Stupid Girl

Page 41

“Gracie,” Brax said. He gently grasped my head, forcing me to hold his stare.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry. For everything.” He inhaled, exhaled. “Except for one thing.”
I tilted my head. “And what’s that?”
“Knockin’ into you.” Brax’s smile transformed his harsh features into something heart-stopping, beautiful, and I nearly lost my breath. “That was Fate, Sunshine. A day I’ll thank God for, every single day of my life.”
I thought my heart would burst, and I brushed his scruffy jaw with my knuckle. “I lied when I told you I wished I’d never met you.” Tears stung my eyes. “I can’t imagine my life without you, Brax Jenkins—”
Brax’s mouth descended on mine, and his kiss was reckless, desperate, and so damned sexy my cheeks grew hot. He pressed his forehead to mine, and we close-stared for several seconds.
“So all you have to do is keep your GPA up and quit beating the horse snot out of guys, right? And you keep your scholarship?”
We both turned to find Mom on the porch. She grinned.
“Yes, ma’am. That’s the deal.”
She gave a short nod. “Swell. Now get your butts in here then and have some pancakes. We have a Christmas tree to cut down later.” She wagged her brows. “Decorations and lights. My dad wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Brax pulled me close, thought better of it, then swept me up into his arms. “Your mom said swell.” He kissed me on my nose. “She’s about as cute as you are.”
“One of our favorite Jilly words,” I snuggled against his warm chest. Contentment and joy filled my body as Brax carried me up the steps and into the house. Although Christmas without my grandfather would leave a mark, Brax had just made it a whole lot easier to accept.
My brothers came by later and we all headed down to Crom’s Christmas Tree Farm to pick out the Beaumont tree. We were down one man—Jilly—who usually griped and complained over at least twenty trees before agreeing on one. But we were up one man—Brax—who loved and wanted every single tree we picked out. It was like watching Christmas through the eyes of a child who was just old enough to feel the Christmas spirit. Those crazy blue orbs sparkled with more mischief than any toddler I’d ever seen. He helped my brothers cut a ten footer down and load it onto the top of Mom’s Suburban. I was pretty sure Brax had never had a Christmas quite like the one he was having now.
Back home, we trekked through the woods behind the barn, on our annual hunt for the perfect misletoe. Kyle spied it first.
“Dude.” He pointed to a giant cluster of green in the top of a mostly-barren hardwood. “Perfection.”
“And you’re gonna shoot it down so I can kiss your sister?” Brax cupped his eyes against the glare. He looked at me and winked. “Fire away, bro.”
Kyle did, and the massive ball of evergreen tumbled to the ground. At the ranch, Brax helped me string it up on the porch.
And then we tried it out. And tried it out again.
Brax wrapped his arms around my body, pulled me close, buried his mouth against my neck. “I think this mistletoe thing works. I can’t seem to keep my hands off you,” he whispered against my skin, making it tingle. “I hope your brothers don’t clobber me.” Clobbah.
“I hope my mother doesn’t,” I said, breathless. The look of fear in his harsh features made me burst out laughing.
“Nutcracker!” Brax hollered. Nutcrackah!
I fell into an unstoppable fit of giggles. Not only from his adorably sexy accent, but sooner or later I’d have to tell him just exactly what the safe word entailed.
Brax helped decorate the tree. He climbed the roof with my brothers and strung hundreds of lights—including strategically placing our twenty-five year old Santa and reindeer on the eve closest to the chimney. Yet whenever we were near each other, his eyes were on me and they burned, literally lit up. It made me feel cherished. Desired. Loved, maybe? He hadn’t said the words. I sure felt them.
On Christmas Eve, we all gathered for the traditional standing rib roast meal, the watching of It’s A Wonderful Life, and the opening of one present each. Brax totally surprised me with an official Boston Red Sox jersey with Beaumont and his number on the back of it. I’d gone shopping with Mom and had picked him up a book on constellations from the bookstore. I’d had to make him put the book down, and it gave me a good feeling inside, knowing he was interested in my interests. And visa versa. I now wanted to share a special place with him. We drank nutmeg eggnog. Spiked with rum. I’d never realized what a storybook Christmas we always had. Every year. Not a spoiled Christmas, with loads of presents. But family. Tradition. I wouldn’t trade them for the world, those memories.
