Page 75 of Whispered Promises

“Now you can answer my question…” I encourage, finally pulling back onto the road and heading to the next delivery. But I can feel his gaze on me, watching and absorbing.

He blows out a breath, and I have to fight not to turn my attention away from the road. “As I said, Noah was at university, but I’d decided to head into the restaurant world. I was working in a kitchen, training under a chef at a high-end place.”

“As in fancy, tiny portions?” I query, feeling a little awed.

“Super tiny,” he confirms. I glance quickly at him and feel unease at his pinched brows. “When we were twenty-two, our parents were in a car accident. They…didn’t survive.”

It’s in this moment that I wish we were someplace else, that I’d waited to ask these questions until we were somewhere I could offer him comfort. A hug, at least. I look his way and see he’s turned, staring out his passenger window. I wonder if, perhaps, it’s easier for him this way. He can hold back the emotions whilst he recites the words that are difficult for him to voice.

“It hit us both so hard, and we grieved in different ways. Noah took the memories and treasured them; he threw himself into finishing his teacher training so he could become qualified and start making a difference for all his students.”

His tone is steeped in bitterness and what feels like envy. Shit, does that feel relatable.

It’s so easy to look at others and twist their pain into something pure and perfect. Whilst you sit feeling dirty in your self-deprecating thoughts, wishing you could cleanse your mind and be a better person. Fun fact: you should never assume anything, because more than likely, that other person is feeling just as shit as you are.

They might just be better at hiding it.

“But me, I couldn’t grieve like that. I wasn’t man enough for that. I retreated, became a shell of myself, almost as if my life-force ran on their love, and without it, my body was shutting down. Can’t even say I felt anger or an injustice over their deaths. Which I know I should’ve. But I was so numb. I had no thoughts, emotions, or feelings. I stopped eating, drinking, or doing any basic care to look after myself. None of it was intentional. I didn’t decide my life wasn’t worth living without them or anything like that. But without them, I just didn’t…know how?”

I park as he finishes with uncertainty; there’s nothing that could persuade me to get out and make the delivery right now. I turn in my seat, my knee smacking against the handbrake, but I barely feel it as he turns and faces me. His eyes are shadowed with guilt, and raw pain simmers beneath the surface.

His vulnerability pulls at something within me; it reaches with phantom fingers, outstretched and waiting for me to grab it.

Taking the metaphorical leap, I grasp him, not wanting to let go.

“You don’t need to explain or justify your grief, because it’s exactly that: yours. No one can dictate how you should or shouldn’t experience it. Just because you grieved them in a different way to someone else, it doesn’t make you love them any less. I promise, they knew how much you loved them. I didn’t even need to know them to tell you that, seeing the man you are. I know they felt every bit of your love for them,” I declare, needing him to understand, to see how I see him.

His brows dip, mouth pursing slightly as his eyes flick back and forth between mine, almost as if he doesn’t quite believe my words. I hold steady, not wanting him to doubt me, even if the close stare makes me itch and want to pluck out my eyeballs. I can bear this moment because it’s important.

“Thank you,” he croaks, hoarse and thick. It’s inappropriate, but the gravel in his voice skates down my spine and settles low in my pelvis.

Shit, now is not the time to have any sort of heat there.

Dropping my eyes, my throat feels jagged as I swallow. “You’re welcome,” I whisper, hoping he can’t notice the flush I can feel creeping up my cheeks. But he doesn’t let me avoid him. He nudges his fingertips under my chin, lifting my face up to his.

“You make it so easy to bare everything to you, Rosy. It’s almost dizzying, the relief to be able to talk to someone about the darker parts of me and know that you see me.”

My breath catches at his words, watching as he leans in, closing the distance between us. My lungs strain as I hold still.

“I feel as though I could drown myself in you, to confess every little thought and desire.”

My head nods, the movement halted by his fingers still curled around my chin, but I don’t want him to stop whispering his words; I don’t want him to stop this moment.

Please don’t stop. Never stop.

“Knowing you would keep it safe behind those soft, pretty lips.” He’s so close his mouth brushes against mine with every word he breathes out.

“Always,” I finally manage to say, head light and dizzy.

His lips push against mine, almost as if he’s trying to seal the promise, make it unbreakable. A part of my soul for a part of his.

My heart skips, because this is Bry. Sweet, caring Bry. And his mouth is on mine. Cementing us together, and there’s no turning back after this. It means I’m jumping all in, throwing all caution out as I risk everything.

And shit, is it everything.

He’s soft, gentle but sure.

The feel of his kiss pulls me back.