All the Broken Pieces: (Broken Series Book 3) (31 page)

I glanced down to see that she was indeed wearing fuzzy slippers with her leggings and long sweater.

Most adorable woman ever.

And she threatened to put her foot in Brant’s ass, which added bonus points.

An hour later, I was in the kitchen with Jennie, helping with the food prep for the next day. I’d been peeling sweet potatoes for a good thirty minutes—comfortably chatting with her as she cooked—when she came over and put a cup of steaming cocoa in front of me, taking the bag of mini-marshmallows meant for the sweet potato soufflé and dropping a handful into my mug. She didn’t say a word, just smiled and went back to the stove to stir one of the numerous pots.

Brant was out front testing lights after Jennie told him one of the strings was ‘blinking its ass off against all odds’ and she couldn’t get it to stop. His dad was due home any time and that familiar feeling of apprehension was slowly creeping into my stomach. I sipped the cocoa absently, marveling at how rich and delicious it was. “This is really good, Mrs. Matthews. Thank you.”

“I make it with cream instead of milk, makes it so much better.” She confided. “And stop with that Mrs. Matthews stuff. I’m Jennie, got it?”

I nodded, reaching for another sweet potato. “So, will there be a lot of guests at dinner tomorrow?”

“No. Just us four.”

I stared at the numerous pots and slow-cookers, the matching pie plates full of homemade crusts ready for filling, the enormous pans of yeast rolls rising on the counter, and I felt my mouth drop open. “You’re kidding.”

She wiped her hands on a dish towel, tossing it onto her shoulder and turning to the refrigerator for more ingredients. “Not at all. I always make a ton of food. The majority of the leftovers get portioned into meals and frozen so I can send them home with Brant.” She peered at me over the open fridge door, one brow rising. “He can’t live on his own cooking. He’d wither away to nothing.”

I wasn’t about to argue, though I’d personally seen Brant cook amazing meals on many occasions. We even cooked together a lot at Kade’s. His mom either didn’t know he could cook or had decided her cooking was better. I tended to think it was the former. She was making sure he was well fed and he was letting her believe he needed her because she clearly loved to do it. It was her way of mothering him even from hundreds of miles away.

Hugging her suddenly sounded like a really good idea and before I knew what I was doing, I was up and across the room, hugging a clearly surprised Jennie and making a total fool of myself. I got myself together and pulled back, laughing nervously. “Sorry. I’m not sure where that came from. I was just sitting there thinking what a great mom you are and next thing I knew…”

She waved me off. “Don’t apologize. This is a hugging household. You’ll fit right in.” She dropped a bag of celery onto the counter as I retook my seat. Without turning back to me, she said, “I don’t know if I’m a
great
mom, but I try.”

“That’s all it takes. You want to be, which means you already are. Brant is lucky to have you.” I chuckled. “Hell, if I weren’t nearing thirty years old, I’d ask you to adopt me.”

She laughed softly, still working. “I’d be honored. Always wanted a little girl, a baby sister for Brant but that wasn’t to be, I guess. You’d be a great daughter, I can already tell. Only problem is, I think Brant might object to suddenly being related to his girlfriend.”

We were both laughing about that when Brant stepped into the kitchen, pulling off his jacket and hanging it onto the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” we both said, causing us to burst out laughing again.

He just shook his head, pulling a beer from the fridge. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But you two better not be plotting against me. I’m outnumbered until Dad gets home.” He headed for the door.

“Hey, wait. Where you off to? Can’t you help cook?” I smirked.

“Pfft. I’m clueless in a kitchen. Everybody knows that.” He winked at me conspiratorially. “Besides, I have a few calls to make so I thought I’d leave you two hyenas to your inside jokes.”

“Aww… someone doesn’t like being left out.” Jennie crooned in a baby-talk voice, taunting him. “Want mommy to let you lick the spoon?”

He glanced from her to me, shaking his head. “God’s sake, woman. I’m thirty two years old. Dad needs to hurry his ass up.” With that, he left the room to the sound of our laughter.

•••

Meeting Brant’s dad was like looking into the future. He had the same dark hair, broad shoulders, bright eyes, and thoughtful expression as his son. His hair was peppered with gray at the temples and there were a few laugh lines adding character to his face, but otherwise they looked startlingly similar.