“Where are we going?” he asked, walking as close to me as possible, his arm around my shoulders. Slung over his opposite shoulder, my scope.
“You’ll see,” said. I was actually a little melancholy about the place. Jilly had made it for me years ago. High above the barn loft, a trap door led out to a platform made especially for stargazing. We reached the barn, climbed the two sets of ladders to reach the platform, and when we stepped out onto it Brax sucked in a breath.
“Man, Gracie,” he’d said in a low voice. “This is wicked.”
“Jilly built it for me,” I told him. “Years ago. We used to watch every single meteor shower of the year from up here.”
I spread out a blanket, Brax set up the scope, and we laid there for a long time, staring at the crystal clear skies and glittering stars.
Suddenly, he pointed. “What was that?”
“Let me see,” I said, and moved to look through the eye piece.
“I don’t know,” he said, snuggling close to my ear. “Looked like a sleigh or something.” His hand slid under my jacket, resting against my stomach.
I giggled, and turned to look at him. “You got me.”
We laid facing each other, and he kissed me. “Yeah, and I’m keepin’ ya, Sunshine.” His lips touched mine, his tongue swept over and over, and my hands found their way to his jaw and I kissed him back.
“I’m f-f-f-ucking f-f-freezing,” he said against my mouth, and moved closer, his hands now finding their way beneath my thermal shirt to my bare skin.
I squealed. “Brax! No! Your fingers are like ice!” I squirmed, and he continued his assault until finally, his hands warmed against my body, and he trapped me with his heavy thigh. Bracing himself on his elbow, he looked down at me; his gaze searched mine, seemingly moving over every inch of my face. With his free hand, he brushed my hair out of my eyes. He was quiet for a long time.
“You take my breath, Gracie Beaumont,” he said, his voice husky. His intense stare burned straight through me, I shook, and he kissed me so deep and with so much emotion, a surge of joy filled me and swept away all trepidation I’d ever felt.
“What’d Jilly say to you that night in the hospital?” I asked again. “If you can tell me now?”
He snuggled closer. “He told me not to play around with your heart. That if I really wanted you, I had to prove it, or else walk away. To sacrifice.” He kissed me again. “And he also said if I hurt you again he’d find a way to come back and kick my horse’s ass.” He grinned. “I told him he’d never have to worry about that. Ever.” Evah.
I could so hear my grandpa saying those ornery words. God, I missed him.
On Christmas morning, Brax crept into my room and woke me up.
“Gracie,” he whispered, shaking me. “You gotta wake up, Sunshine.”
I cracked open my eyes and there he was, his Boston Red Sox hat turned around backward, an excited grin plastered to his face. “Now,” he pleaded.
“If my mother catches you in here she’s going to beat you with her broom.”
He lifted a brow. “Your mother sent me in here.”
I sat up, shaking my head. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you thank you.”
Brax tugged on my arm. “For what?”
“Watching your usual Southie potty mouth around my mother.”
He shrugged. “Tryin’ to clean up the act a little, is all.”
I rolled out of bed. “You’re scared of her.”
“Wicked scared of her.” He grinned.
I laughed, and we walked out into the family room, where our ten foot tree was sparkling with lights. Underneath, a few more presents than when I’d last checked. I eyed Brax with suspicion. “What’d you do?”
“Merry Christmas, guys,” Seth said, just walking in.
My other two brothers stuck their heads from the kitchen. “Merry Christmas, Lil’ Bit. Brax.”
We all exchanged gifts. Brax was nearly squirming by the hearth for me to open the small box he’d handed me. I knew it wasn’t anything overkill, like a ring. But it was … something.
“Gracie, you’re killing me,” he said. “Open it already.”
I did, and inside the box was a thin silver chain, complete with the tiniest charm. A silver telescope. I flung my arms around his neck. “I love it! It’s perfect!”
