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.
That was the first thing that hit me.
For a Mrs. Maxfield, this was appalling and unacceptable.
For Charlotte, this was a shame and a tragedy.
She's the strongest girl I know, my best girl.
To see her broken like this made me want to lash out and hit something.
But all that violence ebbed away when she walked toward me and I just stood there in some kind of trance.
When she went up on her toes to brush a soft kiss on my lips, knowing what the effort cost her, I swear I felt all the motion of the world warp into a standstill. The few rare times Charlotte initiated a kiss had all felt this way but today, there was something a little different about it.
She was still as vulnerable as she'd been last night and this kiss had something that hadn't been there before—trust. That in her condition, after everything that had happened, she trusted me to be there, to keep her from being broken even more, to make it better.
And I'll be damned if I didn't do any of those things.
So I kissed her back with all my unworded promises.
Doing it in front of the other execs might not have been the wisest idea but then again, maybe it was.
I'm fiercely proud of Charlotte and I don't have to tell anyone why when it comes to her, I have no rules.
Okay, maybe one rule—never fail her.
And it me hard that I couldn't turn back time and retroactively enforce this rule. If I could, maybe I would've been able to save her all those years ago from her father's callous and cruel treatment.
That was the second thing that ripped through me like daggers.
Listening to her tell me her darkest, most painful memories and watching her try to be light about it, like it didn't hurt as much as it did—it's amazing that I didn't destroy everything in the kitchen.
I know that logically, I couldn't have failed her then and that frustrated me. What's ridiculous is that she seems to think she failed herself then, when she didn't fight back or get justice for herself.
None of it was her fault. If anything, all she'd been trying to do was live a different life somewhere far away from her toxic family or lack thereof. She shouldn't have been made to feel small or blame herself for having been weak, or God forbid, human—a child.
I couldn't beat up a dead man and it angered me that I had no way to avenge Charlotte because I would if I could. No father—or any parent for that matter—had any right to brutalize his child, no matter his problems.
And maybe if Charlotte hadn't met a different kind of father—mine—she wouldn't have known better than what she'd lived with.
I had no idea of what my father had done for her.
He saved her, gave her a way out before life could destroy her.
I owe Dad a tremendous amount of gratitude—not just for bringing Charlotte into my life but for making sure that she and all her light survived that hellhole. He was one of the reasons she still believed in people's capacity to be kind and good. One of the reasons that she'll probably keep believing it no matter how many more times she'd be let down.
And I forced her to betray him through the lure of money which she'd desperately needed.
No wonder she hated me for it.
But she braved her way through it all, like she did everything in life because she rarely had good options, and she made the best of the situation. She lived with her conscience and worked with the arrangements I practically forced on her.
And it felt like a wash of acid—the idea that what we had was just another curve ball she was used to being dealt, that she was just making the best of it.
Would a day ever come that I wasn't just a way out for Charlotte anymore, a bargain she had to fulfill in spite of her reluctance and her guilt?
I couldn't be angry at her about that. I did box her into this after all, not knowing that she was going to spill out of that space like a flood of light and fill every corner of my life.
It was up to me to contain all of that light and keep it with me—to deserve it. To deserve her because God knows I did not, not after everything I did to her and not like this.
And I thought that maybe meant giving her some room to breathe, to relax and focus on just getting better instead of doing whatever she believed would make everyone happy.
It was like pulling out my own teeth when I suggested we postpone the wedding. Believe me, I did not want to wait another day but this wasn't just about me or our arrangement anymore.
It's about... well, it's definitely about discovering something more precious than my all-important goals—Charlotte and her happiness which is ultimately mine as well. It's disconcerting, to find your own happiness tied to someone else's, but that's what makes this different with her. That's how I know that there's something bigger at play here.
And if I'd thought for a second that my suggestion was a brilliant, considerate idea she would appreciate, I was wrong. Very wrong because Charlotte, ever stubborn, ever bull-headed Charlotte, wouldn't have it any other way. She truly is a girl after my own heart.
So in approximately two days, she'll still become Mrs. Maxfield.
She'll still become mine.
I can do this right.
I can make her happy and I will.
I felt foolishly proud of myself when I showed her her bedroom.
Since no one's supposed to know she's sleeping in a different room, I had to get creative with how to get it set it up. I'd spent some time looking through the internet for bedroom ideas. I found a picture that best captured what I wanted, personally sent it to an exclusive home furnishing store with the request to purchase all the items in the picture (or whichever they had available that came closest) and have them deliver it to my home in a rush. I asked Filbert to come in for several hours one day with his tool bag (because I didn't even own a hammer for all my wealth) and between the two of us, we put the shelves up, put the blue-green wallpaper on and arranged the furniture. I excelled at a lot of things but I was no handyman. I'm sure Filbert was either secretly bewildered or laughing at finding himself putting furniture together with his boss but he didn't say anything. I showed my appreciation by giving him beer when we were done and a generous bonus. I called my occasional housekeeper, Gwen, so she can make the bed with all its fancy new linens and prettify all the final touches because that was a little bit beyond my skill set.
