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The water pressure was ridiculously low. Catelyn Tully stood in the shower letting the hot water fall down over her head and wondered if she’d ever get the shampoo out of her hair. At least the water was good and hot. Her pale skin glowed pink where she’d scrubbed herself with the plush hotel washcloth nearly hard enough to remove skin.
She ran her fingers through her long, auburn hair and still felt the suds. God damn it! she thought. You’d think a place this fucking expensive would at least have decent water pressure! She felt angry tears begin to sting her eyes again. Great. Now I’m crying over water pressure. Fuck you, Brandon Stark! Oh, wait. I already did that, didn’t I?
With that, she sank down and cried once more with great big heaving sobs on the floor of the shower, and hated herself for doing it. She hated herself for feeling this way. She wasn’t given to self-pity and she almost never swore, even in her thoughts. Yet here she was, cursing like a sailor and sobbing in a hotel penthouse shower. She was officially an idiot.
It wasn’t like she was in love with Brandon Stark. Not anymore. She’d been the one who’d ended their engagement over a year ago after spending almost five years of her life building her world around him. She’d grown up, finally, and realized that he never would. He would never stop lying, he would never stop cheating, he would never stop being precisely who he was. She didn’t even think it was his fault, really. He was just Brandon, and while he was exciting, and charming, and could be generous to a fault, that wasn’t ever going to be enough to make up for the rest of it. Not for her. So, she’d ended it, and they’d both moved on.
She’d seen him a few times since their break-up, of course. His father, Rickard, was the founder and CEO of Stark Enterprises, one of the most influential corporations around Washington, and her father was the Assistant Secretary of State. They got invited to a lot of the same places. They were always cordial, but distant, and Catelyn thought she had truly moved beyond her passion for Brandon Stark. It hadn’t even bothered her that he appeared constantly in the tabloids with any number of young actresses and supermodels. It honestly hadn’t.
Sighing, she stood up and shook her hair wildly beneath the woefully inadequate spray, and finally, deciding it was as rinsed as it was likely to get, she stepped from the shower, shivering as her feet hit the marble bathroom tile. She bent at the waist, flipping her hair forward to dry it vigorously with a towel. When she straightened up, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and noted a large, purplish brown mark on her neck, much too high to be hidden by anything she could wear during the current D.C. heat wave. “God damn it!” she swore out loud.
It was the wine, she told herself. She’d gone to the stupid Embassy Ball because her sister had asked her to. Lysa wanted to go, but didn’t want to go by herself with only their father for company. Of course, once they’d arrived, Lysa had immediately begun flirting with every guy present between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five and Catelyn had found herself at loose ends, finally sitting by the bar where a very friendly bartender kept refilling her Chardonnay whether she asked him to or not. She’d been sitting there after several glasses, contemplating leaving, when she’d heard that voice.
“Hello, Red.”
She’d turned around to see him standing there looking just as gorgeous as always in a tux that fit him to perfection.
“Hello, Brandon. I didn’t realize you were here. How have you been?”
He sat down beside her, looking her up and down with those intense grey eyes of his, as if he were mentally undressing her. “I’m a lot better now,” he said with a smile. “God, you’re looking good tonight, Cat. How the hell did I ever let you get away?”
“Where’s your date, Brandon?” she’d asked him.
He’d laughed at that, his little self-deprecating laugh that he could always use to such great effect. “I suppose I deserve that,” he said. “But no date. I’m all by my lonesome tonight, Red.” He grinned at her. “Unless you take pity on me.”
He’d ordered himself a drink then, and motioned for the bartender to fill her glass again. For the next hour they’d sat at that bar drinking, talking and laughing. He always could make her laugh. The looks he gave her had gotten more obviously lusty as the time wore on, and she’d found herself feeling the heat of desire herself. When he leaned in and kissed her, she hadn’t pushed him away.
