Brody - Ellie Masters Page 0,48
know what kind of boy he was—what kind of man he is now—I’m not fooling myself about him or what he wants with me.
But I want to see—or need to know—for myself. What do I want?
“Brody La Rouge?” Mom turns her head to me with a worried frown.
“Yeah. How do I look?” I dressed for the trail in jeans, a plain t-shirt, and my boots are waiting for me on the porch. As far as dates go, this is super casual.
“You look fine.” She leans her head back and sighs. “I worry about him hurting you again.”
Today is a good day. Her voice is stronger, not as tremulous, but she worries about me going out with Brody—on a date.
I think this is a date. Maybe I assumed it was, and it’s not? Hell, I hate the insecurity raging within me.
I upped the dosage on her pain medication after Abbie shared with me how much better Mom felt with an extra dose. I called Mom’s doctor and discussed the change. He agreed, saying it was more important to keep Mom comfortable than worry about the sedating effects. We discussed formally moving her to hospice. That’s something I need to deal with next week.
“I know what I’m getting myself into, and it’s just an afternoon trail ride.”
It’s that, or something far more dangerous, but I’m guarding my heart and protecting myself from turning this into something it’s not.
Pain stabs me in the chest as I dispense two of her pills onto a plate. Her water glass is full, just like she likes it, and she’s engrossed in reading a book—or rather, listening to an audiobook. She’s no longer strong enough to hold her e-reader, but thankfully there are amazing audiobooks that take her away and keep her mind off the pain.
“Just—promise you’ll be careful?”
“I will. Promise you’ll take your pills?” I’m her daughter, treating her as if she’s a recalcitrant child who won’t take her medicine.
“I worry about you, cupcake.”
“Don’t. I’ll be fine.”
“I thought Brody was coming tomorrow.”
“He is—this isn’t a business call.”
“That boy broke your heart, luv; are you really sure this makes sense?”
“It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Then, why?”
“Because…” I sit on the edge of her bed and take her hand in mine. “I guess I want to see what he has to say? I never had a chance to confront him about what he did. Maybe, I need closure?”
“He was your first love and your greatest heartbreak. We took you out of that school after what happened.”
“I know.” I breathe out a sigh. “I know, but it was something Abbie said to me.”
“What’s that?”
“She said, don’t let the mistakes I made at fifteen ruin the rest of my life. Or something along those lines.”
“She’s a dear friend, but still… I’m the one that held you while you fell apart.”
“You were always there for me, Mom.”
“I always will be.” She removes her hand from mine and covers her heart. “You’ll carry me in your heart when I’m gone. All I ask is that you guard your heart. Don’t repeat the mistakes of your past.”
“I’ll be careful, Mom. I promise.”
A knock on the front door gives me a start.
“That’s him.”
She gives a solemn nod. “Guard your heart.”
“I will.” I lean over and give her a kiss on the cheek.
I’ll guard my heart, but I’m done shutting myself off from love. Not that I’m interested in pursuing anything with Brody, but I need to move on from the damage he caused.
For the longest time, I thought I could do that on my own, but I can’t. I need to confront him before I can bury that part of my past.
I make a quick stop in the kitchen to pick up my backpack. Knowing how men think, or don’t, I prepared for an afternoon ride up in the hills. Nothing fancy—I don’t want to give Brody any wrong ideas—but I packed cheese, crackers, dried salami, some grapes, and sliced apples. I kept the cores for the horses. I also opened a bottle of Atwood Estates' best wine and repackaged it for the ride. Glass doesn’t transport well on horseback.
I take a deep, shaky breath before opening the door and remind myself what I want.
Closure.
Only when I open the door, Brody’s dazzling green gaze sweeps me off my feet. I stare, taking in his undeniable presence, and any thoughts of protecting my heart go out the proverbial window.
The cold, hard truth is I never got over my first love. I swallow thickly with that realization