Let It Go (30 page)

“You’re a good woman,” Brody returns, his genuine eyes never faltering from hers with his delivery. “And you’re right. It would do us both good to be patient with this. Take it as it comes.” He shrugs, considering the failings of their past relationships.

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m not in it, because I am,” Savannah affirms. “I feel like I know who you are.” She touches her hand over his heart. “I like you, a lot, Brody McAlister.” Her smiling eyes match the appealing grin on her lips. “I just feel like we have more to go through and explore. See if we can pull it off, together.”

“Very true,” he agrees. “But it is nice to get caught up in the feeling, right? Actually let it affect you.” He runs his arms along the length of hers as her body shivers, the steam from the shower no longer warming the room. “It’s been a long time for me…feeling like this. Hell, I don’t know that I ever felt quite like this.” He grins at her sincerely, slightly bashful with the admission. “I like the way I feel when I’m with you, Savannah. And I don’t want you to take it away just because you think it’s too fast.”

She can’t help but ponder the difference between Jack and Brody, how they cope and communicate. There are no pointing fingers, pity-parties and elaborate arguing, followed up with dramatic apologies and frenetic affection. All destructive and ineffective measures, often misconstrued as passion, she had grown accustomed to in unhealthly relationship conversation and theatrical makeups with Jack.

Savannah swallows hard, moisture beginning to cloud her vision at the handsomely sweet man standing before her indulging in a healthy and respectable discourse about the trajectory of their future, not only considering his feelings but hers, equally. “That’s just it,” she chokes out, “I don’t think I could stop…take it away…even if I thought I should.” She looks at Brody, completely helpless in his attractive, companionable presence.

“Baby, don’t cry,” he soothes at a low whisper, his lips gently kissing away one solitary tear on the apple of her cheek. “This is a good thing.” He forces a smile, an attempt to camouflage his troubled eyes. “You don’t want to be without me. I sure as hell don’t want to be without you. So let’s just be, Savannah.”

“I know.” She smiles back at him, water continuing to well in her dark greens. “It just hurts a little, that’s all,” she says, referring to the agonizing sensation of losing control of her heart.

“It only hurts until you give in to it,” Brody encourages knowingly. Leveling his eyes with hers intently, he continues, “The safest place you’ll ever be is with me, Savannah. That’s my job as a man,” he grins, knowing how his
man talk
incites her, “to safeguard your heart. To do everything I can to see that you have everything you need. To fulfill you. Protect the ones I love.” Savannah’s eyebrow involuntarily perks at the mention of the devotion. “Yes,” Brody answers her coy inquisition, “I love you, Savannah Bondurant.” His lips meet hers, now cool and tingly.

“Mmh. You give such good shelter,” Savannah purrs, his warm grasp pulling her body snugly against his frame, calming her sporadic shiver.

“Let me hold you through the storm,” he speaks figuratively of her ensuing emotions. Brody walks her to his room, stripping the towel from her frame. Quickly replacing it with his toasty skin, he cocoons around her bestowing of his valorous protection.

Chapter Twenty

Midweek, the week before Thanksgiving, presents a clement Savannah, Georgia, morning, the Southern metropolis knows nothing of a brutal winter. Adorned in active attire, Savannah revels in her morning run downtown. A true joy, as the sleepy city awakens, the streets belong to her and a few early risers. Purposely devoid of her MP3 player, she jogs with intent, mulling over the snowballing changes in her life and her family’s.

The usual smooth-sailing and drama-free Vangie experiencing her first tumultuous challenge in her fifteen-year relationship with Payton. Her mama, Buffy, seemingly just now discovering herself in her mid-fifties. The staunchly anti-relationship and happy player of the field Jac, becoming more and more exclusive with Gavin. The shocking yet pleasant addition of Noah in their lives.

Brody and her tentative future take up the majority of her mind’s eye. Even though she and Jack had been separated, living in two different households for a year and a half prior to her divorce just three months ago, Savannah cannot help but examine her newfound affection for the fabulous gym boy. Unconvinced that she has taken the appropriate amount of time in finding a new love, she replays the high points of their expeditious union, wishing there was a handbook or a definitive marker of some sort rather than simply having to rely on her own fallible instincts.

