Until We Fly (The Beautifully Broken)

by Courtney Cole

  I turn back, his words stiffening my spine.

  “I’m not what she needs?”

  Maxwell shakes his head. To my left, I see Nate and William from my periphery. They’re trying to pretend they aren’t listening, but I know they are.

  “You don’t have the first clue what she needs,” her father tells me icily. “You can’t possibly. You’re from another world, Killien.”

  I almost laugh. “I was exactly what she needed last week when I pulled her from the wreckage of that café. You know, when you were standing outside not doing a thing to help.”

  His jaw clenches and I see a vein tick in his forehead.

  “She’s twenty-three years old. She doesn’t know what she needs. You’re clouding her vision. If you really cared for her, at all, then you’d leave her alone and let her focus on what’s important.”

  Again, I almost laugh.

  “She’s twenty-three years old. She’s old enough to know what she needs. Perhaps you’re the one who should leave her alone and let her figure it out.”

  I start to walk to my chair again, but his next words stop me cold.

  “I own her, Killien. And I’ll never let you be with her. Know that right now.”

  His words are ice and I whirl back around, but Nate jumps from his chair and rushes to defuse the situation.

  “I’m sorry, Brand. My father is overwhelmed with work right now—under a lot of stress. I’m sorry. Please… come sit with me and tell me about the Rangers. It must’ve been damn fascinating.”

  I stare into Maxwell Greene’s face, at his emotionless eyes, at his fixed mouth. He’s a man who doesn’t care about anyone but himself. I instantly take back my earlier thoughts that taking care of yourself is the smart thing to do. I never want to be Maxwell Greene.

  I walk past him without another word, following Nate back to the table. William gets up to join Maxwell at the bar, leaving Nate and I alone.

  “What is going on with this family?” I ask bluntly. “Nothing matters but business?”

  Nate smiles an empty smile. “So you’ve caught onto that, huh?”

  Like Nora, Nate has his mother’s blue eyes, but instead of red hair, his is blond, cut short. He’s tall and slim, and unlike Nora, I sense an ambitious hunger in him. With Nora, it’s like it’s something that makes her tired. She’s used to trying to please her father, but it’s not something she enjoys.

  Nate seems to not only accept it, but thrive on it.

  I nod. “Yeah. It’s pretty apparent.”

  Nate chuckles. “Well, it’s been drilled into our heads since we were babies. Be a Greene. Do what it takes, and all that. The business has been passed down from generation to generation for several hundred years. Our family came over with Columbus, you know. We’ve got big shoes to fill.”

  I glance over at Maxwell and William. They’re chatting quietly, in intense conversation. Probably discussing mergers and acquisitions and how to eat their competition for breakfast.

  “What did your dad mean when he says that he owns Nora?” I ask suddenly. It was such a strange thing to say. Nate instantly looks uncomfortable.

  “He shouldn’t have said that. He only meant… there’s a contract, we both have one. When we finished high school, we were given a contract to work at Greene Corp in exchange for our college tuition and trust funds. No big deal.”

  No big deal?

  “You had to sign a contract for your birthright?” I can’t even keep the shock out of my voice. I was right. Maxwell is just as fucked up as my father was, every bit as controlling.

  Nate nods, nonplussed. “It was no big deal, particularly because we’ve known since we were kids that we would work for Greene Corp. It’s what we were born to do.”

  I drop the subject because clearly Nate doesn’t see how fucked up it is.

  Instead, I tackle a new one. Nate is being forthcoming with information, so I might as well push my luck for more.

  “What’s the deal with William?”

  Nate glances at me.

  “What do you mean?”

  I nod toward William and Maxwell. “He seems very…attached to Nora. And very…. I don’t know.”

  Nate chuckles. “Yeah. He’s intense. He’s always been that way. And as far back as I remember, Nora’s been his favorite. He never got married and had kids of his own.”

  Yeah. The way William had been looking at Nora wasn’t fatherly. But I don’t point that out. Nate seems fairly oblivious to it, although I don’t know how.

  “I thought Greene Corp was family own and run?” I ask suddenly. “How is it that William seems to have such an important job?”

  Nate stares at me in surprise, although he doesn’t get annoyed at my blunt prying.

  “William is family,” he answers slowly. “He owns half of the company because he’s my uncle. My father’s brother.”

  The world seems to stop turning as I stare back at him, shocked, repulsed.

  Nora’s uncle?

  I feel the sudden urge to lunge from this chair, find Nora, scoop her up and carry her out of this fucked-up madhouse.

  “Your uncle?”

  My words are wooden, stilted, as I try to wrap my head around it.

  Nora’s afraid of her uncle. Her uncle is sending her threatening text messages. And the look I see in Nora’s eyes… it makes me dread knowing what he did to her.

  But I know.

  I know.

  Nate nods. “Yeah. Our uncle.”

  Nora and Camille choose this minute to walk back in, and Nora instantly finds me, searching me out. I smile at her.

  Everything’s fine, don’t worry.

  She nods, just barely, her shoulders sagging a bit with relief.

  She’s in a house of sharks and she’s worried about me.

