Until We Fly (The Beautifully Broken) Page 4

  Warmth rushes through me again, through all the hidden parts of me, at the idea of this fierce man protecting what is his.

  I can’t help but wonder what that must feel like. To be his. To stand within those strong arms, to kiss those full, firm lips. If I were his, I know he’d protect me until his dying breath. I could sleep every night without a fear, without a doubt. He’d keep the monsters at bay.

  I shake the ridiculous thoughts away, and step back.

  He’s not mine.

  Brand lets the hospital gown fall away and I inhale sharply.

  Sweet Mary and all the saints.

  God, I wish he were mine.

  Washboard abs don’t describe what Brand’s got hidden under his shirt. His chest and stomach look like they’re carved from bronze marble. How many hours in the gym does that even take??

  He’s got another tattoo on his chest, some sort of tribal symbol. It almost looks like a Japanese throwing star.

  His bicep bulges as he moves, distracting me as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. Another tattoo is there on the flexing muscle. A skull in a beret over two crossed swords. Death Before Dishonor.

  I gulp.

  Is there anything sexier in the world than this man? Honorable, brave, strong. The trifecta of perfect male attributes.

  I gasp when he pulls out his own IV, leaving it dangling on the bedrail.

  “Holy crap,” I breathe, eyeing the limp tube. “I could’ve gotten the nurse.”

  He rolls his eyes. “And we could’ve waited for an hour. It’s fine. It’s just pulling a needle out. Not exactly rocket science.”

  He blots at a tiny spot of blood, and I catch sight of yet another tattoo. I remember seeing it when he was pulling the debris off of me in the café, but I couldn’t make out the words then, not through the smoke and the haze of my concussion. Without thinking, I pick up his arm and turn it over, exposing his forearm.

  Black words scrawl from the wrist to the elbow.

  Though I walk through the valley of death, I fear no evil.

  My lady parts tingle.

  This man is like catnip for my vagina.

  I gulp. “I like your tattoos.”

  Brand glances up. “Yeah, I was lucky. Right after I discharged, they changed the rules. Said that officers can’t have tattoos from their elbows to their wrists. I would’ve been screwed.”

  “I like them,” I tell him softly, which is the biggest understatement in the history of the world. I fricking love them. They reveal so much about this man, more than I bet he wants people to know.

  Honor. Bravery. Strength. Loyalty.

  God. My nether-regions are tingling again.

  “Thanks,” Brand answers. He twists away to gather his things on the bed table and I realize that I had still been holding his arm as I pondered his many sexy traits.

  Embarrassing.

  A nurse comes to help transfer Brand to a wheelchair, and I watch how she does it, filing it away for future use. She also explains to him once again how to clean the wound on his thigh and lectures him one more time about not over-doing it.

  “Now don’t put any weight on that leg,” she tells him sternly. “I don’t want a repeat of last night.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Last night?”

  She shakes her head. “Mr. Killien is stubborn. He got up in the night by himself to go to the bathroom. Apparently, he didn’t want to use his bedpan.”

  He snorts. “No one wants to use a bedpan.”

  She scowls at him. “No weight on that leg. Period. You can’t break open your artery again, and you don’t want to put weight on your knee and ankle.” She looks at me. “You’ll make sure, right?”

  I nod quickly. To be honest, I’m a bit afraid of the stern old woman.

  She wheels him down to the first floor and I trail behind with his sack of belongings. Glancing inside, I just find his pants that they cut off, his wallet and a phone.

  I wonder if anyone has called him? If anyone has thought to look for him or check on him?

  Because he seems so alone.

  It tugs on the maternal place in my heart, the place that wants to keep him safe. He’s obviously seen so much shit, so much terrible shit, all while ‘standing on a wall’ to protect me and everyone else in this country. Taking care of him now would be the least I could do.

  And God, I want to be near him.

  I want to breathe him in.

  I want his goodness to fix me.

  Please, God.