She treks up a street lined with affluent local businesses harboring upstairs apartments that most would consider dream homes with their sprawling square-footage and every amenity known to man. Not to mention the convenience of their location, literally within walking distance to a plethora of food and entertainment venues. Savannah fills her lungs with the rare unpolluted air, the skyline graced with a vibrant orange glow as the sun begins to rise, overpowering the dark.

Her attention is pulled to the sound of footsteps coming from an overhead apartment. Emerging from the veranda is a familiar form, a shirtless jeans-wearing Brody McAlister, his thick, dark hair in a sexy mess. From her vantage point, she quickly assesses the business below,
Wooten Real Estate and Business Law.
Her pace slows as the significance sets in.

Walking to the outer ledge of the veranda, Brody spots Savannah on the street, the look on her face and his whereabouts dually alarming.

“Brody,” a high-pitched female voice beckons. Stepping out onto the veranda behind him, there she is with her bed-head tousled ultra-bleached blonde locks, a silky housecoat-laden Candida Wooten proffers him a cup of Morning Joe.

“Uh,” Savannah expels as if she has been hit in the stomach with a baseball bat. Her curious expression turns to distress as she backs away from the establishment, her feet not yet capable of catching up to her mind, screaming at her to run.

“Savannah!” Brody calls from above. Leaping off the side of the veranda, he scales the fire escape.

Savannah’s feet finally catching up with her thoughts, she bolts in the opposite direction in a full-on sprint. Her lungs fight for air, confused as to what they are supplying, the will to run or cry.

Honk! Honk! Honk!
A car sounds at the hands of its angered and scared driver as Savannah dodges out in front of it at a cross-street.

“Savannah!” Brody yells, his feet dismounting from the fire escape, nimbly hit the concrete. “Wait!” He takes off after her, his heavy work boots counter-intuitive to his pursuit.

Savannah ducks and dives down the street, her neck craning sporadically noticing he is closing the gap. The fervid audibility of her breathing drowns out his rebuttal. She holds her arm out to a few screeching cars in the main thruway as her legs catapult her, much like a gazelle fleeing for its life among predatory beasts of the jungle, across the other side and into the safety of a city transport bus.

She watches in angst from the window, finally settling into her seat as the purr of the diesel engine kicks in, pulling her away from her betraying pursuer. Brody slows to a defeated walk, kicking at the empty bus bench as the long rectangle on wheels disappears from his reach, leaving a cloud of black smoke in its trail.

Several excruciating blocks later, Savannah gets off the bus. She walks, aimless, the wind effectively stolen from her running sails. Paying no particular attention to her location, she works on seizing her emotions, her hands roughly swiping away at the moisture collecting on her cheeks. “You are a fool,” she whispers, scolding herself. Her mind, taunting, replays her initial hunch about Brody and his attraction to older women with money. “It was right there in front of your naive little face. You stupid, stupid girl.” Her teeth grind together with the lecture.

The once sleepy city now brinks its morning rush-hour. Amongst the calamity of vehicles, horns, shopkeepers and passersby, Savannah remains introverted, carrying on a solitary conversation. “You told him you loved him,” she baffles. Her hands fully engaged, flit about. “Took the big plunge, against your better judgment. Just couldn’t wait to hop in bed with the guy. Why? Because he’s big and built and cute,” she refuses to acknowledge any of his commendable traits other than the superficial. It hurts less to do so.

A fellow street-going man eyes her peculiarly, convinced she is among Savannah’s mentally unstable, walking down the street in broad daylight talking to herself. The man warily walks an exaggerated semicircle in passing her by.

Savannah, engulfed in her own world and acute trauma, doesn’t even notice. “You should have stuck with casual sex. You know better. What the hell were you thinking? Getting to know him. His family.” More tears downpour with the thought. Quickly redirecting her emotions, she gets in touch with her anger, revisiting Brody’s empty propositions. “‘Stay forever,’” she scoffs. “‘The safest place you’ll ever be is with me, Savannah. That’s my job as a
man,’”
she chokes, nearly spitting as she mocks his sentiments. “And you actually bought it!” The palm of her hand thuds against her forehead.

“Savannah,” a male voice calls from behind her.

