Wrecked: A Stepbrother Romance Novel

by Arabella Abbing

  “Text me the address. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

  “Please be safe.”

  I felt my own throat starting to close, but I forced myself to choke out, “I will, I promise. I love you, mom.”

  “I love you, too.”

  I clutched the phone tightly while I waited for the address and tried my best to keep a positive attitude. He likely had taken his jet off to some luxurious random island in the middle of nowhere and had no cell signal. Maybe something happened at the office that pissed him off and he just needed a break.

  He was fine.

  He had to be.

  * * *

  Nearly a week after the report was filed, Harold finally got a call.

  I managed to swing a few days off and opted to spend as much time as I could with them at their hotel until we either heard something from the police or I inevitably had to go back to work. I was hoping for the former, but not in the form of the call we got.

  My mom and I were anxiously twisting our hands together, watching the expressions flicker across Harold’s face as he spoke to the chief of the police department. When the call finally ended, he turned to face us directly—a look of confusion drawing his eyebrows together.

  “The search was called off and the file’s been closed.”

  “They found him?”

  He shook his head slowly. “Not exactly. Nobody’s seen him, but he… Brandon sent a fax to the station asking them to drop the report. He’s not missing. He’s just…”

  “Gone.”

  I finished the sentence for him, somehow instinctively sensing where he was headed. Harold nodded, confirming what I thought. Mom looked between the two of us, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “What do you mean gone? Where is he? Can we call him?”

  Another shake of the head and the confusion drained from his face, replaced with sadness.

  “He said he’d contact us when he was ready. Otherwise… nothing. He just up and left.”

  “H-How? Who’s running the company?”

  He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know, dear. According to the police, all we can do now is wait for him to contact us.”

  “If he even does,” I mumbled, closing my eyes tightly when I realized I had spoken out loud.

  If looks could kill, the one my mom shot me would’ve sent me to the floor. It definitely wasn’t what she wanted to hear—it wasn’t what any of us wanted to hear—but I tried to comfort myself with the knowledge that at least he was safe. At least he wasn’t really missing.

  I just wished he would have told us why.

  * * *

  March 2015

  I was grateful to discover that I was apparently not the type to get seasick. I managed to spend the entire fifteen minute ride zoning out until Hunter called my name and pointed to the long dock we had nearly reached.

  I took a good look around, noting the gorgeous beach stretched out beyond the dock and the trees further up on the island. Setting far enough back to be nestled amongst enough foliage to be nicely shaded was what appeared to be an enormous beach house, the ocean-facing wall of the second floor made almost entirely out of glass.

  A daydream about sitting by the glass wall with a book and watching the sun set outside warmed my thoughts, until I caught a flash of movement inside. We weren’t nearly close enough to make out what it was and I tried to rationalize that it was probably just a reflection from the sun, but my intuition told me otherwise.

  Brandon.

  Hunter was docking the boat when I cautiously stood up, waiting until he gave me an all-clear signal before approaching the side and allowing him to help me up again. He lifted my bag up and I gripped the handle, looking down and waiting for him to join me.

  He lifted a hand and pointed down the dock as he said, “Just follow the walkway and ring the doorbell. I’m sure Mr. Jensen is waiting for you inside. Oh, and enjoy your stay.”

  Before I could voice a protest, his back was turned to me and he was fussing with the sail on the boat, leaving me standing alone and facing the house with a growing sense of wariness. I took the millionth deep breath of the day and marched forward, refusing to allow myself to be intimidated by a man that I hadn’t even seen in five years.

  But if I thought of him as the man I once knew—the man I once loved even though I never admitted it to anyone—it made the walk feel twice as long. It was too soon that I found myself standing in front of the door, my finger hovering over the doorbell button.

  I told myself there was no time like the present.

  I told myself that there wasn’t any backing out now.

  I told myself that even though it’d been years, it was still Brandon.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to press the button.

  My hesitation didn’t matter in the long run because the sound of locks being twisted was enough for me to realize that it had been him in the window, watching as the boat arrived with me on it.

  It’s just Brandon. The guy who I was friends with in high school. The guy who I’m pretty sure loved me at one point. The guy who disappeared without so much as a fucking phone call. It’s just—

  The door swung open and I came face-to-face with reality.

  And my jaw dropped in horror.

  Chapter 8

  March 2015

  “Vanessa,” he greeted stiffly, his eyes narrowing as he took in my reaction and pressing his lips into a fine line.

  I couldn’t respond. All I could do was helplessly gape as my eyes roamed over his face, trying to figure out what the fuck had happened to him.

  There were jagged scars all over the left side of his face—hard protruding edges that twisted and pulled at his skin, creating dark shadows that made his already prominent bone structure look even more unreal to the point that it was almost scary. The scars went further down his jaw and neck, hiding beneath the button-down shirt he was wearing.

  Suddenly, his disappearance was beginning to make sense.

  “What…. God, Brandon. What happened to you?”

