Chapter 30
Everything and nothing changed between Brock and me in the days and weeks following Thanksgiving and the night at his place.
As corny as it sounded, it was like a fairytale come true, but my girlish fantasies of Brock and me being together was nothing like the real thing. Back then I had no experience in, well, anything, and what limited knowledge I’d gained from Ben had been repeatedly and amazingly blown out of the water each time Brock touched me—kissed me and took me to bed . . . or on the couch, the kitchen counter—against the wall. Brock was never sated, and neither was I. I’d never been like that before, where I spent a good portion of the day lost in thoughts about our time spent alone. My heart was in the clouds and my head was quickly following.
He spent many nights at my apartment, because I had a functioning kitchen, and I think he was growing attached to Rhage, even if he didn’t necessarily admit it. Over the weekends, I’d gather up Rhage and we’d end up at Brock’s, eating carryout and helping him the best I could with stripping the cabinets, which involved a whole lot of elbow grease and sanding off the old finish.
We exchanged keys and he knew I was on the pill even, but we still used condoms. At work he made it pretty obvious we were involved. He made no move to hide it whenever he kissed me before leaving for out of office meetings or whenever he would give me that smug, secretive smile during a conference if a quickie was stolen during our lunch break. The staff seemed to have no problem with it. Well, all except Paul. Unsurprisingly, his smirky face got even more smirky once he realized Brock and I were seeing each other. During one of the meetings when we announced that my father was considering converting the two rooms on the second floor into dance studios, his eyes rolled so far back I feared they’d roll out of his head. Whatever.
Things went beyond the physical with Brock—how everything changed.
I relaxed around him. When I smiled, I didn’t think about how it looked and I worried less about what people thought. Instead of hoping people ended up on my left side during important meetings, I made sure that they were.
I added to the books I’d brought back with me, and it wouldn’t be too long before I needed a new bookcase. I hoped Brock would offer to put that one together and I hoped it ended the way it had last time.
Everything had changed, but still, things remained the same in little ways. We didn’t dwell on the night our lives changed. It wasn’t exactly laid to rest. I think both of us acknowledged it was there, that it would always be there. It was a part of us, but it would no longer be between us, and Brock still didn’t talk about his relationship with Kristen, not even when I poked around the subject. I couldn’t help it. I was curious about why they stayed together. Why they really broke up.
Brock was skilled at evading all conversations that started to veer into territory about her, and I wasn’t sure exactly why. Obviously, I had a feeling there was something there he wasn’t fond of discussing. I didn’t like it, but I did like the way he veered those conversations. It usually involved those talented hands and mouth.
With each passing day, the wiggle of doubt that this wasn’t going to last, that what we had wasn’t real, faded. It didn’t haunt the time I spent with him or keep me awake like the nightmares used to. It was fading, but it lingered like the acidic scent of scorched wood.
The doubt remained the same, lessened and almost gone, but it was still there.
* * *One Monday night, Brock helped me set up and decorate my artificial Christmas tree. We set it up in front of the window that overlooked the parking lot below.
It wasn’t a huge tree, only about six feet tall and not very full, but it had the frosted tips that reminded me of snow and came with twigs and berries already attached.
“How do you keep Rhage from not destroying this?” he asked, untangling the string of golden lights.
“He kind of does his own thing with the tree.” I glanced over at where the cat sat. He was already within a few feet of the tree, his eyes wide and I imagined, full of anticipation. “That’s why I don’t use bulbs. Even the kind that don’t shatter would be pointless. He’d knock them off in seconds.”
“He’ll leave the tinsel and lights alone?”
“Yeah, he kind of only climbs about halfway up the tree and just sits in it, staring at you like some kind of wannabe jungle cat.”
Brock chuckled as he plugged the strand in. I handed him the one I’d been working on.
Watching him wrap the tree with the lights, I couldn’t stop the smile from forming on my lips. We did this a lot growing up, but this was our tree, and there was something incredibly magical about that.
“I’m surprised you didn’t have this up before Thanksgiving,” he commented, readjusting the lights on one of the lower branches.
I laughed. “I’ve calmed down a bit in the decorating department.”
“Still kind of early.”
“It is not early,” I argued, digging out the silver tinsel from the bin. “It’s December.”
“It’s December twelfth,” he replied dryly.
“Whatever.” I looked down as Rhage eyed the dangling tinsel. I grabbed the end so I didn’t tempt him to prove me a liar. “Are you getting a tree?”
One shoulder rose as he picked up the star. “You know, we never did the Christmas tree thing.”
“You . . . you and Kristen?”
He nodded. “We spent the holidays at her family since . . .”
“Since the last time you came to my parents?” It had been the night I’d lost my shit with him.