The sound of her name rolling off a familiar tongue pulls her from her mental detention. She spins around in the direction of the voice with the rattling realization that she has just walked by city fire station #10, home to one firefighter and ex-husband, Jack Brigant. “Oh great,” she laments, her hands nimbly wiping at her face, efficiently eradicating any leftover moisture.

“What are you doing on this side of town?” Jack asks, walking to meet her.

From his seemingly friendly disposition, Savannah figures a little conversation can’t hurt.
“Morning run. Guess I got off course,” she keeps it short, forcing a smile, still leery of his intentions. “You coming on or going off?” Savannah quickly changes the subject, inquiring of his duty status.

“I’m all done. Pulled a forty-eight,” Jack affirms a happily awaited morning shift change after overtime. “You been crying?” he asks, now close enough to her to notice her puffy, bloodshot eyes.

“No,” she dissuades adamantly. “Had a long night. Just tired,” she lies. The vulnerability to willfully cry in front of him left her some time ago between the heartache and bitterness of falling out of love.

“Did he hurt you?” Jack grows defensive.

“No.” Savannah shakes her head, projecting a calm and content sense of self. “We’re doing great,” she lies again.
No sense in derailing another relationship,
she conceives, unwilling to give Jack any reason to think she is unhappy with her choices, hopeful that he will remain equally thrilled with his own.

“Alright then.” Jack shrugs his shoulders, a sign that he is learning to respect formal boundaries. “Glad to hear things are going well for you. Really, I am.” He squints his eyes at her, truly sincere. “And I’m sorry about everything. The messages from Daisy. The way I’ve acted. All of it.”

“It’s okay. No worries,” Savannah jumps on the end of his response, her preoccupied mind reeling, grateful that Jack has opted to bury the hatchet, although his timing a bit off.

“No, it’s not okay.” He looks down at his duty boots, grinding the sole restlessly into the concrete. “You were hard to get over, Savannah. But that’s no excuse for the way I’ve been carrying on. I’m surprised you even give me the time of day.”

“Jack, I get it.” Savannah nods sympathetically. “It’s not easy for anyone. Splitting up and starting over. We all process things differently.”

“I just…” he interrupts. “I just thought I could make you see things my way, if I kept trying.” He pauses, looking away from her before continuing, “I know now. You can’t make anybody want you the way you want them, if it’s not there.” Looking back at her with somber eyes, a hint of optimism in them, he extends one more peace offering, “I just want you to know I never meant to hurt you.”

Savannah releases an elated sigh, throwing her arms around his neck for a very brief hug. “Thank you.” Pulling away from him, she elaborates, “I’m really happy to hear you say that. I never wanted it to get ugly. And I never meant to hurt you either, Jack.” The compassion in her eyes genuinely mimicking the message of her words. “I wish nothing but the best for you, really I do.”

“About that,” he says, “is it too late to retract my ‘I hope you fall head over heels in love with this guy, and he doesn’t love you back’ remark?” Jack shakes his head in contempt. “I think about that. And I’m still embarrassed I said it.”

“Water under the bridge,” Savannah says, her smile slowly fading with the realization that the hex may have actually worked, considering Brody’s panhandling at Candida Wooten’s residence. Recovering her jumbled thoughts to the present, Savannah continues with a jovial spar, “Maybe that Daisy’s no
idgit
after all. Her little debacle let us all off the hook.” Savannah chuckles, far enough removed from the incident that she can, the irony in the idea that beautiful things can actually result from the most ugly of occurrences.

Jack raises his eyebrows speculatively, a dapper and agreeable grin forming. “Guess maybe we’re all going to be alright.” An awkward silence following, he fills it, “Well, I should get a move on. Daisy probably has breakfast waiting for me.”

“That’s nice,” Savannah says, thinking how much Jack must like that, having a happily domesticated woman waiting for him at home. “Sounds like we’re all right where we need to be,” she fibs slightly, unsure of where her future lies.

“I hope we can remain
friendly,”
Jack uses her term, an endearing and peaceful tone resonating from his upturned lips.

“I’d like that.” Savannah’s eyes meet his, grateful for the relieving exchange. She throws her hand up in the air, a wave, as she turns to walk away. “Take care, Jack Brigant.” Her mood now elevated and light, a nice about-face from this morning’s downer of a scene, she returns to her jogging pace.