Branded Sanctuary (39 page)

Chloe turned her gaze back to her tea cup. “What if I‟m not undamaged enough to set aside fear and pain? It‟s like chicken and egg, M. I want him, but I may be too messed up right now. Do you think it‟s best to let him go until I get it figured out?”

“Like the chicken and egg, I think he may be the key to helping you figure it out. He has chosen you, and will be whatever you need him to be.”

“I just want him to be him.”

Marguerite met her gaze. “I‟m glad to hear it. You may be able to help him with that.”

So Marguerite knew. What had she said?
What Brendan needs, more than a Mistress, is
someone who understands what his submissiveness is truly about. And that’s the challenge and
test of acceptance you face.
Before she could pursue that further, Marguerite shifted. “If you are willing to do this, I can set it up. It may require me to have some brief exposure to Brendan in my capacity as his Mistress. But only to give you both a gift, I hope.” Chloe digested that, thought about seeing Marguerite act as “Mistress” toward the man she felt, in an inexplicable way, was hers. “Can I think about it a little while?”

“Of course.” Marguerite‟s lovely hair, pulled back in a comb, fell alongside her shoulder as she leaned forward again, touched Chloe‟s face, the lightest of contacts over sensitive nerves. “The option is entirely up to you. What I most want, Chloe, is for you to find your happiness again. Not for my sake, or Brendan‟s, but for your own.” Chloe got lost in that blue gaze, how close Marguerite was. Her reassurance, warmth, love, it all wrapped around her. She could get up now, go back to work. In fact, she even started to do so, giving Marguerite a tired smile. Her boss squeezed her knee, leaned back. Chloe knew she‟d pick up her tea cup and go back to her meditation.

Session done, lots of progress made. After all this, which had been emotionally draining, it would be okay to let it go for awhile, right?

However, for the first time in forty-eight hours, it didn‟t hurt so much to think about Brendan. Which meant she couldn‟t help but think of what he‟d told her in his small kitchen, how he‟d held her beneath him, helped her from shattering. And now Marguerite, saying that she could help Chloe understand Brendan‟s soul…if her own fear and anger didn‟t get in the way.

She did want him. After nearly a year of vacillating on nearly every decision, that want galvanized her to think about what healing really meant. It meant taking the scariest step imaginable, defying those dark voices that told her not to reach out to anyone, that she could handle this herself, that it would eventually go away…

“M, I think…” She turned around, faced Marguerite again. She couldn‟t figure out why the words were sticking in her throat, or why it got worse when Marguerite put down her teacup and rose, her brow creasing at whatever she saw in Chloe‟s face.

It was too hard. The tears she‟d held back for so long surged up into her throat, as if this very second was the key moment, when they knew the dam would break and the flood would begin. She couldn‟t do it.

She couldn‟t not do it.

“I wanted to be strong, like you, not let them win. Brendan told me they only win if they cut me off, you know. If I don‟t trust anyone or let myself be vulnerable.” The words poured out at once, jumbled and insensible, so painful she couldn‟t breathe. She choked the words out anyway. “I can‟t do this on my own. I‟m afraid, and scared all the time, and angry, and ashamed… I need help. Goddess, I need help.” When Marguerite closed the distance between them in barely a second, her arms immediately there, no doubt, no hesitation, Chloe grabbed hold of the taller woman like a panicked drowning swimmer. “I can‟t fix it. I don‟t know how…and they hurt me, and made me afraid to live… I‟m afraid to cry. I can‟t…” She didn‟t know how Marguerite called her, or maybe Gen had been watching all along, but suddenly Gen was there too, so they held her between them, forming a solid protection all around her. She had to trust them. Brendan had told her she could. She knew she could.

The dark memories rose, bringing violent hands and faces, anger and hatred, such that the evil and helplessness of it all drowned her. She went down in it and let go.

It was like being in a nightmare, only she wasn‟t. She could scream out her rage and hurt, cry as if she‟d never stop, so hard she choked on the sobs, and yet they were holding her, keeping her between them as she struggled against the horror of it all, of everything that had been taken from her, that had come back to haunt her.

“Help…” She kept repeating that one word, and they held her tighter, pressing kisses on her face, stroking her hair, refusing to let her trembling body break apart.

