Page 43 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)

Walker

D rawing Clara a bath seems like so little, but the second she folds herself into the hot water with a little groan, I know I made the right decision.

Living by the beach in an RV might sound like some people’s dreams, but one bathroom, five people, and no tub means this is a luxury she’s been missing for months.

And as hard as it is to turn away from all that golden skin, I do, because the other thing that RV didn’t have was a whole ass kitchen.

Unfortunately, we haven’t gone grocery shopping yet—I’ll have to send RJ and Jansen out with a list after they get back with the phones.

Which leaves me to figure out what I can make using whatever is still here.

Finding an unopened bag of coffee in the pantry, I start the pot brewing.

It’s probably stale, but it’s better than nothing.

And while there’s no milk, the white chocolate syrup Clara got from Emma is still sealed, so I add that to the cup after checking to make sure it’s still good.

The last thing she needs to start this project is food poisoning.

I bring the drink to her, and her grateful grin has my heart in my throat. “Love you,” I say, kissing her, taking the risk to speak truth, loudly and without reservations, despite the likely surveillance.

“I love you, too.” Her dark eyes are glassy, and I can’t have that.

“More surprises, good ones, are still coming.”

“They better live up to the promise.”

I chuckle, kissing her again. “That’s the plan, until, well…” I run out of words, not wanting to say what we all know is going to happen next.

She blinks back her pending tears, that strength that she can’t seem to see in herself taking over. “Wow me.”

“Now who’s dropping challenges?” I tease, not able to keep from squatting next to the tub, running a finger over the pink in her cheeks from the hot water, debating going for more while I still have her in front of me.

She reaches for her old phone and clicks on some peppy dance beat. RJ says that as long as we don’t call or text on the old devices, they’re probably safe enough—but they’re definitely bugged. I move the phone across the room, the sound echoing in the small space.

Her grin is half teasing, half ignored grief. “I mean, I think we both have a weakness for challenges, Mr. ‘I want to compare myself to the masters and then kick their asses at their own game.’”

I chuckle, glad for the lightness, hoping we can hold on to it as long as possible. “Did you hear RJ got us credit for our ‘study abroad’ programs?”

She sputters out a laugh. “What? How?”

“Grades are just data points in a computer somewhere, I guess. So, we’re all on track to graduate this semester if we take full loads.

No more gen eds for any of us. Although why I would have taken statistics in Italy is anyone’s guess.

” This gets a full laugh and the smile that pulls across my cheeks aches, not from lack of use, but from preemptive bitterness.

“So, that’s one thing off all our worry lists. ”

“One less piece on the board before we start this game.” She stares at the ceiling, wrapping damp fingers around mine.

“Should we even call this a game?”

“If not a game, then it’s a fight for our lives. And that—” She glances at me, her brow creasing. “That makes it too real for me.”

“Then a game it is. I can’t have you worried.”

She tilts her head, the tendons there begging for either my touch or my pencil. I trace them with my thumb, then brush it across her throat, her swallow rocking under my skin. “I don’t think I’m worried right now,” she whispers.

This kiss is slow, an opening, but it’s not time yet. Later tonight I’ll take everything I can get. But the urge to care for her, to make the rest of the day special, beats out my libido. For now. “I have a few more things to get ready for you, but you’re not sleeping alone tonight.”

Her lips twist. “I don’t think I even know how to sleep alone anymore.”

“Me either, to be honest.”

She stares at me, her eyes a brown that begs to be put to canvas. I want to take the color people see as mundane, boring, and dirty, and prove that it’s beautiful, crystalline, and dynamic. Gorgeous, just like the woman before me.

“Tonight, then?” she asks.

I nod, not trusting my voice, and force myself to get up and walk away. To practice distance where I want none.

RJ and Jansen come back with new phones, all the apps we need for the next few months installed away from prying eyes.

When I hand them my list, they’re quick to note the item I added at the bottom, Jansen spinning and dancing while RJ grins and shakes his head at him.

But they’re onboard for tonight’s plan. That much is obvious.

While I wait for the groceries, I go through the freezer and the cupboards to decide what’s safe to keep, popping in to refill Clara’s coffee and stealing a kiss for my efforts.

And when Jansen and RJ finally come back with groceries, I cook like I haven’t in months, making all my favorites that I’ve missed.

Store-bought kimchi might suck, but it’s better than none.

Mandu and bulgogi, bibimbap with familiar vegetables, chocolate chip cookies, blueberries, things that shouldn’t go together, but I don’t fucking care.

I add corn on the cob and watermelon, because they’re in season, so why the fuck not?

If it weren’t so hot, I’d add all the soups I’ve missed, too, but I have to stop somewhere.

Even if that point is farther than I should take it.

I make a feast, sneaking samples and tidbits to Clara as I go, needing this to be big, memorable, too much.

Excess. Of food. Of togetherness. Of us. All of us.

A welcome home.

Before we say goodbye.