  We slide the passenger seat of my car all the way back, and between the nurse, Brand and me, we get him situated. His long leg, encased in a knee brace, barely fits.

  As I get in, I glance at him. “Just tell me where to go.”

  He nods. “Sure. We’re headed to my friend’s cottage out by the lake. I’ll tell you where to turn.”

  “Okay.” I head for the exit and Brand runs his finger along the leather-bound dashboard.

  “Nice car,” he tells me casually as I turn onto the highway.

  I roll my eyes. “Thanks. I wanted a convertible, but my father thought that was too tacky.”

  “A Jaguar XJ isn’t anything to sneeze at,” he answers. “Although they’re mechanical pieces of shit.”

  I snort back laughter. “Tell that to my father. He gave it to me as a graduation gift. I know, it’s a grandma car.”

  “It is a little….geriatric,” Brand grins. “But it’s still nice.”

  It’s the absolute story of my life. I want something, my father wants something else, and guess who wins that battle?

  “Turn here,” Brand tells me after a few minutes. Honeysuckle Drive.

  “What a charming name,” I muse aloud.

  The road is just as charming as the name implies. Lined with shady trees, I idle down the quiet lane to the very end, to a little cottage perched on the lake. Cute and quaint, it’s got vines growing up the side, a porch with two rocking chairs, and pots of flowers out front.

  “This is a adorable,” I observe before I get out and pull the wheelchair from the trunk.

  I unfold it and push it over to the passenger side, but Brand scowls at it. “I’m not using that thing.”

  I scowl back. “Well, you certainly can’t bear weight, and we don’t have your crutches yet. So get into it, Killien.”

  Brand’s head snaps up in surprise, then he bursts out laughing.

  “A bit bossy, aren’t you?” His eyes sparkle and it takes my breath away. “It’s a good thing bossy looks good on you.”

  I smirk and hold the chair and Brand twists himself from the car and drops into it, all without managing to put weight on his leg. It’s not without effort and I can see his face is a bit pale.

  “We’ll get you some pain pills in the house,” I tell him. “The nurse said you could have one soon.”

  I wheel him to the door.

  “The key is on top of the sill,” he tells me. “Can you reach it?”

  Barely.

  But I manage, by stretching up on the very tip of my toes. When I turn back around, Brand is watching me, and heat floods my cheeks. His gaze had been fixed on my ass, on the way my shirt had pulled up as I stretched.

  I want him to watch me, to see me, yet when he does, I get as flustered as the thirteen-year old I used to be. Gah.

  I unlock the door and him inside.

  The inside of the cottage is as cute as the outside, but it does have a pent-up musty smell and it’s stifling hot.

  “I’m going to open the windows,” I tell Brand. “We need some air flowing. And I’ll change the sheets on the bed for you. I’m guessing this cottage hasn’t been opened up for the season.”

  “No, it hasn’t,” Brand agrees.

  I push him over to the windows where he can look out over the lake while I wander about, opening windows, opening all the faucets to get fresh water flowing, and hunting for linens.

  As I do, my phone rings in my pocket. I pull it out, staring at the screen, expecting to see my fathe
r or my mom, or even Nate.

  But I don’t.

  My heart leaps into my throat, locking it up, when I see the name. I’m frozen for a minute, paralyzed. You’re an idiot. It’s just a freaking phone call. He can’t hurt you here.

  I will myself to move, and I’m finally able to shove the phone back into my pocket without answering it. But I feel it there, like a blazing piece of charcoal, taunting me.

  I blink hard.

  “You can answer that,” Brand tells me, staring at me curiously. “I don’t mind.”

  I shake my head. “It’s no one important.”

  Only the devil himself.

  Brand still stares at me. “Are you all right?”

  No.

  “Yes,” I lie. “It’s just hot in here. Opening the windows will help.”

  Trying to ignore the way my heart is pounding, I bring Brand a glass of water and one of his pain pills.

  “I’ll go into the pharmacy and get your prescription filled today,” I tell him. “The hospital only sent ten pills. I’ll pick up your crutches while I’m there.”

