I know you, Brogan. I've never forgotten.
I moaned again, our tongues sliding and gently dueling. I loved the taste of him-mint and Brogan, that indescribable something that was only him and no one else.
Our kiss became urgent, Brogan's fingertips moving lightly over every part of my skin that he could reach as if he were trying to convince himself I was really there. I felt the hard press of his arousal against my stomach and pressed back toward him. He broke from my lips, panting. "I . . ." he said, looking down at me with glazed eyes. "I . . . God, Lydia." He brought his mouth back to mine again, and we kissed for long moments. I sagged against Brogan, my body limp with need. He took my weight, holding me up with one arm around my waist while he worked my mouth like he had been born to do just that, feathering his lips down my throat and sucking at the hollow spot at the base of my neck. I was throbbing between my legs, my underwear soaked. I wanted to beg him to lay me down on the ground, undress me, spread my legs wide and fill me with his hardness, and relieve the terrible empty ache within me. If I didn't stop now, I was going to do just that. I was going to beg and plead and demand.
Breaking from Brogan's mouth, I took in a big lungful of air. "We have to . . . we . . ." I panted, trying to organize what I was trying to say.
"I know." He pulled me toward him as we both caught our breath. I rested my head against his chest, trying once again to figure out what I was feeling. "I want you, Lydia," he said, laying his forehead against mine and letting out a shaky breath as if in this, he was admitting defeat.
I tipped my head back and looked up at him. Our gazes seemed to tangle before I looked away, off to the interior door behind him. There was still so much between us, so much unresolved, untold. I would not lie to myself; I wanted him, too. Desperately. But it wasn't enough. It hadn't been then, and it definitely wasn't now. Taking his hand I started toward it, pulling him behind me. He followed. When we stepped into what had once been a small, temporary bedroom, I let go of his hand and looked at him.
"What about this, Brogan? What about what happened here? Will you ever really forgive me? Is this," I swept my hand around, indicating all that had happened here that day, "really over and done with for you?"
His gaze broke from mine, and he looked around the now-empty room, his eyes lingering on the place the small cot had once been. The place where we'd both lost our virginity what seemed like so long ago.
I walked over and stood in the spot, a wave of melancholy coming over me as I thought back to my stupid teenage dreams. "I had envisioned it like this. You'd pull me close and kiss me." I brought my fingertips to my lips re-enacting the drama of my girlish imaginings. "Your lips would be so soft, so gentle. I'd imagined kissing you so many times. I'd lie in bed and think about it, my hands wandering over my skin, pretending they were your hands touching me, stroking me. I imagined how you might taste, how your skin might smell-like boy sweat and grass." I closed my eyes and inhaled and then smiled a small, dreamy smile, placing my hands over my heart. When I opened them, Brogan had a small baffled frown on his face. "Myles would burst in and demand to know why you were kissing his girl. 'Your girl?' you'd say, before you could even think too much about it. 'She's my girl. I claim her, right here, right now. My princess. She's mine and no one else's.' And then we'd . . . I don't know, hop on one of the horses and ride off into the sunset." I dropped my arms, sighing and looking around. "I never was very good at tying up the loose ends of a plan after I'd orchestrated the exciting part." I looked at Brogan, beseeching him with my eyes. "I was sixteen and stupid. I was young and spoiled and selfish. And I should have just told you I loved you rather than setting you up. I'm sorry, Brogan. I never meant to hurt you." I shook my head. "I never meant for things to turn out the way they did. I'm so sorry. I'm so very, very sorry." My words faded away to nothing.
Brogan's expression was a study in confusion. He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. Finally, he tilted his head and asked, "You wanted me? You pulled that stunt so that . . ." He ran his hand through his hair, looking down at the floor as if it might hold the answer he was apparently looking for. After a moment, he laced his hands behind his neck and just stood that way for several minutes, grappling with something. I waited, not understanding what he was so confused about. Finally, he dropped his arms loosely by his sides and met my eyes. "You did that for me? You did that so I'd fight for you?"
I nodded my head slowly, eyeing him. "Why did you think I did it?" I asked.
"I thought . . ." He shook his head. "I thought you used me to make Myles jealous. I suppose it doesn't matter." Only, it looked like it did matter. It looked like it mattered a great deal.
"No, I wanted you. I wanted you so much I couldn't think of anything else. So much I was willing to use every trick in the book to get you. Every stupid, manipulative trick." I sighed and walked a few paces and turned around, pressing my back against the wall and sliding down to the floor. He joined me where I sat, his shoulder touching mine as we stared straight ahead.
"We went to your house the next morning, you know, my father and I. I ran to him after Stuart . . . after Stuart fired your father. I ran to mine, and he was sleeping so I woke him. He told me we'd go see your family first thing in the morning. He promised he'd fix it. He liked you. He would have. He would have fixed it. But you were gone."
"We left that night," he said. "I couldn't bear to stay another minute." He leaned his head back and hit it twice against the wall.
"Brogan . . . I . . . I want to tell you something." I swallowed heavily. "We . . . looked for you. At least, Stuart was supposed to have put every effort into tracking you down. My father was ill, so he gave that task to Stuart. I wonder now . . ." I looked down at my hands. "But anyway, we looked for you because . . . because I was pregnant." I felt his body freeze next to me before he sat up abruptly, his eyes looking straight into mine.
"Lydia, my God." He took in a sharp breath. "You had-"
"I lost the baby. I was three months along and . . ." I shook my head, a sudden flood of grief taking me by surprise. I sucked in a shaky breath, almost shocked by the power of anguish overwhelming me. But I wouldn't cry now. Not in front of Brogan. "Everyone kept saying, 'Oh, it's for the best, Lydia.' They kept saying that and I hated them for it. I hated them because if it was for the best then why did it hurt so much? They were talking about my baby. They were saying it was for the best that my baby was gone." My voice sounded dull, emotionless despite the grief that pommeled my heart. "Even when I left for college, I was still so bitter. Then my father died and-" I sucked in a breath and Brogan pulled me into him, tucking my head beneath his chin. My breathing slowed as I felt his trembling increase. Brogan's hold on me was tight and after a few minutes, he seemed to calm, his muscles relaxing and the trembling abating. I tilted my head back to look at him. His face was waxen and he looked slightly shell shocked. "Lydia, God, I-"
I placed two fingers on his lips, stopping his words. "You don't have to say anything. I'm sorry I just sprung that on you. I didn't plan it." I wet my lips. "It's just this place and . . . maybe I shouldn't have said anything at all-" Brogan sat up taller and pulled me up, his hands around my upper arms, so I was looking straight into his eyes.
"Jaysus, Lydia, it was my baby, too. Of course you should have told me. I'm just so," he shook his head, looking for a moment as if he were a lost little boy, "so sorry you went through that alone. I didn't even consider . . ." He released me and ran a still trembling hand over his face. "I guess we both suffered . . . in different ways," he said blankly, staring at the wall behind my head.
"No, you had to scrounge for food to eat. You had to do things you hated doing. You-"
"Goddamn it! We're not going to compare our sufferings now," he yelled suddenly, moving me away from him and standing up. I came to my feet, too, my legs feeling shaky beneath me. He raked both hands through his thick hair, clutching fistfuls. "This is so fucked up." He released a large breath. Bringing his hands to his hips, he said, "Your brother did find me."