William Matthews was also just as awkward as his son, much to my delight. He sort of faltered when we met, stepping in for a hug but also holding out a hand for a handshake, shifting back and forth for a moment in indecision before Jennie shoved him at me with an eye roll.

“Oh, for hell’s sake, Will. Hug the girl before she thinks you’ve escaped the asylum or something.”

He gave me a quick hug and shy smile. “Sorry. I’m not used to this, so forgive me if I stumble through it at first.”

“Not used to what? Meeting new people?”

He frowned, glancing at Brant who was still on the phone in the dining room. “No. Brant bringing girls home. He hasn’t done that since…”

“It’s been a while.” Jennie cut in, bailing her husband out with a pointed look.

“You mean since Zoey, don’t you?” I asked quietly.

They both looked at me, wide-eyed.

“He told you about her?” Jennie whispered.

I nodded. “He did. We’ve been friends for a while now, told each other everything. The other part, being more than friends, is more recent.”

Jennie watched me with a soft smile. “I knew it as soon as he told me about you on the phone.”

I looked at Will, who was also smiling, and back to her. “Knew what?”

She shrugged, trying to downplay her reaction as Brant stepped into the room and moved to hug his dad. “I was just thinking I may get a daughter after all.”

•••

“Are you sure about this?” I whispered, glancing down the hall at the closed bedroom door near the end. Jennie and Will’s door.

Brant rolled his eyes. “Yes, baby. They know we’re sharing my room.”

Brant’s parents had turned in over an hour ago, leaving us to finish watching the movie alone.

“Maybe I should sleep on the couch. I don’t want to be disrespectful.” I worried my bottom lip with my teeth.

“The only way you’d be disrespectful is if you keep biting your lip like that because it’s going to end up goading me into fucking the living hell out of you against that wall over there.” He pointed to the spot he meant. “Now, get your ass in the bedroom and stop being so self-conscious. Like I said earlier, I’m thirty-two. It’s fairly safe to assume they know I’m not a virgin.” He quirked a brow, giving me a look that suggested I was being silly as he grabbed my wrist and gently tugged me into the room behind him. “And I’m sure they know anyone I love enough to bring here for the holidays has probably shared my bed, in every sense of the word.”

“Okay,” I relented. “But I’m not putting out.” Even to my own ears, that one sounded weak.

He closed the door with a soft click and turned to pin me with a heated stare. “I bet I can change your mind about that.”

I folded my arms over my chest, trying to look unimpressed. “I’m not as easy to sway as you seem to think.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a sexy as fuck smirk and my body was already well on its way to betraying me. “So…” he closed the distance between us, his sock feet sliding gracefully on the bare floors as he dropped to his knees and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of my leggings.” If I were to do this…” He slowly tugged the fabric down my legs, leaving it bunched near my calves, basically barring me from stepping away as he leaned in and exhaled his warm breath over my thin panties. “Or maybe this…” He pushed the panties aside and trailed his index finger down my slit, his hot breath still flowing over me like a caress. “Mmm… how about if I lick your sweet pussy like this…?”

There was just the barest sensation of his tongue brushing against my folds, nudging, seeking. And those damn soft moans in the back of his throat.

“You don’t play fair.” I muttered, fighting the urge to press myself harder against his mouth.

“Would you like to get in the game, gorgeous?” He lapped at me again, finding and latching onto my clit, sucking it between his teeth and giving it the little nip he knew drove me crazy.

“Yes,” I breathed, voice thick with arousal.

He reached out and tugged my leggings all the way off, tossing them over his shoulder as he moved to stand, dragging my shirt up and off as he did. He admired my breasts through my lacy bra for a moment, his gaze intent as he reached around and flicked the clasp open with one hand. The bra joined the rest of my clothes on the floor and his mouth was instantly latched onto my nipple, tugging it hard and grazing it with his teeth.

Finally surrendering in a battle I was always destined to lose, I tugged his shirt off and went to work on his jeans, making quick work of getting him undressed. I was desperate for him, needing his touch, the feel of his mouth on me, his cock in me. I wanted it all so much that I was momentarily overwhelmed trying to decide what I wanted first.

Brant made the decision for me a moment later when he pressed a searing kiss to my lips and backed me toward the bed. The edge of the mattress hit the back of my knees and I was forced to sit, placing me at the perfect level to take his thick, gorgeous cock into my mouth.

