Page 66 of Quiet Protector

27

Brandon

“Yes, Brandon. Keep going.”

I shake my head, freeing it of the image of Mr. Gregg prancing with me around the boxing ring while I throw a left-right-left combination at a frail boxing bag hanging next to the ring. It’s four in the morning, and I can’t sleep, so instead of wasting the time, I’m getting in a quick workout.

I doubt I’ll sleep for a month after my piss-poor performance last night.

Could you imagine having the girl of your dreams right there, splayed out in front of you while play by play of her rape flashed before your eyes.

I couldn’t get it out of my head. I could feel the heat of Melody’s skin under my hands, taste her on the tip of my tongue, but no matter how many times I yelled at my fucked-up head to get with the program, it didn’t listen. Madden kept flashing before my eyes—his sleezy grin and the gleam his eyes got any time he got away with something.

Then the images worsened.

Grayson was right. I shouldn’t have read the report on what had happened to Melody. I thought if I knew the exact recollection of events, I could ensure I stayed away from them if Melody and I ever reached the intimacy stage in our relationship again.

All it did was fuck with my head more.

Just like Mr. Gregg taunts me the longer I dispel the anger tearing me in two.

“Focus, Brandon. Get your head in the game.”

Sweat rolls down my back as I punish the bag as I wish I could myself. I’m so angry.So fucking angry.I hurt Melody. Me, the man who swore he wouldn’t, the man who pledged to save her from pain.

I work the bag harder, not the least bit concerned at the blistering of my knuckles. I deserve the pain. I deserve the punishment.

I also deserve Mr. Gregg’s taunts.

“Protect, honor, obey, and serve. It isn’t that hard.”

As my teeth grit, I kick and punch the bag acting as if the salty blobs sliding down my cheeks are sweat.

“If you are making gaga eyes at her, you’re not monitoring the area. You’re not watching her back. You are not doing any of the things I trained you to do.”

I told him he was wrong.

I said I’d never let anything happen to her.

I fucking failed.

“They made me pick. They made me pick between Wren and Melody. They either raped my wife or my daughter. She was five, Brandon. Five! Do you have any idea how much that question fucked with my head?”

I thought I did.

I thought I understood his pain.

I didn’t.

I had no clue how much that would have torn him up until now.

Now, I understand. The pain is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. He was right. I couldn’t love and protect his daughter. I got slack, I got complacent, and Melody got hurt.

As if that isn’t bad enough, she was hurt by my brother, a man who has the same blood as me while our other brother was being murdered.

A roar works up from my gut to my throat as I continue working the bag. I throw punch after punch after punch until exhaustion eventually knocks me on my ass.

The howl that escapes my mouth isn’t from the hard impact of my backside hitting the ground, it’s from the sob it arrived with. I’m broken. Fucking wrecked, certain I don’t deserve to live, even more so when Liam’s last words to me ring through my ears.