Reign of Brayshaw (Brayshaw High) - Meagan Brandy Page 0,101
“Couple hours.”
I step away, taking a deep breath. “I’m gonna need a shower. And Chloe.”
“Chloe,” he deadpans.
I shrug my shoulders. “Can’t be a queen in Kmart clothes.”
Captain’s smile is tender as he reaches out, placing his palms on my face. “You could be queen in trash bags and no one would dare question you.”
A full shot of air fills my lungs for the first time in weeks and I stand tall, nodding.
“Thanks, Cap, but let’s catch them all off guard in every way we can. Your dad said this place is the best of both worlds, grit and glamour. Let’s give it to them. Question is, are we walking in as husband and wife?”
“We walk in as Brayshaw.”
My smirk is instant. “Damn straight we do.”
The squeak of the slider door draws our attention, and Victoria steps from the back of the Bray house, her bag slung over her shoulder.
She eyes us a moment before I wave her over, meeting her halfway.
She stares, and when I reach for the borrowed duffle, she rolls her eyes with a slight tip of her lips. “Last thing you need is to carry this beast.”
“I’m not a fucking flower. I can carry a bag.”
“You wanna know what I told him?” she suddenly offers, referring to hers and Maddoc’s conversation.
“I told you I trust you. Get it through your head already.”
She shakes her head, faux disappointment on her face. “Again, with that dirty little word.”
I shove her and she laughs lightly. “Go, I’ll be there by the time you’re out of the shower.” Her eyes fly over my shoulder to Captain.
I eye her, backing away. “All right.”
I turn to Cap, who brings his eyes to mine.
“I’ll call them, we’ll be ready,” he assures me.
“Cap...”
He’d walk away if he felt like it, but I can always make her leave, so he doesn’t have to.
He shakes his head. “I’m good, girl. Go.”
“Do you like her?”
His eyes cut to mine, narrowing.
“I mean, I know I’m your wife and all, but you can tell me,” I joke.
With a chuckle, he gently nudges me away, so I go without another word.
I walk back the way I came, down the dirt road I used to stare at, wondering where it could possibly lead, and into the house I never imagined I’d be a part of, the home I haven’t set foot in in weeks.
Rolland jumps from the barstool the second I enter, rushing for me. “Raven.”
“We’re ready to end this. Are you with us?”
He looks behind me, a frown pulling at his brows when the door doesn’t open behind me.
“They’ll be here. All of them.”
He nods. “And I’ll be with you, too.”
“I need a shower.”
He understands what I’m asking, I told him to take my room and make it Zoey’s after all, so I’m not sure I have a right to walk up those stairs.
He holds a hand out, leading me the opposite way of the house, back behind the pool table and down the hall where the gym once sat, his office not far from it.
I enter, finding a brand-new bed, a California king with a large, dark grey headboard that almost meets the ceiling, plush pillows covered in royal purple lay atop of a stark white comforter. A matching grey dresser sits across from it, a rocking chair with cushions the same color perched beneath the window.
Something catches my eye on the nightstand beside it, so I head that way, finding a small double frame.
With shaky hands, I pick it up.
My sonogram cased behind the delicate glass, my mother’s right beside it.
I bite into my cheek.
“I thought the purple would work well for you, too,” he admits quietly, having noticed the color of the writing on my mother’s image.
I set it back down, turning to meet his eyes.
He walks over to the closet, pulling it open. My clothes hang on one side, while the other holds nothing.
“This is mine? You did this for me?”
“This is your home, Raven, more so than anyone else’s. This is where you will live, Graven be damned,” he says, leaving no room for query. Strong, final.
My eyes move back to the closet, and Rolland steps into my view, blocking the emptiness.
He gives a slight smile. “I thought I’d leave this side open, just in case.”
My jaw muscles tighten, and I glance around once more.
There’s a flashlight on the nightstand, see-through purple curtains draped over the window, the sun shining through them perfectly. I slip my fingers through the sheer material, running them across the windowsill