I looked up at him, marveling at the intense look in his hooded eyes. His desire was easy to see, I needed only glance at the rock-hard evidence before me, but his love was just as apparent. When he looked at me like that, the two emotions mingling in his expression, I wanted so much more than his body, more than his heart.

I wanted his forever.

With trembling hands and an overflowing heart, I reached for him… And I wasn’t ever letting him go.

•••

Later, we lay quietly in the double bed of his childhood, listening to each other’s soft breathing between moments of hushed conversation. I was stretched alongside him, head resting on his outstretched arm, one arm draped across his ribcage as my fingers absently traced over the hardened ridges. I glanced around the room, still able to make out most of its contents in the brightness of the winter moonlight streaming through the thin curtains. Awards lined shelves that spanned the length of the far wall. Some of the trophies had beakers and engraved atoms, indicating science accomplishments. Others were draped with ribbons and photos that I wasn’t quite able to make out from a distance. “All of those awards…” I marveled. “Clay and Spencer always talk about you being a genius but seeing all of those,” I pointed, indicating the long line of gleaming proof of his intelligence, “Is pretty intimidating, to be honest. It kind of makes me wonder what such a brilliant mind could possibly see in someone like me.”

His hand had been gripping my shoulder, thumb lazily grazing my skin, but now it halted. “Someone like you?” There was something in his tone, something that bordered on anger. “Are you implying that you are somehow substandard by comparison? That you’re not worthy? Because, if you are, I think we are about to have our first fight.”

I bristled. “You can’t lie there and pretend that you don’t see the differences between us.” I reached across him to poke the mattress at his side. “This, this bed. You probably slept on it for most of your childhood, didn’t you? Your parents probably tucked you in and read you stories when you were little, bought you adorable pajamas with superheroes on them and extra blankets to keep you nice and warm.” I gestured toward the trophy shelves again. “You’re thirty-fucking-two and they still keep this room just the way you left it. They loved you well, and love you still.” His mouth opened to speak and I caught his chin in my hand, lifting myself up on my elbow to look down at him. “Because you’re amazing. Perfect. So goddamn easy to love that even a broken, jaded mess like me fell for your charm.”

He reached for my hand, tugging it to his lips and placing kisses on the backs of my fingers. Saying nothing, letting me have my irrational meltdown.

I watched his lips against my fingers and palm as I continued, the warmth of his breath giving me gooseflesh. “You’re worthy. You matter to people—they flock to you and you don’t even realize it. Teach was that way, too. Not me. My own mother didn’t care if I lived or died, so how the hell could I expect anyone else to give a damn? The few people I’ve ever been close to, it wasn’t easy or effortless like it is with normal people. Like it is with you. You say you’re awkward but you’re not. You’re perfect. And we both know you deserve better than someone like…”

His hand was suddenly there, covering my mouth with surprisingly light pressure as he rose up to mirror my position, his dark blue eyes pinning me with quiet intensity. “That’s enough,” he growled.

His stern words and the dark look in his eyes were startling. Not that I was afraid of him; I knew better than that. But he’d never taken that tone with me or looked at me with such thinly-veiled anger before.

“Don’t ever talk shit about the woman I love. Ever.”

I tried for a smile but he didn’t return it. He wasn’t joking. The moonlight played across his face, shadows from shifting tree limbs giving his brooding expression a hard edge. I hated that I’d pissed him off, it wasn’t my intention. “I’m not talking shit. I’m being honest.”

“No, you’re regressing. You’re still the same girl who burned that awful note from her piece of shit mother, you’re still the girl who shredded Isaac like a fucking ninja, and you’re still the girl who found a way to awaken my long-dead heart without even trying. You, more than anyone I know, deserve to be loved, adored, fucking
worshiped
. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.” His eyes softened and he reached for my hand, taking it in his and pressing it against his chest. “I know seeing this house, my parents, and how normal my upbringing was hits a nerve for you, and I’m sorry. I should have thought of that before bringing you here. I know my mom is the polar opposite of what you had, and lying here in the bed I grew up sleeping in has to feel odd, but you can’t do this to yourself. Just because I had it better doesn’t mean I was more deserving. And you suffering so much for so long wasn’t because you deserved that, either. You can’t let yourself feel like less because someone else has more.”