Page 24 of Fixing Their Heart
I sit back against the headboard and stretch my legs out. There’s plenty of room past my feet, telling me that when I lie down, they won’t hang over the edge.
Something happens in my chest. My eyes feel strangely hot and scratchy.
“Whelp, I’m going to get ready for bed. See you in a few.” Cora scrambles off the bed and leaves me alone with those feelings I’mnotsupposed to be having.
Chapter 10
Cora
He likes it!
Brawn’s eyes got shiny, and he sniffed, and I knew he was experiencing some emotion that he needed to process on his own. I excused myself to give him the space he needed, and now, I’m doing a happy dance while I brush my teeth.
I can’t help feeling pretty darn smug for thinking up this surprise for Brawn. It took all afternoon, and Scrap and Doc were late to dinner finishing it up, but we got ’er done. Doc cursed over a few splinters, and if it weren’t for Doc’s healing, Scrap would have a new accidental piercing, thanks to the needle from the industrial sewing machine. I have a few puncture wounds, myself, but just from a normal sewing machine—nothing I needed to bother Doc with. The point is: all the hard work was worth it!
“Totally worth it,” I sing to my reflection. I blow myself a kiss and immediately stop and evaluate what I just did. I’m acting like my old self for the first time since Week Zero.
I’m happy. Genuinely happy.
I never thought I’d be happy again, but here I am, making cutesie faces in the mirror and shimmying in my PJs—well, a T-shirt and sweats I got from Scrap and was able to alter using my-new-best-friend-the-sewing-machine.
Thinking about where I was just one week ago compared to now fills me with a gratefulness I can hardly contain. It spills onto my cheeks, and now I’m the one sniffing. After one last smile at myself, I wipe my eyes and open the bathroom door to head to bed. But I don’t get far, because there is a wall of giant man blocking my path.
Huge hands reach for me, and I’m too startled to move. I stand stock still while Brawn grips my arms with surprising gentleness, hauls me out of the bathroom and swallows me up in his embrace. He kisses the top of my head, and says, “Thank you.”
More tears slip from my eyes. “’Welcome,” I say into his soft, flannel shirt.
I’m more touched than I can say. Brawn likes the bed so much he’s breaking his no-touching rule. Since I don’t want him to stop, I decide not to point it out. Instead, I simply enjoy the security of being held by the largest human I’ve ever met. It’s like being protected by the wall of a canyon, if the rock could move and breathe and surround you until you feel like nothing bad can ever touch you again.
I don’t know if it’s okay for me to do so, but I reach around his waist and squeeze him. Brawn is warm and solid, and he’s somehow all around me. Then he’s lifting me until my legs spread wide to wrap around his hips, and he carries me.
I’ve never moved around the cabin at this elevation before. I’m noticing things a five-foot-four person misses out on. Like the uneven join between the wood-paneled walls and the ceiling. I see an old stain on the plaster that must have happened during a big rainstorm. There’s a cobweb above the bedroom door that I’ll sweep away next time I’m cleaning.
The whole world lists as he ducks through the frame. His hand cups my head protectively, even though there’s no chance of an accidental bump since my face is tucked against his neck. To assault me, a doorjamb would first have to get through his shaggy head and muscled shoulders.
Safe inside the bedroom, Brawn knee-crawls onto the huge bed. It’s a testament to Scrap and Doc’s craftsmanship that the frame doesn’t creak under his substantial weight. I can only hope the seams where the mattresses were cut then glued and sewn together will hold under the tossing and turning of seven men—one at a time, of course—though my new bed is big enough to hold a few at a time.
I’m blushing at the image that thought puts in my head when Brawn lowers me to the blankets. His delicate treatment makes me feel like one of those fancy glass sculptures hanging from the ceiling of the mall back home. He lets go of me, and his hands hover, like he wants to grab me up again. They’re shaking.
“I don’t know if I can do this.” His voice is deep and choked.
“Do what?” I’m strangely aware of the space between us. Electricity charges it, and I feel pulled to him, like he’s a magnet and I’m made of iron filings.
“Stick to my rule.”
“No touching?”
Slowly, he nods. I like looking at Brawn up close like this. He’s not just tall. He’s big all over. Without the context of his surroundings, other people, or his too-small baseball cap, you wouldn’t know he tops out at seven feet. He’s broad and muscular and well proportioned. He’s not handsome the way Doc is. He’s rougher, like an Alaskan lumberjack or an oil rig worker. Above his beard, his cheeks are ruddy with sun exposure, telling me he spends a lot of time outside. I probably would too, if being indoors meant constantly ducking under doorframes and sitting on furniture too small for me. In the meager light, his eyes look dark brown and wild as he sits back on his heels, doing his level best not to reach for me with those huge, careful hands.
I still feel where his strong arms held me and where his palm cradled my head. I’m warm in those places, like he primed me there for more of his touch. I’m also warm in my center as I watch this giant fight an internal battle. Over me.
I want him to touch me again, and I can tell he wants that, too. But I also know what it’s like to have rules and boundaries. I’m okay with them being pushed, but only onmytimeline. I don’t want to push Brawn if he’s not ready to be pushed. On the other hand, I hate seeing him suffer needlessly.
“I have a rule, too,” I say.
His eyes snap to mine. “What is it?” The urgency in his tone tells me he’s worried he’s already broken it.
“It’s okay,” I say. “We’re nowhere near it. My rule is—” I feel awkward just spitting it out, so I back up. “Well, you know about Leon, right?”