  She walks straight past everyone else and puts her hand on my shoulder. “I’m exhausted,” she tells me. “Are you ready to go?”

  I instantly push away from the table.

  “Of course.”

  I thank Camille, and we walk out.

  The entire time, I can feel the glares of William and Maxwell between my shoulder blades.

  The entire time, my head is spinning.

  Her uncle.

  Her fucking uncle.

  As we turn the corner, I glance back into the dining room, and see William watching Nora leave. His gaze is rapt and he’s focused only on her.

  My stomach rolls.

  “I forgot something,” I tell Nora. “Go ahead. I’ll be right out.”

  She looks up at me, confused, but I don’t say another word. Instead, I just walk back into the dining room, trying very very hard not to limp.

  I walk straight up to the bar where William is refilling his glass.

  He glances at me in surprise, and I lean in to speak in his ear, where only he will hear me.

  “If you put another fucking hand on Nora, I’ll crush all of your fingers, then break them off and feed them to you. Got it?”

  William’s head snaps back and he stares at me, his eyes wide and filled with guilt.

  “I don’t know what she’s said to you,” he snaps quickly. “But she’s lying.”

  I shake my head slowly, and look into his faded eyes.

  “She didn’t tell me anything. You just did.”

  His hand is clutching the edge of the bar, so I make a fist and lean on his hand, crushing it under my weight. No one else in the room can see it but the two of us.

  “As I said,” I growl softly. “Touch her again, and you won’t have hands left to touch anyone else. And that will be the least of your worries.”

  I take my fist away from his hand and he glares at me.

  “You don’t have the slightest idea what you’ve just done,” he snaps. “I have the power to be your worst enemy.”

  I smile slowly.

  “Bring it.”

  I walk out of the dining room, careful not to limp. The last thing I see before I turn the corner is the satisfied expressi
on in Camille’s eyes.

  Nora is waiting for me by her car, out where the air smells like the lake and the night breeze ruffles her hair. Her eyes are big in the dark.

  “What did you forget?”

  I shrug.

  I forgot to threaten your uncle.

  “It’s not important. You ready to go home?”

  Home.

  Where we live together.

  For now.

  Her eyes widen at the word and she nods immediately and without question.

  “Yeah.”

  She drives and the night blurs past us outside the window. I don’t mention her uncle and neither does she.

  The quiet is all encompassing, but it isn’t uncomfortable.

  Finally, I look at her.

  “You ok?”

  She smiles, a small tiny movement.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Of course.”

  She smiles wider and pulls into the drive. “Let me go in and get your crutches. You’ve been without them all night. I know your knee must be killing you.”

  I shake my head. “It’s fine. I can walk.”

  I limp, but I walk unassisted into the house. I’m no pussy, goddamnit. Although I can’t deny that pain streaks from my knee down to my ankle.

  Fuck it.

  As soon as Nora walks through the door, she starts shedding clothing. First her shoes, then her dress, then her bra, then finally her panties. When she stands in front of me stark naked, she smiles, her first real smile of the night.

  “Ready for bed?”

  I smile.

  “Always.”

  We tumble into bed together and Nora presses her body into mine, limp against me, warm and soft. She runs her fingers down my chest, over my hips, and cups my balls.

  I close my fingers over her hand.

  “Not tonight, sweetheart.”

  Because you need to know that you’re more than a fuck.

  I hear her sudden intake of breath. “What?”

  “Not tonight. I just want to lie here with you. Does that work for you?”

  I pull her even closer, until her hips are pressed to mine and our legs are twined together.

  “I guess,” she grumbles, “But I was hoping for a little more of this.”

  She strokes my dick.

  The traitorous bastard springs to life, but I ignore it.

  Cold Fish. Cold Fish. Cold Fish.

  “Not tonight,” I remind her. “We don’t always need to do that, you know.”

  Because she’s more than just that. Whatever happened to her… I have the feeling it skewed her perception of herself.

  Her eyes narrow in the night.

  “I know we don’t have to,” she says finally. “I just like to. With you.”

  After that clarification, she puts her head on my chest and is silent for a few minutes, until finally, her voice is small in the night.

  “Thank you for going with me tonight.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I wrap my arms around her and hold her until we fall asleep.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nora

  He doesn’t want me.

  I gulp hard, trying not to move because Brand thinks I’m sleeping.

  I shouldn’t have taken him to dinner tonight because now he knows what I am. I don’t know how, but he knows. I saw it in his eyes earlier, and now he doesn’t want me.

  I hold a fist to my mouth to keep the sounds from slipping out.

  I want to go outside and scream to the moon, but I can’t.

  I’m tainted.

  I’m used.

  I’m unworthy.

  He knows.

  He knows.

  He knows.

  Without meaning to, I whimper. Brand stirs in his sleep, his heavy arm strewn across my waist.

  I’ve got to get out of here. The walls are closing in. I’ve got to move.

  I quietly try to slip from bed, but Brand’s arm tightens, pulling me even more closely to him. Even if he knows, he’s still here. He still wants to share this bed with me. He still wants to touch me.

  So I’m even more curious now. What exactly does he know?