  His jaw clenched, the movement tugging at his flesh and making the scars look even more prominent. I couldn’t suppress my wince in time and the moment he saw it, he turned away, clearly embarrassed. Without thinking, I stepped forward and brought my hand up, gently resting my fingers on his scarred cheek and turning him to face me once again.

  For the briefest moment, his eyes fluttered shut and I felt butterflies flying around in my stomach almost as hard as they did when we were teenagers rolling around in the front yard. But the moment disappeared as quickly as it came and he harshly jerked away from me.

  “Don’t. Don’t touch me. I… I don’t like it.”

  You used to, I wanted to say. Instead, I looked away and murmured, “Sorry.”

  Brandon cleared his throat, refusing to even let his gaze come up to my face, let alone meet my eyes again. He made a sweeping gesture with his hand before turning away and stepping further into the house, waiting for me to follow him.

  “I’ll show you to your room.”

  It was beyond clear to me that he wanted the subject of his scars dropped, for the moment at least, and I didn’t have much say in the matter. I followed wordlessly behind, unable to focus on anything other than the stiff posture of his back and his mild limp.

  “Is that why I’m here?” I asked, interrupting whatever he had been saying about the house.

  He froze and turned back, frowning at me questioningly. I made a vague gesture towards his leg and recognition dawned on his face.

  “You noticed.”

  “Kind of hard not to since I’m right behind you,” I said lightly, giving him a half-smile that fell off when he didn’t return it.

  His frown merely deepened as he explained, “I was trying to hide it.”

  “There’s really no need. I mean, I am here to be your nurse. I’m going to need to know what I’m dealing with.”

  There was an awkward pause then, broken by the sound of him clearing
his throat before granting me a curt nod of agreement.

  When he continued on the path to my room, his spine stayed straight and his limp remained partially hidden. I barely managed to suppress my sigh as I trailed behind.

  * * *

  The room he had taken me to was nearly as big as my entire apartment and I gaped like an idiot for a long moment before I turned and told him as much. Brandon simply shrugged and scratched at his neck awkwardly, then told me that dinner would be served in two hours and I was free to use the time to nap or settle in. Then he was gone, leaving me to my own devices.

  To say I was disappointed would be an understatement, wanting nothing more than to question him about his disappearance and the scars, but I imagined that my initial reaction hadn’t helped matters.

  I was sure to get an explanation soon considering the reason I was here, so I decided to busy myself unpacking, knowing that I likely wouldn’t be able to sleep even if I tried. Not with the adrenaline pumping through my system.

  The walk-in closet was empty save for a number of available hangers and an empty dresser, so I made the most of the space and hung up as much as possible before neatly folding the rest and putting them in the drawers.

  A fresh wave of guilt and fondness hit my system when I got down to the green dress Brandon had paid for and I carefully placed it on a hanger before hiding it in the back of the closet.

  I wondered how he’d react if he knew I brought it. I still wasn’t entirely sure why I had put it in my bag—surely I wouldn’t get an opportunity to wear it—but it just felt like the right thing to do at the time.

  Now I was not only second-guessing my decision to bring the dress, but myself as well.

  The man who answered the door might have had the name Brandon Jensen, but I had a sinking feeling that the man I once knew was long gone.

  * * *

  A few hours later, a knock on my door brought me out of the light nap I’d accidentally fallen into after emptying my bag and fully exploring my bedroom and the attached bathroom. I rolled off the bed and hustled to the door, swinging it open and pointedly not reacting when I saw Brandon’s scarred face.

  Even with everything I’d seen as a nurse, it was still going to take me a little while to get used to seeing the scars. It was just too big of a shock to the system.

  His face was angled slightly away like he wanted to purposely keep the worst out of my vision, but when his head tilted to the side and he grinned, it brought the marks back to my full attention. I returned the smile, but furrowed my brows questioningly.

  “Nice hair.”

  My smile dropped and I reached up, feeling the tangled mess that my hair turned into during my sleep. He chuckled as I hastily smoothed it down and even though part of me was mortified, seeing him smile even a little made it worth it.

  “You didn’t come down for dinner. I was waiting.”

  “You didn’t show me where to go.”

  “I pointed out the dining room on the way to your room.”

  I frowned, thinking back and remembering that I had been so thrown by his appearance that I hadn’t listened to a damn word he said then. I apologized and forced a smile, giving him a gesture that I hoped said ‘lead the way.’

  It apparently worked, because he turned on his heel and I followed, making sure to make mental notes of the different doors as we passed them.

  The dining room wasn’t extravagant, but I had a feeling that it was designed like that on purpose. It would have truly surprised me if Brandon ever had dinner guests over, save for maybe the occasional employee that worked for him on the island.

  He pulled a chair out for me and I sat down, waiting for him to follow suit.

  But instead, he left the room. I sat in a confused silence until he came back, sitting down two plates of lasagna on the table before he took the seat beside me.

  The side that kept the scarred cheek facing away from me. Unsurprising, but slightly maddening. I was going to need to get used to them eventually and he certainly wasn’t making it any easier.

