None of this was new. Despite them only having one night together so far, the fledgling feelings he had for Skye were just the latest incarnation of the same old thing all over again: Brennan starting to like someone in a genuine and meaningful way, only to realize immediately that it was just not in the damn cards.
“You’re throwing in the towel before there’s any reason to.” Liza crossed her arms over her chest. “And maybe it’s not Skye. Maybe it’s someone else, but whoever it is or whoever it could be, don’t just dismiss it before you’ve given it a chance.” She met his gaze with an expression that was equal parts frustrated and sympathetic. “I just want you to be happy, B. I want you towantto be happy. And I don’t think you do.”
“I don’t do happy.” He arched one brow. “You do.” He paused, taking in the sight of her. She already looked like somebody’s mama, and in spite of everything bothering him right then, that did make him happy. “Despite that…”
Brennan paused again, this time for even longer. Liza lifted her brows almost like she was challenging him.
All the shit from last year raced through his mind again. He lowered his gaze to the floor, staring at the spot between his polished Oxford shoes and her strappy stilettos and shiny, red painted toenails. “I’m not really a man who prays, L. Never have been.”
“I know that, B. I don’t really either.”
“Do you remember when you were coming down with the flu, and I took you to that café?”
He looked up to see Liza swallow and nod.
“When you told me about everything from before,” he prompted.
She nodded again, her gaze a little somber.
“The next morning, I went to St. Louis’ and lit three candles. One for you, one for your first baby, and one for this baby. I started doing that every week. I still do.”
Liza sucked in the tiniest little gasp and took a shaky step backward. Her eyes filled again, the tip of her nose turning pink, and her bottom lip gave the tiniest tremble.
“I don’t do happy, L., but your news makes me the happiest I’m probably capable of being.” He swallowed his own feelings and focused on hers. “I’ve hoped and wished for this for you since that night at the café. You deserve your rainbow, honey.” He flashed her his most charming grin. “And I am going to spoil the hell out of this child. So, just prepare yourself.”
Liza laughed loudly, lifting her hand to wipe her eyes. “I know you will.”
Brennan cupped her cheek and leaned forward to press a kiss to the center of her forehead. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go deal with the shit I just created. I guess my dad’s keeping serious tabs on me, so I’ll see y’all at work tomorrow.”
Pushing through the doors of the restaurant, Brennan scanned the street in both directions, but didn’t see Skye anywhere. He asked a couple of passers-by if any of them had seen a pretty redhead, and one elderly man pointed him in the direction of the intersection of Royal and St. Peter.
Hands in pockets, Brennan marched down the street as he stared at the ground, feeling like shit for a couple of reasons. He hadn’t quite reached the corner when he heard the distinctive sound of quiet crying.
He peered around the side of the salmon-colored building on the corner and saw Skye seated on a concrete step that led to the side door, hunched over her knees and tugging the hem of her short, green skirt in an attempt to cover her thighs. Her hair cascaded over her heaving shoulders in an auburn curtain that shone like satin in the sun.
It was one of the saddest things he’d ever seen, and he was a capital dick.
“Trapped. Trapped. Trapped.” She was quietly mumbling through hiccups and sobs. “I’ll never get away from this.”
Sobs gave way to the throes of long, quiet weeping, and something stabbed the inside of his chest.
“God, I just need a break already. I just need to get out of here. God, give me one person who’ll just… save me. I can’t do this myself. Someone save me. I need help. God, please help me.”
So apparently at least one of them was a person who prayed. And it sounded like there was a good fucking reason.
Brennan backed away from the corner, hand clasped over his mouth.
What the hell had he done? How could he have been so careless with someone who was already so clearly broken down?
He had a fierce need to do something, but Skye was sitting on a step in a city street, sobbing and in prayer, and that wasn’t something he could barge in on.
So Brennan hung back, leaning against the side of the building, waiting and listening as she continued to cry and beg God to save her from the people of the world who had hurt her; people he now realized he was one of.
10
FRENCH QUARTER, NEW ORLEANS
Brennan was an asshole. And Skye was just fuckingdumb.