He’d put his hand on her thigh then, underneath her short cocktail dress, and she’d had the presence of mind to remember they were in a crowded ballroom potentially observed by any number of people, including photographers and both their fathers. “Brandon,” she’d said warningly, putting her hand over his.
He’d removed the hand, but continued to stare right into her eyes. “Let’s get out of here, Cat. I’ve missed you. Nobody ever quite got me like you do. I’d really like to get you alone.”
She’d started to shake her head, which made her alarmingly dizzy, but he’d said, “Don’t say you don’t want to. I know you do.”
He was right. She did. She’d been with other men since Brandon, but only two, and only to prove that she could be with someone else, if she were honest about it. He’d been her first, and good Catholic girl that she was, they’d dated nearly two years before she slept with him. At the time, she’d thought he was wonderfully patient. Later she’d realized he was probably banging any number of girls throughout those years, so his patience wasn’t that impressive.
None of that had mattered last night, though. She was drunk. She was lonely. And he was there, telling her how much he needed her. They had been good together once, her wine soaked brain had told her. So she’d found herself in the back of a limo, clinging to Brandon Stark, his lips against hers while his hand found its way inside her panties, his fingers working into her until she came with cry that made him give her that wolfish grin of his and whisper, “There’s my hot little redhead,” the way he’d done so many times before.
He’d practically had to carry her to the hotel elevator, where of course, he’d pushed the button for the penthouse, before shoving her up against the elevator wall and pressing against her, kissing and stroking all coherent thoughts from her brain. As soon as they’d closed the door of his obscenely large suite behind them, they had all but ripped each other’s clothes off to have the kind of crazy, hot sex that had been their norm in the early days of their engagement.
“Jesus, Cat!” he’d panted after they finally lay naked on the bed, after more than one go-round. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”
She’d started laughing. “No, I’m going to kill you fucking,” she’d corrected him, and the two of them had cackled as only the very inebriated can.
Suddenly, he’d sat bolt upright. “God damn it!” he’d said, sounding truly upset. He’d turned to look at her. “Please tell me you’re still on the pill. I forgot to use a fucking condom.”
“Uh . . .yeah,” she said. “I am.” She’d decided she quite liked the predictability and total absence of monthly cramps that oral contraceptives had given her, and had continued taking them even after she and Brandon had split.
“Thank God for small favors, huh, Cat?” he’d said with a grin. “We’d be seriously fucked if I knocked you up.”
With that romantic sentiment, he’d lain back down and rolled over with his back to her, and Catelyn had fallen into an uneasy sleep. When she’d awakened with a pounding headache, he was gone. After sitting there naked in the bed for several minutes, cursing herself and piecing together the events of the previous night, she’d seen the note on the bedside table, scribbled on the elegant hotel stationery.
Cat, Last night was amazing. You are still the hottest little redhead I know, but we both know you’re too good for me. We’ll just chalk it up to the booze and move on, right? No regrets, Red. Stay beautiful.
He didn’t sign it.
“Son of a bitch!” she’d screamed, wadding it up and throwing it to the floor.
He was right, of course, not about her goodness, necessarily. She certainly didn’t feel very virtuous standing wet and naked in the bathroom of his hotel suite examining the colossal hickey he’d left on her neck. But he was certainly right that they both needed to just move on again. She just wished she found that ‘no regrets’ business as easy as he did. She felt just as dirty after her shower as she’d felt before.
Slowly, she became aware that the dull pounding she heard wasn’t simply the throbbing of her head. Someone was knocking on the door. Surely to God, Brandon had at least put the “Do Not Disturb” sign up. “I don’t want maid service,” she called out, her own voice sounding loud and unnatural to her.
The knocking paused, but then was replaced by a deep voice. “Miss Tully?” Brandon? It sounded like Brandon. “Miss Tully . . .Catelyn?” The voice came again hesitantly. Not Brandon. His brother.
Ned Stark was knocking at the door. Of course. Brandon had always called on Ned to clean up his messes. Oh God, Catelyn thought as she pulled the plush hotel robe onto her still damp, naked body, I’ve become one of those girls now. I warrant a fucking phone call to Ned. God damn you, Brandon!
