Page 32 of Braving the Storm

“Not funny.”

“I’m very funny. Ask around.”

She closes her eyes and grips the sleeve of my jacket. “I want to say something witty but my head is too sore, so you’ll have to imagine it instead.”

“If it’s anything like your glittering sense of humor in themiddle of the night, I can only imagine.” I watch her breathe a little harder through her nose as she adjusts to sitting upright. “Ready to try standing up for me?”

She makes a little noise of agreement. “Sorry for ruining your day. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than deal with this.”

“Briar. You don’t have to apologize for needing help.”

She digs her fingers into my arm a little tighter.

“Well, thank you, anyway. You don’t have to.”

Jesus. I knew Erik had a fucked up relationship with his daughters, hardly being around as a parent, but the fact this girl feels guilty for getting hurt and needing help has got me wanting to go dig him up from his grave just so I can punch the motherfucker in the jaw all over again.

I help Briar to her feet, and we slowly make our way inside as I’m careful to steer our path to avoid any other patches of ice. I’ve got half a mind to just say fuck it and carry this girl, but even while shaken up, she seems determined to walk, even if it does require using me as a crutch to steady herself a little.

“I might shower to warm up, if that’s ok?” she says as we get inside.

“Door open.”

Turning on her heel to look at me, her brows are drawn together.

“Can’t have you passing out on me in there.”

Briar tucks some hair behind one ear. “I think I’m good. It just took me a moment to get my feet back under me.”

I know exactly what she’s doing, and trying to brush this off as unimportant ain’t gonna work with me.

“Door. Open. You answer me if I call out, so I know you’re alright.” I cross my arms and look down at her. “Don’t think I won’t hesitate to come in there either if I think something is wrong.”

“Ok.” She gives me an odd look, then takes herself off. The water starts running and I hear the slide of the shower curtain over the rail after a few moments.

The painkillers from last night are still sitting on the bench, glaring back at me reproachfully, because as much as I meant that in a protectiveI’m here to take care of youkind of way, there is also a very large part of me that wants to ignore our circumstances, and the difference in age between us, and go in there anyway.

I brace both hands on the kitchen bench and drop my head.

Is there a hell reserved for men like me who have spent a lifetime not wanting anything meaningful with anyone, only to find the person I’m drawn to in ways I cannot fucking fathom or explain is someone who I’m sure there are laws in certain states prohibiting me from going anywhere near.

“Hiiii. Still alive.” Briar’s voice calls out. Interrupting my sudden compulsion to start trawling through online search results and the legal quagmire of relations between adopted family members.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Don’t use all the fucking hot water,” I shout back with my eyes squeezed shut.

After a couple more minutes, the shower turns off, and I can hear her moving around. With a mug in hand, I stand and stare at the three different types of fruity teas lined up on the shelf Briar bought herself the other day in town.

How the hell am I supposed to know which one she’ll want? Coffee has been my go-to for years; I’ve never voluntarily drank hot fruit-flavored water. The concept is fucking weird. After sniffing each of them, I settle on lemon and ginger. I’m sure that’s supposed to be good with nausea, and there’s every chance she might feel pretty rough later on.

Christ, I didn’t fall off a bull during my pro years, but I certainly hit my head enough times doing dumb shit when I was young and too much of an idiot for my own good. Personal experience, and being around enough rodeo injuries taught me how damaging that lingering impact can be on your brain.

Briar emerges, smelling like soap and flushed with steam, andthere’s a now familiar tug of a hook in my gut that makes me feel like I want to hold her.

Wanting to hug my niece isn’t the weird part; the messed up bit is that after I hug her, I want to be able to duck my head and wrap my palm around her jaw as I brush our lips together, and within those illicit acts lies my giant goddamn problem.

“Sit down. Chill. Put a movie on or something.” Jerking my head in the direction of the sectional couch. “Don’t touch that phone of yours.” I place the tea on the coffee table beside her, before handing over a couple of painkillers and a glass of water. This is the world’s weirdest uno reverse from the events of last night.