They all sat, folded on the pea gravel together, the fountain a hushed reassurance all its own. Evil had come here, the place she‟d always assumed was safe, but it hadn‟t destroyed it. It hadn‟t destroyed her. They wouldn‟t let it. She wouldn‟t let it.

“Thank God,” Gen said softly, after a long time, when her sobs were becoming shuddering gulps of air. “Oh precious, you should have done this a long time ago.

We‟ve always been here for you.”

“Always,” Marguerite repeated. “You‟re going to be fine.” Chloe realized that Marguerite‟s face was streaked with tears too, a remarkable validation of its own. In that moment, she knew it didn‟t mean a damn, what her boss was to Brendan or Brendan was to her, because those tears destroyed her, made Chloe forgive everything. Marguerite had known exactly what she‟d felt, what she‟d needed all along, and yet had suffered the heartbreak of knowing nothing could help her until Chloe reached out herself.

It made her sorry and painfully reassured all at once. Family. This was what family did. Shelter in the storm, and even more than that. Remembering what Brendan had said, she knew that when the storm passed, they were the ones that would give her the strength to open those windows again, let the sunlight in, not fear its touch on her cold soul.

“Easy, dear, dear girl,” Marguerite said. “It‟s all right. We‟re going to help you.”

* * * * *

Tyler hadn‟t left. He knew his wife‟s moods, and the tea ceremony she‟d done for herself had been a sign of the stress. She would need him when this conversation was over, no matter how much—or how snappishly—she‟d insisted she was fine, before Chloe arrived this morning. So he‟d simply gone into the alleyway, taken a seat on the wrought iron bench, tucked in between a Buddha statue and a small, spilling mountain of impatiens. He‟d checked the stock reports, eyed a stray tom who considered spraying the leg of that bench before Tyler‟s anytime-you-feel-lucky look had him sauntering off.

As he occupied himself, Tyler kept tuned in to the conversation. Fortunately, he was close enough to follow it fairly well. When the flood finally came, he felt the same relief Gen expressed, even as his gut ached at the girl‟s outpouring. He knew how strong his wife was, just as Chloe had said. So strong, she could break into a million pieces inside at the pain of someone she loved as much as she loved Chloe, and still not show a single crack on the outside. Which was why she had him.

When the weeping wound down at last, he slid back into the garden. Chloe had sunk back into the chair, with Gen standing behind her, stroking her hair. The girl‟s forehead was against Marguerite‟s shoulder as she gave the occasional snuffle, her body shaking in that flu-like aftermath that came to victims of trauma when they finally let it go.

When Marguerite glanced up, her mouth softened in rueful acknowledgment that said she wasn‟t surprised to see him. “Chloe,” she murmured, covering Gen‟s hand on the girl‟s skull. “We‟re going to take you upstairs to the bedroom. We‟ll close the shop today, and you, Gen and I are going to curl up in the quilts with ice cream and tea cakes, overdose on chocolate and watch a marathon of your favorite movies. I‟m going to call Komal, and later in the afternoon, I‟m going to drive you to her house. You‟re going to talk to her. And you‟re going to keep visiting her, until you and she agree that you don‟t need to see her anymore. All right?”

“I‟m so tired.”

“Well, you‟re going to sleep for a little while, while Gen and I handle close up. Tyler will take you upstairs.”

Chloe shifted her head then, registering his presence next to Marguerite. His hand was on his wife‟s shoulder. “Gonna carry me, just like Clark Gable?” Gen smiled, bending to kiss the top of her head. “Without the implied ravishing.”

“Well, that sucks.” But that was just for form‟s sake, he knew. Chloe was so exhausted from ten minutes of crying, Tyler could tell she only wanted the oblivion of dreams. And apparently one other thing. “Gen…”

“Yeah, sweetling?”

“Can you get… there‟s a stuffed dog in my bag. Can you get me that?”

“I sure can.”

Chloe accepted Tyler‟s ever present handkerchief with a tremulous half-chuckle. “I keep messing up all your handkerchiefs.”

“Don‟t worry. I have plenty more. And a devoted little wife who washes and irons them for me.”