“Hold on a minute, Ned!” she called as she tied the sash at her waist. She looked in the mirror and pulled her long, wet hair forward over her shoulder in an attempt to camouflage the incriminating bruise. Then she laughed at herself. I’m naked in his brother’s hotel room. Brandon called him, for God’s sake. What exactly am I trying to hide?
She stepped out of the bathroom and went to open the door. “He shouldn’t have called you, Ned,” she said by way of greeting. “I’m not Barbrey Ryswell, and I am perfectly capable of calling my own cab.”
Ned looked terribly uncomfortable, but he met her eyes, and his grey eyes did not move constantly down to the cleavage visible through the gapping robe, as his older brother’s would have. “No one would ever confuse you with Barbrey Ryswell,” he said seriously.
She’d forgotten how serious Brandon’s younger brother could sound. She’d never spent a lot of time with him. They’d attended different colleges, and Brandon had always considered him deadly dull. She couldn’t recall seeing Ned at all since that terrible day she’d walked in on Brandon screwing Barbrey Ryswell in her bed after doing cocaine with the little tramp. Several lines of the white powder had still been on the mirror they had laid down on her dresser when she came home to her apartment early that afternoon.
She’d been hurt and angry, and they’d both been high as kites. There’d been lots of screaming all around, and Barbrey had flat out refused to leave. Finally, Brandon had grabbed his cell phone and called Ned over Catelyn’s objections, and the serious-faced law student had arrived shortly thereafter, somehow convincing Barbrey to not only leave Catelyn’s apartment peacefully, but not to sell her story to the tabloids which she’d been threatening loudly to do. He’d called someone to take the girl home and to remove the illegal drugs. Catelyn didn’t know or want to know how he planned to dispose of those. Then he’d put Brandon in his car, apologized to Catelyn, and promised her that he would take care of his brother, and that she need not speak to him again unless she wished to.
Of course, by a week later, she’d been desperate to speak to him. She’d dated him since her freshman year of college, just before her nineteenth birthday, and had been engaged to him since her junior year. Since her college graduation, a few short months before the Barbrey incident, she’d taken this apartment to be near him without shocking her father by officially moving into his place before their actual marriage. She wasn’t ready to give him up. She’d believed his desperate claim of that horrible day being a one time aberration. He’d foolishly wanted to experiment with the coke, and it impaired his judgment. He’d never do it again. She was his world. He’d make it up to her.
She’d taken him back, but had never trusted him quite so well again. She wanted to believe him, but the whispers about him and other women which she’d always ignored before haunted her after that. Several months later they’d attended a reception for an ambassador from some South American country, and Brandon’s eyes had almost popped out of his head when he’d seen the man’s exotically beautiful black-haired daughter, Ashara.
Catelyn had quietly seethed throughout the evening. Brandon had laughed and told her he only had eyes for her even as his eyes had followed the South American girl everywhere she went. When Catelyn noticed that both of them were missing, she went in search of them, and discovered them in a little office. Brandon was leaned back against a desk, eyes closed and moaning with pleasure while the sweet little ambassador’s daughter was on her knees in front of him with her mouth around his cock. Catelyn had calmly taken a picture with her cell phone and left the reception.
When Brandon had arrived at her apartment much later, smelling of the South American girl’s perfume, Catelyn had simply handed him her phone and told him to get out. They were finished. She had no wish to blackmail him. The phone was his to keep. She just wanted him to see what she had seen and to know why their engagement was truly at an end. He’d actually tried to make the argument that he hadn’t screwed the girl, so Catelyn shouldn’t be so angry. He’d learned rather quickly that argument was a mistake.
