Journal 12: All That Light

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A/N: Hi everyone! Brandon's Notebook is back and this journal entry covers TMMM's Chapter 11. I want to thank everyone who patiently waited and sweetly (or maybe not) asked for it to be completed. I'll do my best.

Again, just wanted to remind everyone that this is his journal and the entries aren't going to read like a novel with plenty of dialogue. My goal isn't to rewrite the same story but mostly just to give you a peek into Brandon's head and maybe show you some things that you didn't quite see in TMMM. It's got to be something a little bit different, right? 

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!


I've seen a few heartbreaking sights in my life—Mattie's lost expression when we walked in on him helplessly staring at his mother's lifeless body, my father's anguished eyes as we lowered Evelyn to the ground, the foolish hope on Anna's face when I confronted her about being with a man she believes with her heart and soul to be right for her. 

 They were the kind of sights that made your heart break a little for someone because there was nothing you could really do to change anything—to save them from the hurt or to take away some of their pain. 

 Two things hit me today, both about Charlotte, and my heart didn't just break a little. It's pretty much been smashed and I'm almost sure that she was the one who came out of that conversation in better shape. 

I was making lasagna in front of my entire executive team who all tried to look like nothing was unusual about it. I'm normally very professional about work but I hardly cared today. They're damn lucky I didn't bail on this meeting because the last thing I wanted to do when I needed to look after Charlotte was to be distracted with work. 

I had new priorities so they could suck it up. The lasagna had to be made. 

I didn't want to get out of bed when Charlotte had been peacefully sleeping in my arms but I had a mission. I got up bright and early despite what little sleep I had, phoning Aimee who was luckily working a night shift. After reassuring her that her friend's well cared for, I asked for a list of Charlotte's favorite food other than instant cup noodles which my driver Freddy already promised he was going to buy an entire pallet of if possible. Aimee suggested the lasagna and recited the recipe over the phone. It was going to take hours out of my day that I probably didn't have but there was really no choice about it. 

 The rest of my morning was then monopolized by my lawyers and press team to do some damage control from last night's incident and ensure the fucking bastards were going to rot in jail. On top of that, a dozen or so people popped in to check on Charlotte. While I appreciated their concern, I was adamant not to let any of them disturb her—not even my old man. 

 This was not a fucking funeral and I needed everybody to stop acting like it was one. 

I might have been too stern but she needed to rest—not just from her injuries but just from fighting through life nonstop as if it were a never-ending battle. With me, she can rest her head down and not worry about the world for a little while. I would literally guard the gates. 

I thought I was doing fine until Charlotte walked out in nothing more than my shirt. It hung loose and almost billowed around her, giving her an air of innocence even as it showed off her gorgeous legs and dainty feet. 

 Despite her smile—bright but wobbly—the strain of last night's events were evident and I felt a fresh surge of anger for the men responsible who were now well behind bars. They deserved the deepest bowels of hell. 

Charlotte's dark blonde hair was a tangled mess, her hands and parts of her legs bandaged, her eyes shadowed a purplish blue underneath, her movements slow and pained. 

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