  I wait, inhaling and exhaling deeply, calmly. After a few minutes more, I try to move again. This time, I’m able to slip away.

  When I reach the door, I grab Brand’s shirt and put it on in lieu of a robe. The sleeves fall way past my hands, so I shove them up as I grab a bottle of wine and uncork it in the kitchen.

  I don’t bother with a glass. I simply take the bottle and start to walk outside, when my phone buzzes on the counter.

  Dread fills me, instantly and completely.

  Which will it be? My father or my uncle?

  I force myself to look, only to find William’s name.

  You fucked up. So did your boyfriend.

  Startled, I stare at the words. So did your boyfriend. What did Brand do?

  I grab my phone and the bottle of wine, and head outside for some air. I walk down to the beach, dropping into the sand, not worried about the fact that I don’t have underwear on and sand will get into all of my business.

  It doesn’t matter.

  Nothing matters.

  The words on my phone threaten to burn my hand, so I drop the wretched phone and take a swig of wine. Directly from the bottle. My mother would be so proud.

  I take another.

  Then another.

  Then, when the liquid courage has begun circling through my veins, I pick the phone back up.

  What do you mean?

  I don’t even have time to put the phone back down before there’s an answer.

  You should’ve known not to fuck with me.

  Chills run down my spine. I didn’t fuck with him. I do know better.

  I can’t breathe.

  He’s threatening Brand.

  I stare at the words again and they run together and I can’t breathe.

  So instead, I drink because I don’t know what else to do. I won’t know what he intends to do until William actually does it, so all I can do is wait.

  Wait for the other shoe to fall.

  I sit in Brand’s shirt in the sand, smelling his scent on my skin and drinking wine as I stare at the stars.

  Before long, after most of the bottle is gone, my nose goes numb and my fingertips get cold.

  I take the last drink left in the bottle, then cast it aside.

  I don’t know when I fall asleep.

  All I know is that the sand feels ever so good against my cheek.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Brand

  I wake up in the middle of the night alone, although it doesn’t take long to find Nora.

  She’d left the front door wide open. Her car is still in the drive, so I wander down to the beach.

  That’s where I find her passed out in the sand. She’s wearing my tuxedo shirt, and an empty bottle of wine is about a foot away from her, resting in the dirt.

  She’s had a hard night.

  Obviously.

  I ignore the twinges in my leg and bend, scooping her up and carrying her back into the house. Each step is torturous with the added weight on my knee, but there’s no way I’m leaving her outside.

  She nestled into my chest without waking, and I find that one side of her face is covered in sand. As are her arms and legs.

  With a sigh, I carry her into the bathroom. I bend and lay her in the tub, and remove the hand-held sprayer before I turn the water on. I let it get warm in the sink, before I pick it back up and rinse off her legs, her feet, her arms.

  She doesn’t stir until I’m wiping her face off with a washcloth.

  She wakes with a start, her hands automatically flying up to shield her face.

  “No!” she protests wildly, her eyes glazed, striking out at me, clenching her hands into fists, blows raining onto my chest.

  “It’s just me,” I grab her hands, restraining her. “Shhh. It’s ok. It’s only me.”

  She flails for ju
st a moment longer before her eyes register who I am and she breathes my name. “Brand.”

  She doesn’t question why she’s naked in the bathtub or why I’m bathing her. She doesn’t say anything, actually. She just lets me wash the dirt away.

  When I’m finished, I ask her to stand up and she does it obediently.

  I towel her off. She’s so drunk, she’s only hovering on the edge of consciousness. I know that the second she’s in bed, she’ll pass out once again.

  Her eyes are still closed as she stands.

  But then, as I pull the towel away, she opens them.

  “Why don’t you want me, Brand?”

  I yank my hands away from her in surprise.

  “What?”

  Her eyes are bleary, her voice soft and slurred.

  “You don’t want me anymore. Although I don’t know that you ever really did.” She raises her arms and I help her out of the tub. She wobbles, then clings to me to steady herself.

  “Is it because I’m so used?”

  My gut clenches at the vulnerable sound of her voice, at her words, at the soft and sad expression in her eyes. Even though she’s drunk, maybe especially because she’s drunk, she’s a wide-open book.

  “You’re not used,” I tell her firmly, as I pick her up back up in my arms. My knee protests, but I ignore it as I limp down the hall to the bedroom. “You’re not used.”

  She rests her head against me, her arms slung around my neck.

  “I am,” she whispers. “But I never wanted to be.”

  I don’t bother putting a nightgown on her, instead, I carry her to bed naked. I nestle her into the sheets and sit on the side of the bed, resting my throbbing knee.

  I thought she was going to pass out right away, but she opens her eyes again.

  “Will you stay with me?”

  I nod. “I’ll be right here.”

  Her eyes flutter closed, her lashes a black fringe against her pale cheeks.

  She’s so vulnerable, so soft and fragile. I can’t imagine anyone hurting her. I can’t imagine anyone rejecting her for things that happened out of her control.

  “I do want you,” I whisper to her, my hand on hers. “I do.”

  But she’s sleeping now, passed out and oblivious to the world’s ugliness and troubles. Her breathing is light and steady.