Three days later, she’d received a brand new phone in the mail with a note from Ned Stark stating that he was sorry for what she’d been through, and that he hoped she would at least accept recompense for the loss of her phone. She’d laughed out loud as by then she’d seen four separate photographs of him escorting that little tramp Ashara Dayne all over D.C., and she knew it was a deliberate smokescreen to deflect any potential attention to her escapade with his brother. Good old Ned. He always came through for Brandon.
Now, he was standing here with her, and it made her unspeakably angry. She already felt humiliated. She didn’t want to feel ‘handled.’ “Well, if you aren’t worried I’ll be some sort of problem, what the hell are you doing here, Ned?” she demanded.
“I want to help you get home,” he said simply.
“I know the way to my own fucking apartment!” she snapped. “I don’t need your help. I’m not suicidal. I’m not homicidal. I’m not going to go public about what a monumental asshole your brother can be! I don’t need you, Ned. Whatever Brandon told you when he called.”
Ned looked down, and for the first time Catelyn saw that he carried a shopping bag. “What’s that?” she asked him.
He looked back up at her. It was really disconcerting the way the man always met her eyes. “Brandon said your dress might . . .might not be . . .well, wearable.”
“Shit!” she exclaimed, remembering the way they’d clawed each other’s clothes off. Had he actually ripped it? She turned to search the room and realized to her shame that her bra and panties were carelessly flung onto the floor obviously in Ned’s sight. She didn’t see the dress, though. She tried desperately to remember exactly where she’d been when it had come off her.
Ned seemed to realize her dilemma. “It’s in the trash,” he mumbled.
“What?” she demanded.
“Brandon said he put it in the trash. He said it wasn’t salvageable.”
Angry, she stormed over to the trash container near the minibar and sure enough, there was her little black cocktail dress, or rather what was left of it. It indeed had a jagged rip right down the front. “Classy, Brandon,” she muttered. “That dress cost a fortune.” She was speaking more or less to herself, but Ned started to reply and she wheeled on him. “Don’t you dare tell me you’ll pay for it, Ned Stark! I am not some call girl who needs paid for her services!”
She was shaking then, and she felt the tears coming back to her eyes. She fought hard to keep them away, but failed miserably, so she simply turned her back on Brandon’s brother who stood there silently.
After a moment, she heard him speak, but his voice was too low for her to make out the words. “What did you say?” she asked, appalled to hear how badly her voice shook.
“I said I should kill him.” The words were spoken without heat, almost more chilling for the matter-of-fact way that he said them.
She whipped her head around to look at him again, and saw that while his bearded face seemed as frozen in its solemnity as it always did, there was an unmistakable anger burning in those eyes--those grey eyes like Brandon’s but not like his--and that anger was not directed at her.
“Well, I wouldn’t have you go to jail on my account,” she said, trying to make her voice light.
He shook his head. “You do not deserve to be treated like this. You have never deserved it. You don’t deserve to have me standing here. Don’t you think I know how little you want me here?” He swallowed. “I . . .I couldn’t just leave you stranded in a hotel room without clothes. I am sorry, Catelyn.”
His apology sounded so formal, just like all the ones he’d offered her for Brandon’s previous transgressions. “Stop apologizing to me, Ned,” she said suddenly. “It seems you’re always apologizing to me, and yet you’ve never done anything wrong. What’s in the bag?”
The quick change of subject seemed to confuse him, but only for a brief moment. “T-shirt and shorts,” he said. “Lya’s. I didn’t know your size and Brandon was no help, but you’re at least similar to Lyanna and the shorts are the elastic waistband kind, so . . .”
“I’m sure it will be fine.” She thought about wearing her three inch stiletto heels with a t-shirt and shorts. Well, if you’re going to play the hooker, you might as well dress the part, she thought bitterly.
“Oh, and flip flops,” Ned said then. I have no idea how your feet compare to Lya’s, but she’s pretty average, and I figured flip flops don’t really have to fit perfectly.”
She actually smiled at him, then. “You really are a nice guy, Ned.” She reached to take the shopping bag from his hand, bent to pick up her panties and bra with as much dignity as she could muster, and retreated into the bathroom once again to dress.