  Brand is already shaking his head. “No, you’ve already done enough. I’ll suck it up and call my mother. I’m not your responsibility, Nora. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”

  But the look on his face. It stabs me in the heart because I know that look. I’m sure I have it myself whenever I speak of my father.

  Brand could’ve died in surgery for all his mother knew, and she didn’t even bother to come to the hospital. I’m outraged for him, enough so that I don’t even think she deserves to be with him now. He’s everything that’s good in the world, and if she can’t see that, then it’s her loss.

  “No,” I insist. “It’s not a trouble. Trust me, it’s helping me out too. The more time I’m here, the less time I have to be at my parents’ house.”

  I’m going to be here a lot, you just don’t know it yet.

  Brand starts to answer, but closes his mouth, nodding. His eyes hold a curious expression. I get that a lot. People always assume my life is all rainbows and butterflies. I’m rich, after all, right?

  Well, money doesn’t buy happiness.

  Or good childhoods.

  Or good fathers.

  “I’m glad that’s settled,” I tell him firmly, taking back the glass and carrying it to the kitchen.

  My phone buzzes again, this time with a text.

  I don’t want to look, I don’t want to look, I don’t want to look.

  But I don’t have the will power not to.

  With my teeth gritted, I look.

  Answer your phone.

  I shudder, and slide my phone back into my pocket.

  “Are you sure everything is ok?” Brand asks. He’d been watching me and I didn’t even know it.

  “Yeah.”

  No.

  I’m not ok, because the devil himself can find me wherever I am.

  I’m not safe.

  I’m not safe.

  But I’m safe with Brand…because he stands on a wall to protect what is his.

  I rotate in a circle, taking the cottage in. Everything is on one floor here, so it’ll be easier for Brand to get around. But he really shouldn’t be alone. He can’t even drive yet.

  I suddenly know how to get what I want.

  “I’m going to stay here with you,” I announce, squaring my shoulders as I look at the sexy man in front of me.

  His eyes widen and before he can argue, I continue.

  “I insist. You can’t cook for yourself, you can’t walk, you can’t drive. You don’t want to talk to your mom and I get that. I wouldn’t speak to my dad, if I could help it. Let me do this. I want to. I owe you. And if I’m here, then I don’t have to see my dad. You’d actually be doing me a favor. Plus, I promised the nurse that I’d keep you off your leg.”

  I want to be here with you.

  My eyes must tell him that. He stares into them, studying me, dissecting me. I feel like he’s looking into me, figuring out all the broken parts.

  But I’m studying him, too. And I see that while he’s big and strong and brave, there’s something in him that is hurting. I just don’t know what it is yet. He’s an enigma. And I can’t wait to figure him out.

  Finally, he nods slowly.

  “If you really want to.”

  “I do,” I tell him firmly, and my heart takes off like helicopter blades. “And when someone else comes, your girlfriend, or whatever, I’ll just go back home. Easy-breezy.”

  Yes, it’s a pathetic and blatant fishing attempt on my part.

  Brand doesn’t bite.

  He eyes me and starts to say something, but then doesn’t.

  “Don’t expect anyone for a while,” he finally warns, an attempt to tell me that I might be here for a while, but still vague enough to not reveal anything about him.

  That’s fine. Because I’ll be staying in a cottage with my teenage fantasy. Only he’s not a fantasy anymore. And he’s not a teenager. He’s living, breathing, and sexy as hell.

  And until he tells me that there’s a girlfriend, I’m going to operate as if there isn’t one.

  For the next few weeks, Brand Killien is all mine.

  That’s plenty of time to figure all of his secrets out.

  Chapter Four

  Brand

  From the armchair by the windows, I watch Nora unload her Jaguar. First she brings in a pair of crutches and leans them against my chair. Next she hauls in an overnight bag, then bag after bag of groceries before finally closing her trunk.

  I hate sitting here like a helpless idiot while a woman carries in heavy groceries.

  Jesus.