I wouldn't lead an interior design project on my own ever again but I don't think we did too bad. It actually turned out pretty good.
Charlotte needed something happy and peaceful and fun but as I stood there, watching her eyes widen and her lips part and her face glow with amazement, I almost wished the room looked like total garbage so she would have no choice but to stay with me. I could conveniently forget to mention that there are at least another three bedrooms in the entire penthouse. But no, she was happy and it felt damn good to know I'd done something right.
My sacrifice was worth it even if all it earned me was one of her bright-eyed, dazzling smiles. Every single one she threw my way always, always, felt like a streak of sunshine. It's crazy how this warmth in my chest just fills every space and continues to expand until I have to catch my breath. This can't be normal but then has anything in my life been normal since Charlotte invaded it? The answer is no and surprisingly enough, I didn't mind it. My world can turn upside down all it liked as long as she was in it. The challenge is to make sure she feels the same way soon enough but I could be extremely patient, not necessarily when it comes to Charlotte but I had years of strict discipline. Should damn well pay off now.
When I saw Dad later today, I remembered everything he'd done for the girl whose life altered mine for good. I suspected he knew this. He could've told me all he knew about Charlotte to win me over to what was initially his insane idea but he didn't. He didn't want to show me her scars and force my hand by forcing my sympathy. Besides, people wouldn't even really notice her scars and jagged edges unless she showed them because for all her troubled past, Charlotte loved life and wanted you to do the same thing. She didn't want you to stand there and tally all her old wounds. She wanted you to see that despite said wounds, she was standing on two feet, smiling and telling you to chill.
For this reason, I wanted to give Dad a hug because he helped her stay this way but I held myself back. Charlotte would know my reasons and I didn't want her to go back to the same dark place she'd been this morning, reliving the past. There was a time to thank Dad, and for more than just taking care of my girl before I could be there for her.
But that same dark place came back anyway. In that second her mother was mentioned in her friend's email, all her warmth and light were shuttered away. She wasn't expecting it, which explained why for a moment, she'd looked torn and lost before deciding that she was supposed to be indifferent instead.
I didn't blame her because at this point, she probably barely remembers what it felt like to have a mother. But just because you've lost a limb a long time ago, doesn't mean you don't know it's missing.
Later that evening, I made a discreet call to Filbert to have him track down Charlotte's mother with the lead I had. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with the information once he finds it for me but I feel that it's one of the few things about Charlotte's past that I can maybe fix. Because as indifferent as she'd like to be about it, she felt it—all that's missing.
And I'm glad that when she laid in her bed alone tonight, feeling all that's missing, she decided to do something about it.
She came to me.
And I wish I could say for certain that I was enough to chase away all that phantom pain. I probably wasn't but I've got many more nights with her.
In fact, I might just have a lifetime with her.
She doesn't know it yet but I'm going to do my damn best every single day to make her happy so when I ask her to stay beyond the year she agreed to, she'd smile and say yes like there had been no other answer to give.
- B
***
So, what do you guys think? This part of TMMM when Charlotte gets injured and the few days leading up to their wedding when Brandon's taking care of her is such a crucial piece in how their relationship progressed. I think it was at this time that Charlotte really trusted him despite their very rocky start. And I think this is truly the first time that Brandon saw all her vulnerabilities and decided he had to do something about it.
I'm rereading TMMM this week and through all the comments, I see a lot of readers dreamily gush that Brandon sets the expectations too high and men aren't like him in real life. True that. Brandon is a romanticized version of our dream prince charming. The story is fiction after all. But his capacity to love Charlotte fiercely, to protect and cherish her—there's no reason why we can't expect that in reality because it can happen. While I don't expect all of us to find a Brandon in real life, I hope that reading about him will at least remind you of what a good man is like.
Enjoy your weekend!
BTW, I love this song!
♪♪♪ Chapter Soundtrack: Strong by London Grammar♪♪♪
Excuse me for a while
While I'm wide-eyed
And I'm so down, caught in the middle
I've excused you for a while
While I'm wide-eyed
And I'm so damn caught in the middle
And a lion, a lion roars would you not listen?
If a child, a child cries would you not forgive them?
Yeah, I might seem so strong
Yeah, I might speak so long
I've never been so wrong
Yeah, I might seem so strong
Yeah, I might speak so long
I've never been so wrong