Lyanna Stark’s clothes fit her pretty well, all things considered. The style wasn’t precisely hers, but then the lone Stark daughter was rather stubbornly iconoclastic, and beggars couldn’t be choosers. She almost laughed when she also found a comb, a new toothbrush, and a small tube of toothpaste in the bag. No wonder Brandon relied on his little brother to take care of things. The man was too good to be true.
Little brother. In so many ways, Ned seemed older than Brandon, and not just because of the close cropped beard he’d worn since Catelyn had first met him when he’d been just shy of twenty. He was quiet and serious, but on the rare occasions they had spoken for any length of time, she’d found him a bit shy maybe, but never dull. He was intelligent, and he obviously cared deeply about his family. He’d speak of his siblings with the same affection with which she spoke of Lysa and Edmure.
She dried her hair and emerged again from the bathroom to catch him hurriedly tossing something into the trash. Oh God. Brandon’s stupid note. It caused her to blush thinking that he’d read that ridiculous drivel. Hottest little redhead I know. Jesus! She blushed more deeply and looked at her feet. When she regained enough composure to look up at him, she found him staring at her with the oddest expression on his face. She found his face much more difficult to read than his brother’s, but she could almost swear that he looked at her with admiration and even . . .tenderness? That was ridiculous.
“I suppose you aren’t going to let me call a cab,” she said.
“Of course not. I came here to take you home, Catelyn.”
She smiled at him. “All right. I’ll let you drive me home, but only if you stop calling me Catelyn all the time.” Her smile widened as she recalled the way he’d first addressed her through the door. “I suppose it’s less formal than Miss Tully, but it still makes me feel like I’m in trouble for something.” She dropped her voice a couple octaves in imitation of him. “I am here to take you home, Catelyn.” She laughed. “I probably deserve to be grounded for the way I behaved last night, but I’d rather not be reminded of it.”
He smiled back at her, and she almost caught her breath for it was a far more natural smile than she was used to seeing on him, and it was really amazing to see. She’d always thought Ned the least attractive of the Stark siblings--not ugly, by any means, but simply very plain. As he smiled at her now, though, she couldn’t quite figure out why she’d ever thought Brandon so much handsomer.
“I certainly don’t want to sound like a disapproving parent,” he laughed. “Not with you anyway. I’ll save that for my reprobate brother. You, my lady, simply deserve a proper escort.” He made a sweeping bow then which caused her to laugh out loud.
“Oh, for God’s sake! ‘My lady’ is worse than ‘Miss Tully’!” She rolled her eyes. “Just call me Cat, okay? That’s who I am to my friends.”
“Am I your friend?” The teasing tone she’d heard from him for the first time ever just a moment before had disappeared. This question was voiced with the same quiet seriousness she was used to from Ned Stark, and she answered with similar seriousness.
“This morning, Ned, you are my best friend in the world.”
That won her another of those remarkable smiles, and she walked with him to the elevator. As the doors closed on them, she found herself markedly uncomfortable standing this close to Ned while remembering what she and his brother had done in this elevator the night before. Surely, this soft-spoken, serious man would think she was a tramp if only he knew everything. She suddenly hoped Brandon wouldn’t tell him all of it. For reasons she couldn’t completely explain, Ned Stark’s opinion of her mattered. It mattered to her a lot.
When they emerged into the lobby, he took her arm to lead her out to the street. Parked directly in front of the hotel was the silver Mercedes Ned had driven since receiving it as a gift from his father for his twenty-first birthday. It was elegant, Catelyn, thought, but not flashy, rather like the man himself. Ned was twenty-five now, so he’d driven this car for four years. In that same time span, Brandon had been through several extremely flashy and brightly colored high-dollar sports cars.
Ned opened the door for her and she got in the passenger seat, noting several binders in the floor with the wolf logo of Stark Enterprises. Ned saw where her eyes looked as he got in. “Proposals for three new acquisitions,” he said. “Dad wants me to look at them. He has Brandon looking at them, too, of course.”