  I fiddle with the crutches, adjusting them to the right height, before leaning them back against the chair.

  Nora comes in and glances at me. “Okay. I didn’t know what you liked, so I just got a variety of stuff. I also got you soda and beer. I took a guess on what kindsd you like.”

  I nod. “Anything will be fine. I’m not picky.”

  She stares at me sternly. “But you can’t have the beer until you aren’t taking the painkillers anymore.”

  I cock an eyebrow at her bossiness. “Yes, m’am.”

  Her face is flushed from the heat outside, her red hair coming loose from her chignon. I stare at all the groceries she’d just unpacked, then look back to her.

  “Okay, a couple of questions. One, did you leave anything in the store?”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “And two, do you know how to cook?”

  She rolls her eyes again.

  “No. Not really. But how hard can it be?”

  I snort. “Well, I can make eggs and frozen pizza. Did you get any pizzas?”

  She shakes her head and now she’s looking hesitant. “No. I didn’t think of that.”

  The look on her face makes me smile. She’s not used to not knowing how to do something, I can tell. And apparently, she’s not used to taking care of herself.

  “So, you can’t cook, and I can’t cook. And I can’t walk,” I make these observations with a smile.

  She sniffs, turning up her nose before she walks away. “I also bought a cookbook.”

  She hears me laughing because her spine turns ramrod straight as she disappears into the kitchen. I’m still chuckling as I study my leg in the sun.

  My knee hurts like a bitch. Obviously. Apparently, it turned backward and practically inside out.

  My ankle throbs like a motherfucker too. It’s swollen to the size of a football.

  My pain medicine is in the kitchen, where Nora is putting away all of those groceries alone, and right now, it looks like a hundred miles from here to there.

  Suck it up, Buttercup.

  With a groan, I grab the crutches next to me, and heft myself up, managing to not put weight on my leg.

  Fucking-A.

  It takes me five full minutes to make the trip. When I round the corner, Nora is stretching up on her toes
to put food in the cabinets. Her shirt has pulled up, showing her flat stomach.

  “Hey,” she looks up, yanking her shirt down. “You shouldn’t be up.”

  “I’ve got an injured leg. I’m not an invalid,” I tell her grumpily, because invalid or not, my leg is throbbing like hell. I eye my pain pills, which are mocking me from above the sink, twenty painful steps away. I start my slow hobble toward them.

  “Did you need something? I could’ve gotten it for you,” she tells me quickly, setting down a jar of spaghetti sauce, and heading for me.

  I’m already shaking my head.

  “You’re not my servant,” I tell her. “I’m not sure why you wanted to be here so bad, but you’re not going to wait on me hand and foot.” My words are sharper than I meant for them to be, but shit. My fucking leg hurts.

  Nora’s mouth snaps closed and she looks like I slapped her. I feel guilty, because I know she only wants to help, but I don’t say anything. I’m tired, I’m in pain, I’m pissed at the world. It’s probably best that I just keep my mouth shut.

  Without another word, I reach for the pills. Unfortunately, I’m not used to my crutches yet, and the left one rolls out from under me.

  I lose my balance, and in my effort to not land on my leg, I slam into Nora, effectively pinning her to the counter.

  She looks up at me, her eyes wide.

  She’s so small compared to me, as I tower above her. Awkwardly, I shift my weight so I’m not smashing her, but I don’t move completely away.

  Because my pelvis likes being pushed into her pelvis.

  Her heat emanates into me, and she stares up into my eyes.

  “You don’t want me here?” she asks breathily, her fingers curled around the counter edge. Her knuckles are white.

  “I didn’t say that,” I answer quietly, still not moving. Because right now, with her soft curves pressed into me, I do want her here.

  And unfortunately, my dick chooses this moment to agree with me.

  It hardens against her and her eyes widen.

  “I see,” she murmurs.

  I rotate away, straightening up and leaning on my crutches once again.

  “Sorry about that,” I tell her. “I hope I didn’t crush you.”