Marguerite gave him a lifted brow, the slight look of disdain he adored. “You must be keeping her locked in the basement, because I haven‟t seen her. Polygamist.” Since Tyler‟s extremely capable housekeeper Sarah took care of their every domestic need, Chloe knew the humor was for her benefit. Still, it was appreciated. She focused back on Marguerite.

Gen returned then, the plush Rottweiler in hand. “It‟s a shame the guy that gave it to you isn‟t in that bag,” she observed as she handed it over. Chloe shook her head.

“Next time he sees me, I want to do it right. Like you said, M.”

“We‟ll worry about that soon.”

“Pretty soon,” Chloe said. “I miss him a lot.”

“Pretty soon, then. But today, we deal with you.”

“I haven‟t been really fair to him. To any of you. You‟ve been good friends, and I don‟t deserve you.”

“That‟s not at all true.” Tyler squatted so they were at eye level, put his hand on Marguerite‟s knee and his hand on Chloe‟s shoulder. “You‟ve been here whenever Marguerite or Gen needed you. I want to hear you say you deserve every bit of their friendship. No ice cream until you do.”

When he held her gaze, telling her he was serious, she looked toward Marguerite.

“He is relentless,” she informed her, with a glint that might have been amused commiseration. “And he‟s also absolutely correct.”

“All right.” Chloe remembered Brendan had done almost the exact thing with her, with a gentler but no less determined approach. It gave her a new thought, seeing the two loving men, opposite sides of the same coin. Dominant and submissive.

“I deserve you guys. I deserve…to feel good again, and to be happy. And I‟m going to.”

“Good. Put your arms around my neck, little flower.”

She gave Marguerite‟s hands a hard squeeze, somehow reluctant to let go. Given that she was being offered the chance to put her hands on Tyler, that was saying something. But if she was afraid her emotions would sweep her away without that lifeline, she needn‟t have worried. Tyler put his arms under her in the chair and lifted her, bringing her close to his solid body as Marguerite and Gen‟s hands slid from her, one more caress, telling her they were all three there, and it was going to be okay.

She almost believed it.

* * * * *

After settling Chloe upstairs in the canopy bed, stuffed Rottweiler in her arms, Tyler sat with her, waiting for her to drop off to sleep. She mumbled soft things to the dog, to the absent Brendan and to herself before she gave in to slumber. It only took a few moments. Knowing the signs of mental and physical exhaustion, he returned to the lower level when he was sure she was well under.

The women had finished the closing, but Marguerite was on the front porch, explaining to some early arrivals they had a family emergency but would be open in the morning, complete with a complimentary first cup. True to her regular clientele, she got warm wishes that everything would be all right, and a promise to return the following day.

When she came back in, Gen was in the kitchen, but he was sitting in his favorite seat in her tea room, a chair that gave him a direct line of sight to both the front door and the kitchen, as well as the large mirror that was the two-way window in her office where she could watch the floor. It was where he‟d sat down the first night he‟d come calling on her, an amusingly old-fashioned sentiment, but one he applied to that situation.

Now she moved to sit down across from him, but he took her wrist, guided her onto his lap. Since the door was locked and Gen was occupied, she capitulated, letting out a sigh when he folded his arms around her, guided her head to his shoulder.

When she spoke, he wasn‟t surprised where her thoughts were. She was so fragile, in so many ways, but she could also rival Boadicea for unflinching courage to do what needed to be done. “When you offered to have him killed in prison, I should have said yes. If I could turn back time, I would. I‟d do it. With every tear she shed, I wanted to do it more, until I felt consumed by it.”

“It‟s not who you are, angel. You‟d do it now, with the knowledge you have, because you‟ll fight anything to the death in defense of those you love or consider yours. But you didn‟t know then, and you‟re not a cold-blooded killer. You also don‟t believe you‟re God, able to predict people‟s actions.”

She was quiet for a bit, her fingers curved into his back muscles. “I need to find you a job. Always meddling. You‟re not busy enough.”

“I‟m plenty busy enough. But nothing is more important to me than you. I know this has been hard.”

“She‟s just young. She and Brendan, they‟re both so young. Trying so hard to please, afraid of hurting one another, rather than understanding you have to be who you are with one another, the dark as well as the light. You helped me with that.”