“Don’t you graduate this month?” she asked suddenly. “From law school, I mean?”
“Yep. And Dad’s determined I’ll be the company lawyer. If he has his way, Stark Enterprises will be my sole client.” He laughed. “Of course, there’s the small matter of taking and passing the bar.”
“Oh, you’ll do that, no problem,” Catelyn said. “Do you want to work only for Stark, though? Is that why you wanted to be a lawyer?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” he said seriously. Then, he smiled and turned to look at her very briefly before turning his eyes back to the road. “You know, I’ve never told anyone that before. I do want to do my part, of course, for the family business. But it’s really going to be Brandon’s. I’m okay with that,” he said hurriedly, before she could say anything. “Really, I am. Brandon has an entrepreneurial soul. I don’t really. He’s like Dad in that. But I’ve got more of Dad’s common sense, I suppose. Certainly more of his caution. Brandon doesn’t know that word.”
Ned sounded almost bitter to Catelyn when he said that, but he quickly moved on. “I think Dad’s idea is for the two of us to run the thing together. Lyanna has no interest, and Ben’s still pretty much a kid. I don’t know how involved he’ll want to be. I guess Dad’s current vision is Brandon at the helm with me standing behind him. And I’m fine with that part of it. I don’t like the spotlight. I just don’t know if that’s all I want to be. Does that make sense?”
“It does to me,” she said. “Have you told your dad that?”
Ned laughed. “Are you kidding? Tell the Silver Wolf that perhaps Stark Enterprises isn’t the epicenter of the universe?”
Catelyn laughed with him. No one knew why Rickard Stark had chosen a wolf logo for his fledgling company in the beginning, but his prematurely grey hair and rapid success in business had earned him that nickname years ago. “The Silver Wolf,” she repeated. “You know, your car and style seem more ‘Silver Wolf’ than Brandon’s,” she teased. “Any grey hair yet?”
Ned laughed. “Honestly? I’ve found a couple in my beard. Almost made me shave the thing off.”
“Oh, don’t!” she protested.
He raised his brows.
“I like it,” she said. She realized as she said it that she really did. She also thought it would look quite handsome even when the dark brown did have some white shot through it. Jesus, Catelyn Tully. Get a grip on yourself. The man’s just giving you a ride home. Quit thinking about how he’ll look ten years from now!
At that moment, her stomach decided to give an alarmingly loud growl.
“Speaking of wolves,” Ned laughed. “Would you like to stop for breakfast, Cat?”
He’d never called her Cat before, and she was tempted to say yes just because he had. She had no right to claim any more of his time, though. “That’s not necessary, Ned,” she said. “I’ll find something when I get home.”
He frowned. “I didn’t ask you if it were necessary. I asked if you would like to have breakfast with me. Perhaps, my belly isn’t growling as loudly as yours, but I haven’t eaten this morning, either. I want to stop and eat. Would you like to eat with me?”
He sounded almost angry, and yet sort of hopeful at the same time. Perhaps, he truly didn’t mind her company. “Okay, but I look like a bit of a refugee in Lyanna’s clothes with no makeup on.”
They were at a red light, and he turned to look at her. God, those eyes. Brandon’s had always seemed to see through her clothing. Ned’s seemed to see through her soul. “You look beautiful,” he said simply. “You always look beautiful. You can’t help it.”
She started to laugh or make some disparaging comment about herself, but with those eyes looking at hers like that, all she could say was, “Thank you.”
A car horn jolted both of them into realizing the light was now green, and Ned once again attended to driving. They didn’t say much for the next several minutes, and Catelyn again began to wonder if this was such a good idea. Ned had come to get her because Brandon had called him. Taking care of his family is what Ned did. She didn’t fault him for that. She’d do the same for Lysa or Edmure, but she shouldn’t confuse taking care of Brandon or simple decent kindness for anything else.