  He dug right in without a word so I did as well, making it halfway through my plate before my curiosity was more of a pressing matter than my appetite. I regarded him carefully—the way he slightly hunched over his plate like a frightened animal, the stiffness in his neck, the way his eyes were constantly looking my direction even though his head wasn’t turned towards me.

  “It’s good to see you,” I said softly, knowing that jumping right into questions would likely result in him running like earlier.

  He carefully set his utensils on his plate, silently debating for a long moment before he finally asked, “Is it?”

  “Of course. I missed you,” I admitted, hoping he’d be able to read the deeper meaning in my words. I had been missing him long before he ever disappeared. If nothing else, he deserved to know that. “Mom and Harold miss you too.”

  He nodded absently. “Yes, I miss them as well.”

  As intended, the absence of a returned ‘I missed you, too’ stung like a bitch. I swallowed around the lump in my throat, reaching for the glass of red wine he had poured for me and downed it. I had to stand to reach the bottle, but I topped myself off quickly and took my seat again, pointedly trying to ignore the way he frowned at me with narrowed eyes.

  “I must ask that you refrain from drinking on the days following my surgery.”

  I rolled my eyes and scoffed. “D you seriously think I would do that?”

  He shrugged. “We haven’t been close for a long time, Vanessa. You don’t know me any better than I know you.”

  Truer words were never spoken, I thought as I regarded him coolly. I knew he was a changed man the last time I saw him and now, it was even worse. We’re worlds apart now.

  As soon as the thought fluttered through my mind, I noticed he was still staring, waiting for a response.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say to that.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. Just stay sober when I need you.”

  This time, I held myself back from rolling my eyes, but I did reach for the wine again. Perhaps it was out of spite, but I apparently wasn’t old enough to care about being petty. I gave him a sugary-sweet smile before making short work of the glass, sitting it back down with an exaggerated noise of content.

  Brandon clearly wasn’t amused. “I’m serious.”

  “And I’m serious about my work. I’ve never gone to work drunk or hungover and I don’t intend to start now.”

  He nodded, accepting my answer and returning his attention to his food after a whispered, “Good.”

  The wine was making me a little bolder than when I first arrived, so I leaned back in my chair and casually watched him as I ate. The scars weren’t pleasant to look at—not in the slightest—but the rest of him was just as gorgeous as I remembered.

  Even more so, if I was being truthful. It was obvious that despite whatever health trouble he’d been having that he found a way to stay in shape and he’d bulked up quite a bit. There was nothing left of the scrawny computer nerd I knew as a teenager.

  Okay, well maybe he was still a nerd. After all, he was still a total introvert who ran a software company. Now he was just an extremely well-muscled, sexy-as-fuck nerd.

  And scarred. Damaged. Broken.

  I sighed to myself as I dropped the fork, unable to hold this back any longer. The sudden noise captured his attention and he turned to me with a frown.

  “Do you not care for the food?”

  I stared at him incredulously. “Are you kidding? No, it’s incredible. I just—I can’t sit here and take this silence. We need to talk. About everything.”

  He followed my lead, setting down his fork and pulling the napkin from his lap with a flourish. “You mean we need to talk about my scars.”

  Part of me wanted to nod, but I didn’t. Instead, I decided to take a different, hopefully less hostile approach to this.

  “We need to talk about your disappearance. Do you have any
idea what it did to us? How fucking worried we were?”

  Brandon scoffed. “I wrote to my our parents. They knew I was fine.”

  I folded my arms over my chest and raised an eyebrow. “And what about me?”

  “I didn’t owe you a damn thing,” he hissed, turning to face me full-on with a fire burning in his eyes as his scowl warped the surrounding skin.

  The last time I saw that look was in my aunt’s wine cellar nearly seven years ago. The memory of the heated kiss we had shared lodged itself in my brain and the one of the argument we had afterwards promptly knocked the wind out of me.

  “Excuse me,” I muttered, standing up and storming out, praying that I’d be able to find my way back to my room.

  I wasn’t sure what I expected coming here, but I knew this wasn’t it. I wanted to make things better between us—find some way to bury the hatchet—but it was starting to feel like that was the last thing Brandon wanted. He really was completely done with me, just like he told me all those years ago.

  So why did the reminder hurt so much?

  Chapter 9

  Later that night, I was staring up at the ceiling in my room when I heard a soft knock on the door. I turned my head towards the sound, mentally debating about feigning sleep for a long minute before I finally sighed and called out, “Come in!”

  The door creaked open slowly and I could just barely make out the silhouette of Brandon as he hesitantly stepped into the room, shadowed by the darkness. After the door clicked shut behind him, I heard him shuffling around awkwardly on his feet by the door, obviously second-guessing his decision to come by.

  I had to give him points for effort when he finally spoke and asked, “Can we talk?”

  “I don’t know. Can we?” I fired back, propping my pillows up behind me and leaning against the headboard so I could cross my arms over my chest.