He looked at me. “I know.”
My cheeks flamed, and I reached around him and handed him a brightly wrapped box with a burlap bow I’d made myself. “Your turn.”
Brax turned those ghostly eyes on me. “What’d you do, Gracie?”
“Open it.”
He did, and when he pried off the box lid, he stared. “No way.”
I glanced at my brother Jace, who’d helped me pick it out. “Yes way, Boston.”
“Ah, man,” he said, and withdrew the straw Stetson. “Close your eyes, Gracie. You know,” he winked. “For effect.”
I rolled my eyes and closed them.
“Okay.”
I opened them again to find the hat pulled arrogantly down over Brax’s brow, a perfect fit, and a smoldering expression on his face. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“This is what I call the fury,” he said. His brows pulled down, lips puckered.
“More like the pimp,” Kyle said.
We all burst out laughing.
Brax stayed with us throughout the rest of the holidays and helped catch the ranch up on repairs, chores, and even helped us break a few new horses. He helped Jace and Kyle fix the roof, a few rotted boards on the barn, and several places of fence that needed mending. On New Year’s Eve we shot off Jilly’s Winchester, and Brax kissed me for the entire minute leading to the New Year. Seth, Kyle and Jace shot off fireworks, and although I missed my grandfather desperately, I was washed in a new kind of joy.
Desperate, true, forever love.
I couldn’t have been any happier, save Jilly being around for it. I think he’d approve, too. Of me. And of Brax. Of us. Yet neither of us had admitted it.
The days zipped by, and in a blink it was time to head back to Winston. It felt weird not being able to say goodbye to Jilly. I guess Brax could tell something was up.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, walking out to my truck.
I shook my head and explained. “It’s just so … strange. Not seeing Jilly. Not saying goodbye.”
Brax brushed his knuckles over my cheek. “We’ll say goodbye on the way out, Sunshine.”
After I hugged my mom and brothers, Brax tightened the tie-downs securing his motorcycle in the back of my truck and we pulled out of the drive. Brax drove us to the cemetery on the outskirts of town. We’d all visited on Christmas Day, but still—it felt wrong not to visit again, and he’d read my mind. Brax gave me a few moments alone at Jilly’s grave. The dirt was still fresh-looking and new. I ran my fingertips over the headstone, traced the Ranger’s star etched into the marble with my thumb.
“Thanks, Jilly,” I whispered. “And you know why, you old badger. I love you.”
On the way back to school, Brax drove, and we both wore our hats and sang with Kansas and the Eagles to the top of our lungs. But when he bypassed Winston’s front gates, I looked at him.
“Sorry, Sunshine,” he said in that familiar raspy voice. “But you’re comin’ home with me tonight.”
My stomach dropped. “Am I going to need my safe word?”
Brax turned up a single lane drive, up to a house, and around the back to a small apartment. He killed the engine and gave me the fury.
“Definitely so,” he said, his voice low.
I laughed, but he silenced me with his mouth, and the kiss lingered, deepened, and finally, he pulled away. “I wouldn’t keep you against your will,” he said. “Do you want to stay?” He kissed me again. “Christ, I want you to stay.”
I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. “I do, too,” I whispered against him.
Wordlessly, he opened the door and pulled me out with him. He shouldered our bags and my scope, grabbed me by the hand and pulled me up a flight of outdoor steps that led to an above garage apartment. He looked at me as he unlocked the door. “Henry’s renting to me for a fair shake. Plus he gave me a job at the cages.” We pushed into the apartment, and Brax kicked the door shut with his foot. He locked it, set our stuff down, and pulled me to him. “Small, but private.” He grinned, and stared at my lips. I’d noticed a dim lamp in the far corner that cast a hazy light over the single room apartment. “And all mine.”
I peeked over his shoulder. We stood in a small but complete kitchen. Tiled floors. A bed in the far corner, with a chest of drawers, and in the center, a sofa, coffee table, TV against the brick wall, and a Bucks stove for heating. One door led to, I assumed, the bathroom. I grinned at Brax. “Perfect, Southie.”