By the time, they pulled into the little diner, she had convinced herself to eat breakfast quickly, keep polite conversation to a minimum, and then to get home and commit to having as little contact as possible with any and all Starks. Yet, when he came around to her side of the car to open the door, she found herself admiring his broad shoulders. He wasn’t as tall as Brandon, but he was nicely built. What the hell is wrong with you? You really are a slut, Catelyn Tully! Less than twenty-four hours ago, you were fucking his brother, for Christ’s sake!
Whether it was her hangover, her unrelenting shame over what she’d done with Brandon the night before, her confusion about Ned’s effect on her this morning, or some combination of all three, Catelyn had herself worked into quite a state by the time the two of them slid into a booth in the corner of the diner.
The waitress arrived quickly, and she managed to mumble an order, but then found herself inexplicably on the verge of tears again.
“Catelyn? Cat? Are you all right?” The concern in Ned’s voice pushed her right off the emotional cliff she’d been teetering on.
“No,” she hissed. “I am not all right! I am not in love with your brother, Ned. Not anymore. But I never thought I was a whore, either!”
“You’re not . . .” he started.
“What do you call it then?” she demanded. “It’s not like he raped me, Ned. I wanted him. In the limo, in the elevator, in the hotel room . . .I gave as good as I got, and I can’t tell myself any different. What kind of girl does that?” She shook her head and looked down. “And here you are being nice to me. You don’t have to be. I know you always clean up after Brandon, but you don’t have to clean this up. It’s my mess as much as his and I have to . . .to figure out how I clean it up.”
She felt his hand cover hers, but he didn’t say anything for several minutes. What can he say? He has to think I’m awful.
“I am not here for Brandon,” he finally said. “Cat, look at me.”
Meeting his eyes was one of the most difficult things she’d ever done, but she did it. She looked up at him and found his gaze on her was steady and serious, but not condemning.
“I came because Brandon called me. I brought the clothes because the idiot at least had enough sense to think of that. He’s probably crawled in some hole to sleep off his own hangover by now, or maybe he’s crawled back into bed with his latest girlfriend.” Her shock must have shown, because Ned’s eyes flashed with anger again. “No, I didn’t think he’d tell you he’s actually living with someone. Not when he went to that stupid ball hoping to get into your pants.”
Now, she was really shocked. “What . . .what are you talking about?”
Ned looked guilty. “Your picture was in the paper last week.”
She thought for a minute. “At the premier I went to with Petyr? They snapped pictures of everyone that night. And I only went with Petyr because I felt sorry for him. He asks me to do things all the time, and I always turn him down, and I know when I go anywhere with him, it only encourages him, and I really shouldn’t but . . .he’s harmless, and I felt bad, so I went.”
Ned looked at her. “Well, I don’t know that he’s harmless. His obsession with you is a little over the top, and I can’t say I blamed Brandon when he beat the shit out of the little asshole three years ago, but that’s beside the point.” He waved his hand as if pushing discussion of Petyr Baelish’s relative threat level aside and took a deep breath. “Robert showed him the picture. Went on and on about how hot you looked. Gave him shit about letting you get away just so some little prick like Baelish could get in your pants.”
“Petyr Baelish has never . . .” she started to protest.
“I know, Cat,” he said wearily, “but you know how possessive Brandon gets, even over things that aren’t his.”
“Or people,” she said softly.
Ned nodded. “I didn’t know you were going to that ball, Cat. I swear it. I didn’t know Brandon was leaving his girlfriend at home. If I’d known, I would have been there. I would have stopped him.”
“Or stopped me,” she said, feeling sick at how badly she’d allowed herself to be used. “I guess I proved him right, huh? I’m his whenever he wants me.”
“No,” Ned said softly. “You aren’t. You loved him for a long time, though. And you still care about him. You can’t just turn that off. You’re too good a person, Cat. You can’t give that much of yourself to someone for so long and then just stop caring completely. It isn’t in you. Look how nice are to that little bastard, Baelish, and he’s caused you nothing but headaches!”
