in. “I kiss you and I don’t miss him. I kiss you and I’m not living in that place. I’m not soaked in sickness and sadness and grief. I just…
am
. I can breathe.”

With a soft noise, he reached out for me, gentle fingers trailing along my cheeks before he hooked me in close, before he did just that. He kissed me, hard enough I couldn’t do anything but be right there, with him. In that moment, in that little glimmer of life, I wrapped myself in him.

“It scares me,” I admitted in a whisper. “I don’t know if I want to keep kissing you forever or hate you for making me forget him.”

Brady’s lips twisted downward in sympathy as he fussed with my hair, brushing it back from my forehead. “I don’t know what to say to you,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. I just….” Huffing out a sigh, he kissed my forehead and wrapped his arms around me. “I don’t want you to forget him, babe. He was a part of you. He
is
a part of you. This isn’t you trying to replace him. It’s just where you are now, you know?”

Face pressed into his chest, I nodded. It made sense. I knew it made sense. So why did I still feel sick with guilt just standing there with him?

Eventually we pulled apart, hand in hand as we walked into the living room. There was flan and coffee, there was laughter and storytelling and conversation that went over my head. I sat in near silence, contributing a smile from time to time, a quiet laugh when it was needed. Mostly, I let myself float away on the feeling of not being alone. On the noise and the closeness that didn’t allow any ghosts at all in.

“Let me walk you home.” Brady took my arm, wrinkling his nose at me in a smile as he tucked my scarf tighter around my neck.

The moon was plump and full above us, hung in the crook of the buildings we passed, caught in tree branches and skylines. Our breath made smoky trails as we walked, footsteps crisp on the pavement. Brady was warm, solid next to me, hand never leaving mine.

“I meant what I said,” he broke the silence, glancing over at me. “I’ll go slow. No matter how many times you grab me and kiss me.” He smiled, teasing, nudging my side with his elbow. “No matter how gorgeous you look tonight.”

Worrying my lower lip, I tilted my head back, up toward the sky. Letting the night air surround us, I paused, taking deep breaths, eyes falling closed.

“I’m confused,” I admitted.