Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“He needs you more than I do,” he says, shoving the pasta I made him into his mouth.
“That’s not the romantic flex you think it is.” I like feeling needed. By both of them.
“Don’t misunderstand me. I want you to stay, but I don’t need you to. Brady’s struggling, and with you giving your notice already, there’s nothing really holding you here other than me.”
That brings a smile to my lips because I can see what he’s doing. “You’re downplaying how much you want to be there for Brady, aren’t you?”
Prescott points his fork at me. “Don’t tell him I have a heart.”
I reach across the table for his hand. “Oh, Pres. Silly, Pres. We both know how big your heart is. You’re just as worried about Brady as I am.”
“True, but there’s a difference between you and me.”
“What’s that?”
“You have the time and availability to go to him. I don’t.”
“What about—”
He stops me before I can even ask about my furniture, clothes, and everything else I need to organize before moving back to the West Coast. “You can hire people to clean up this mess of an apartment.”
My apartment is far from messy. “Excuse me, I’m the neat one of us three.”
“Yeah, but you had Brady here for close to two months. I’m surprised you haven’t done a deep clean already.”
“Mm, true. I’ve been preoccupied with some other whiney guy who’s only whinier when he’s injured.”
“I’m not whining about being injured. I’m whining because I’m so damn constricted. I need to run and be free! I need to blow shit up.”
“Of course you do. Are you sure you’re going to be ready to leave the navy?”
Prescott puts down his fork. “Honestly, I’m not sure I’ll ever truly be ready, but I’m making the choice to have a more stable home life. No disappearing for six months at a time. No more training accidents that almost kill me.” His brown eyes peer deep inside me. “No more running from love because I’m scared of screwing it up.”
I stand from my seat and round the table so I can take Prescott in my arms. He remains seated but wraps his arms around my waist.
I lower my head and murmur into his hair, “Even if you fuck it up, you know Brady and I will still love you.”
“Do I? I see how my parents are with each other, and I’ve always thought it would be exhausting keeping up that level of affection and devotion. With you, it’s easy, but … what if one day it’s no longer second nature?”
I pull back and mock gasp. “Having to work hard for something? No way.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do, and there are no guarantees in relationships, but we’re willing to put in the work if you are.”
He nods. “I am. I just worry about a time in the future where maybe one of us won’t be.”
“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.” Though, I have faith we won’t reach that point. Not if we all keep our word and promise to communicate any issues. Even if it’s not with words.
Brady doesn’t need to tell us he’s hating the distance. It’s obvious when we see him on a video call. He claims exhaustion, which I’m sure is part of it, but Brady has a way of expressing himself in other ways that let me know he’s not doing the best.
Like when he changes the subject off himself to ask how Prescott’s leg is doing or giving me sympathy for having to put up with Prescott’s whining. He makes sure that our focus isn’t on him, and that’s not the Brady we fell for. It’s the Brady he is when he’s not with us—the one who looks after everyone else and ignores his own needs.
“Go to Brady,” Prescott says. “I’d rather know he’s being taken care of than selfishly have you here with me when I don’t need you, knowing he’s hurting.”
“I will. Do you think we should call him and let him know?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
I should’ve known that would be Prescott’s answer.
My flight to New York is delayed, but that’s not a major problem because Brady probably wouldn’t have been home from work when I was supposed to land anyway. But as I arrive on his stoop and ring the doorbell, Four answers the door.
“He’s not home yet.”
I glance at my phone. “Still?” It’s going on 9:00 p.m. now, thanks to a three-hour delay.
“He’s been working all kinds of insane hours lately.”
That makes me wonder if he’d been calling us from the office instead of home like he’d led us to believe. That sneaky little shithead. Which I mean in the most affectionate way possible.
“You’re welcome to come in and wait for him.” Four steps aside.
“Is it possible to go to his office? Do I need a key card to get into the building or anything?”