I literally can’t help myself when I walk up to Gabby and wrap my arms around her, pulling her roughly in for a hug. She actually yelps in surprise because me hugging someone spontaneously is paramount to a Catholic Church sanctioned miracle. Her surprise doesn’t stop her from returning the hug, and she wraps her arms tightly around me. I glance at Hunter and he’s watching us thoughtfully, his eyes warm and deep.
“We love you, Brody,” Gabby says softly into my chest. “We’ll never let her hurt you again.”
“Thanks, kiddo,” I say quietly, and then kiss her on the top of her head before I release her.
Turning to Hunter, I tell him. “Thanks for letting me know, man. She just better not show her fucking face around me.”
Hunter nodded but warned, “You got to keep it cool, Brody. Don’t do anything to jeopardize your parole.”
Fuck, but I envision putting my hands around her scrawny neck and wringing the ever-fucking life out of her. That definitely would not go over well with Jimbo.
“I’m cool,” I tell him, taking a deep breath, momentarily closing my eyes. I search inside of me for a calming thought… anything to erase the rest of the rage that is swirling in my stomach. Stacy’s face swarms my thoughts, and I push at her hard to leave.
Then a new vision comes to me… short, pixie hair, warm brown eyes, and soft fingertips rubbing over my palms. I start to feel a sense of peace overtaking me as I think of Alyssa, and I wish it didn’t bother me so much that I’m using the thought of one woman to banish another.
Chapter 8
Alyssa
Crap! I hate when I’m running late, but I didn’t sleep for shit last night. Chad kept calling me, which I ignored, but he became so persistent—translation, stalker like—I finally cut my phone off. Then when I tried to go to sleep, my thoughts were racing in a million different directions.
I had a moment of panic that I had forgotten to put in my feed order for the shelter, and then, when I was halfway out of bed to get online to order it, I remembered that I had indeed done it just that morning. Then I thought about my Corolla horse¸ worried about his poop of all things. He had been having loose stools, which the vet assured me was natural as we were introducing new foods into his diet and weaning him off the Spartina grass. I thought briefly about going back to The Haven to check on him, and then told myself I was being ridiculous.
Finally, when I started to settle down, I started thinking of… Brody. I can’t get him out of my mind. While many things cause my brain to race—Chad, dog kibble and horse poop—Brody is the one thing that plagues me the most.
Maybe it’s because I have a naturally soft heart, and maybe it’s because Brody reminds me of my poor lost souls that come into The Haven. I want to care for him, and let him know he’s safe. But there’s another side of me that does a hell of a lot of thinking about him too, and that’s got nothing to do with my soft heart and everything to do with my hormones.
He’s just absolutely perfect and pushes every single one of my girlie buttons. Where many women would consider Chad to be the epitome of a great catch, with his JFK Jr. good looks, and money oozing out of his pores, there’s something about Brody that is carnally attractive. I’m not sure if it’s his long hair, or the full beard he keeps. I don’t know if it’s the powerful build of his body, or hell, maybe it’s the pained look in his blue eyes, but he is absolutely magnetic to me and the more time I spend around him, the more I’m feeling the physical pull.
And if it was only a matter of me fantasizing about Brody, that would be one thing. I’d be content to let him visit my fantasies where I could imagine him pulling me into his arms, and moving those full lips against mine. But no… that’s not what’s got me twisted.
It’s the wondering.
Wondering what he thinks of me.
I wonder if he’s interested… in anything, with me. Friendship? Sex? A relationship? I know I’m probably stretching on those last two, but Brody is someone that I’m fascinated with, and the fact he wears a cloak of hurt tightly around him makes me want to do something… anything, to make it better.
Here lies the rub.
I’m sort of betting that Brody doesn’t want anyone to help him lift the shroud of his pain. He seems content to immerse himself in it, almost as if he’s continually punishing himself for what he did. Or maybe he’s just so deeply mired within it that it’s become somewhat of a comfort to him.
It’s a mystery that’s driving me fucking nuts, and I spend more brain cells on trying to solve said mystery than I really can afford to lose right now.