“I don’t hop into bed with Petyr,” she said bitterly.
“No, because that’s never how you took care of him. It is how you took care of Brandon, though. You loved him with everything you had. I guarantee he showed up last night with his puppy dog face, talking about missing you and needing you, and something in you wanted to take care of him. I know all about that, Cat. I know the effect he has on people who care about him. Do you think I like doing some of the things I’ve done for him? Do you think I feel good about it? He’s my brother, and I take care of him. He was your lover, and you took care of him.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe that was part of it, but I was just so . . .”
“Lonely,” he said. “And considerably the worse for wine. Brandon admitted you were well on your way to drunk when he found you and that he went on to get you well past drunk.”
“That’s not an excuse,” she said stubbornly.
“Perhaps not. But it is an explanation. You messed up, but you were helped along and you had reason. You aren’t perfect, Catelyn Tully. Deal with it.”
“Says the perfect man,” she muttered under her breath, but he understood her.
“No. I’m a lot of things, Cat, but never perfect. You barely know me.”
“Yet, you talk like you know everything about me. How is that, Ned?”
He swallowed. “I told you I wasn’t here for Brandon.”
“No. You came because you felt bad for me. You felt guilty and you . . .”
“No! I mean, yes, I felt bad and guilty and all of that. But that’s not why I’m here.” He looked at her with those grey eyes again. “You loved Brandon with everything you had,” he said again, “So you couldn’t see anyone else looking at you. And that was how it should be. It’s how Brandon should be, but he isn’t. And he never will be.”
“No,” she said. “He can’t be what he isn’t. I know that, Ned.”
He nodded. “Just because you couldn’t see anyone else doesn’t mean no one else saw you. I’ve looked at you for a long time, Catelyn.”
As she began to comprehend what he was telling her, Catelyn thought back over the past six years. Six years of knowing Ned Stark, but not knowing him. Seeing him, but not seeing him. “I’m looking at you now,” she said.
He smiled, but it was a sort of sad smile. “You’re looking at your rescuer. I like being your hero, Cat. I won’t lie. But that won’t work forever. You’re wrong when you think that last night makes you some sort of terrible person, but you’re right that you’ve got to figure out what to do with it by yourself.”
They finished their breakfast in silence, and then he walked her back to his car. She spent the short drive back to her apartment thinking about his words and wishing she didn’t have to think about the events of the previous night.
When he pulled up in front of her door, he smiled at her again. “Take care of yourself, Cat.”
She smiled back. “You’re still calling me Cat. Does that mean we’re going to stay friends?”
“I’d certainly like us to,” he said.
“And when I stop being such a mess about your idiot brother?”
He looked at her seriously. “It’s not about my brother. It’s about you.”
She nodded. “So, when I stop being a mess in general, then, any chance you’ll still look at me, Ned Stark? Even with all this baggage?'
“I’ve never really stopped looking at you. I should have, I know. Hell, I never should have started looking. You were my brother’s.”
“I am not your brother’s now,” she said firmly. “All recent evidence to the contrary,” she added ruefully.
“And there’s the rub,” he said with a half-hearted smile. “You don’t belong to Brandon, Cat. But I’m not the person you need to convince of that, am I?”
I don’t love Brandon Stark, she told herself. I don’t. But Ned was right. After last night, she didn’t trust herself. And if she didn’t trust herself, she couldn’t ask anyone else to trust her.
“No, you aren’t,” she said. “But, please. Don’t give up on me.”
“I never could.”
She slipped out of the car then. He wouldn’t drive away until he saw her open the door to go inside, but she didn’t go all the way in. Instead, she watched his car until she couldn’t see it anymore. I’m looking at you now. She still felt exhausted, angry, ashamed, and hurt, and too damned confused about too many things to sort out how she felt about Ned Stark. But she knew some things for certain. She’d never again look at him without seeing him. And she knew that she wanted to look at him again soon, and for a very long time.