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Yet, watching Brody, I clearly see the stark contrast between the two men.
Brody doesn’t wear masks. He doesn’t hide behind carefully constructed lies. He’s authentic and fiercely honest. He never pretends to be someone he isn’t, just himself. I trust him more than I’ve trusted anyone, but still, questions about him linger beneath my skin.
He swings again, powerful and precise, sending pieces of wood tumbling to the ground. The force behind his motions hints at something personal and unresolved. It’s raw and almost painful.
I bite my lip, curiosity mixing with cautious hesitation.
Why is Brody so protective of me? His loyalty to Billie explains some of it, but not all—not this burning intensity I feel from him. There’s an unseen layer beneath his steady surface, and he guards it as if his life depends on it.
He sets down the axe, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. His breathing is heavy but even. His gaze lifts, meeting mine across the distance. A slow, soft smile warms his features, as if he felt me watching the whole time.
“Enjoying the view?” he calls lightly, the teasing tone breaking through my thoughts.
Heat rises to my cheeks, but I manage to smile back. “Impressive technique.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Plenty of practice.”
He takes a drink of water, then continues with his mission.
My thoughts still swirl; I know he’s had decades of practice hiding his secrets, but I hope one day he’ll trust me enough to share them.
I find myself watching him, noting how the muscles of his back shift beneath his T-shirt with each careful movement. I notice a gentleness that makes him even more intriguing.
His expression is distant, almost haunted, and I realize how little I actually know about him—this man who’s risked everything to keep me safe.
He must sense me watching again because he turns his head slightly, his blue eyes locking onto mine.
“You okay over there?” he asks, his voice soft.
“Just thinking,” I reply.
“Dangerous habit.” He smirks, but his eyes hold mine, gentle and attentive. “Care to share?”
I pause, biting my lip, as he sets the axe down and moves closer to me.
“I was just thinking about how little I actually know about you. I mean, you were always around, growing up, but we’re not kids anymore. So much has happened.”
He raises an eyebrow, his expression becoming cautiously playful. “I’m an open book, Harp.”
“Oh, come on. No, you’re not.” I laugh. “You’re more like a tightly sealed diary—locked twice and hidden under a mattress.”
A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, and I like the sound of it. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just too afraid to ask. I’ve never lied to you.”
I study him, tracing the shadows beneath his eyes and the careful guard behind his smile. “Maybe a little,” I admit honestly. “You never talk about yourself, and I don’t want to bombard you.”
His gaze drops, thoughtful. “I’m not trying to be secretive. It’s just … some things, like my past, are hard to discuss, so I don’t.”
The hint of vulnerability in his voice tugs at my heart. It’s strange to see him like this—strong yet guarded, gentle but distant. Brody is a man who has scars that I can’t begin to understand, but I want to.
“That’s okay,” I whisper. “I don’t want to pry.”
His eyes lift again, meeting mine. “You aren’t prying. I’ve just gotten good at avoiding conversations.”
“Why?” I ask.
He exhales slowly, fingers threading together as he stares down at his hands. “Because, sometimes, it’s easier not to talk about things, especially things I can’t change.”
I sense an untouched pain beneath his carefully chosen words. The urge to comfort him, to understand him, overtakes me.