me outside that bar, I thought I could put on a brave face and it would all blow over quickly without ruining a piece of myself in the process.
The rearview mirror on the passenger side of the truck is angled in such a way that I can see myself in it as I rest my head against the window. I stare angrily at all of my blonde, beautiful hair that I took down from its high ponytail after the run. It’s wild and untamed and even though my mother has always been the one to insist it remain long, I usually don’t mind it. I love my hair and the confidence it gives me. I love being able to hide behind it when I need to pretend to be someone else. Now all I see when I look in the mirror is a dirty pair of hands wrapping a handful of it around his fists and forcing me to do something I don’t want.
I tear my gaze away from my reflection when I realize Brady just drove right by the road that would take us to my cabin.
“Where are we going?” I ask, breaking the silence in the cab of the truck.
“Someplace safe,” he replies rigidly.
An hour later, I stand in front of the small mirror in the bathroom staring at the woman reflected back. She looks nothing like me. But I guess that’s what I wanted when I locked myself in here and found a pair of scissors in the medicine cabinet.
“Someplace safe” turned out to be Brady’s three bedroom townhouse on the outskirts of town. And he was right. It’s definitely safe. He’s got more deadbolts on his door than an apartment in Hell’s Kitchen in New York City, and his security system is more state-of-the-art than mine. He's turned the walk-in closet in his bedroom into a panic room, complete with a steel door and a keypad for entry and exit, and there is a table set up inside with monitors that show the entryway inside the front door and all around the exterior of the house.
I had barely glanced at his furnishings as he walked me through the home, showing me where everything was, and I regret that now. It's strange being here in his domain and around his things. A man’s home is like a window into his soul. It tells you if he’s a confirmed bachelor who never wants to grow up or a family man with a big heart who keeps pictures of his loved ones on his mantle and hung on his walls.
His sister and niece weren’t home when we got here but I can hear a female voice talking softly to Brady on the other side of the door now and I assume it’s Gwen.
“How long has she been in there?”
“I don’t know, a fucking long time,” Brady whispers angrily.
“Don’t get lippy with me. Did you even knock on the door to see if she was okay?”
“No. I figured she needed some space.”
“You’re an idiot. Women don’t need space even when we say we do. You should check on her.”
“You’re standing right there, YOU check on her.”
“I can’t just knock on the door of the bathroom Layla Carlysle is in! What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Oh my God, she’s just a person. A normal, smart, amazing person. You can knock on the door, Gwen.”
I’d laugh out loud right now at their whispered argument if I wasn’t so numb. Hearing the two of them bicker back and forth makes me wish I had a sibling.
“I knew it! You really DO have a crush on her!”
“Will you shut up? I don’t have a crush on her. I’m not twelve,” Brady argues.
“Fine, then you’re in love with her.”
There’s a long stretch of silence outside the door, and I realize I’m holding my breath, waiting for Brady’s reply.
“You’re pesky. And annoying. Like a housefly. Go away,” Brady finally says, not responding to Gwen’s statement of love.
I let out the breath I was holding, not sure if I’m happy or disappointed that he didn’t say something in regards to Gwen’s comment, which is completely unfounded anyway. He’s not in love with me. That’s just silly. We’ve only known each other for a month, and we live in two completely different worlds.
I don’t hear any more of the conversation through the door and realize that they’re probably both just standing there waiting for me to emerge. I take a deep breath figuring I might as well