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That night, when I went to lay in bed, I almost fell asleep smiling, and the best thing was: I didn’t have any nightmares of the guy. He didn’t sneak into my room at night. He didn’t touch me. I was flying high on cloud nine, high enough to be preoccupied and not let myself get depressed that Brett was gone.
It was when I woke up the next morning that the sorrow hit me. And I meant really hit me. Like chest-constricting, heart-palpitating, cold sweat covering every part of my body.
Brett was gone. He was really gone.
The strange thing was, as much as it hurt to know he was gone, I wasn’t as out of it this time. I wasn’t going to grab a knife and kill myself. I… I think I actually wanted to live, to see what the future held for me, even if it wasn’t the best.
Being alive was better than being dead, wasn’t it?
But I missed Brett. I missed him so much. I guess I didn’t realize how much I’d come to rely on him. And the wholeI think I might be in love with himthing… yeah, that, too. Brett was annoying sometimes, he didn’t know what personal space was—and that said nothing about how easy it was for him to kill—but I didn’t care about any of that.
It was wrong, yes, but I just didn’t care.
I stayed in bed longer than I usually did. I didn’t want to get up. Getting up would mean I’d have to face the day, and therefore also face the fact that Brett was gone and I was back to being alone. What I wouldn’t give to see his face again.
And not on a mugshot on TV.
As much as I wanted to lay around in bed all day, I couldn’t, so I got up, got dressed, and meandered downstairs to get myself some cereal for breakfast. My bare feet hit the linoleum floor in the kitchen when my eyes spotted someone sitting at the table, someone who shouldn’t be here.
Just sitting at the damn table, drinking coffee from a mug he’d pulled from our cabinet, like he was supposed to be here. Like he’d never left.
I froze in place, unable to move. My heart did something funny in my chest, kickstarting the moment those blue eyes of his flicked up over the mug and landed on my face as he took a slow sip from it.
His hair was darker than it had been yesterday, which told me he’d dyed it on his own. His jaw was newly-shaven, and the clothes he wore actually looked good on him—a new, black shirt along with jeans that didn’t look to be twenty years old.
“Good morning, sleepy head,” Brett spoke as he set the coffee mug down. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t wake up at all. Do you want something? I can try to make you something, but I warn you, I never really mastered the art of cooking—”
He was going to say more, because this was Brett and he always had more to say, but I stopped him by darting toward him and throwing my arms around him. Sitting down, his frame was about as tall as me, which let me bury my face against his neck and breathe him in. His scent: woodsy and musky. I never realized just how good the man smelled.
I caught him off-guard, because it took him a few moments to respond, and once he did, he turned in the chair and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in toward him so that I stood between his knees.
“I thought I wouldn’t see you again,” I whispered against his neck. The very last thing I wanted to do was pull away. I was afraid if I let him go, he’d disappear—and this time, he wouldn’t come back. “I thought you left.”
I could practically feel the smile in his reply, “Charlie, sweetheart, I told you I’d never leave you, and I meant it.” His arms tightened around me, becoming steel. “I just wasn’t expecting you to kick me out of your car yesterday after handing me a wad of cash. Sorry it took so long to get back. I had a few things I needed to take care of.”
That got me to pull back, but Brett didn’t let go of me. So I stood between his knees, staring into his crisp, clear blue eyes like they held all of the answers I sought. “What things?” Even as I asked, I think deep down I knew.
Uncle Dave being gone wasn’t a coincidence.
All Brett did was smile at me. Smile and bring one of his hands to my face, tucking some of my hair behind an ear. “Has anyone ever told you you look adorable with bedhead?” he asked, totally not answering the question.
Plus, I was pretty sure I didn’t have bedhead. I hadn’t brushed my hair, but that didn’t mean it was a rat’s nest.
“Let’s just say,” Brett went on, dropping the hand on my face to my hip, which he then held tightly, “everything I did, I did for you, Charlie.” It was then I noticed a black duffel bag sitting on the table near him. Its black hue was a little dirty.
“What did you do?” The words got caught in my throat, and it took a while for me to get them out. I didn’t know why I didn’t put two and two together before; I should’ve known Brett was involved in this, somehow.
The smile fell off Brett’s face, and he whispered, “I did what had to be done. For the record, he got exactly what he deserved.”
Hearing him say it made my mouth fall open. “I didn’t—” I abruptly stopped myself from saying anything more. I didn’t ask you to? I didn’t want to say goodbye to you? I didn’t want to shut up and be Uncle Dave’s good girl, but old habits die hard when it was all too easy to retreat back into yourself?
I could’ve said all those things and more, and yet I was frozen as I stared at Brett’s face. The way he looked at me, his normally joking exterior gone, replaced by seriousness and a solemn look, it hit me.
He knew.
“You didn’t have to,” Brett whispered, and just like that, my legs gave out. I sank to the floor, but he slipped out of his chair and came down with me, his arms never leaving me. I ended up curled against him, on his lap, as tears pricked the corners of my eyes.
No. God, no, I didn’t want to cry. My well was supposed to be empty, but that didn’t stop the tears from coming.
