Текст книги "Until We Fly"

Автор книги: Courtney Cole

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

Hers holds a promise. I’ll be back.

For some reason, I like that. Maybe because I’m from a world where there were never any promises, where tomorrow was never expected or hoped for, where parents don’t even show up at the hospital.

Whatever.

I shouldn’t encourage her. I’m not going to be here for long.

So I look away, breaking our gaze.

I know she walks away because I can feel the absence of her stare. I glance back, and sure enough, she’s gone.

Oddly, I feel alone now.

I don’t really even know her, but now that she’s gone, I feel alone.

I’m not alone for long.

A doctor enters my room after a few minutes.

“Mr. Killien,” he says, flipping through my chart. “You were really lucky today. Your artery was nicked, but we repaired it. Your leg, however… “ he trails off, then refocuses. “Your leg was obviously previously injured, probably severely. You had several plates and screws from your foot to your hip. You hyper-extended your knee today, but you also re-damaged the soft-tissue around your ankle. I know you’re probably tired of physical therapy, but it’s going to take some diligent PT to strengthen that area again. I’m sorry.”

His voice really is sorry and so are his eyes, but that doesn’t make his news any less grim.

“Your thigh needs absolute rest. I don’t want you to break open those sutures. And your knee… stay off of it for now, no weight bearing. You can bear weight as tolerated as time goes by. Did you injure your leg overseas?” he asks. I look at him questioningly. He glances down.

“Your tattoos. I assume you’re a soldier. Or you were.”

I nod once. “Yeah. My HUMVEE exploded. My leg was shattered. It took months of rehab for me to walk.”

The doctor nods grimly. “I thought as much. I don’t know what to tell you for a prognosis this time. Since your previous injury was so severe, it’s going to make recovering this time a bit harder. I have no doubt that you’ll overcome it, you’ll just have to be very diligent with rehab. Rest it, ice it, stay off of it.”

His words are meant to bolster me, but they don’t.

Instead, I close my eyes.

“We’ll send a physical therapist to your house. Where will you be staying?”

That’s a good question.

“I’ll probably be going back home,” I tell him quickly. But he shakes his head.

“I don’t want you to go anywhere for at least a week or two. Primarily, I don’t want your artery disturbed. We patched it up, but as you might be aware, femoral artery injuries are nothing to mess with. I don’t want you jarring it with travel. But also, you’ve got to keep weight off that foot. Your driver’s license listed a Connecticut address. Is that where you live?”

I nod. “My father just died. I’m only here to take care of that. I’ll be going home soon.”

The doctor is already shaking his head. “I would rest here for at least a couple of weeks. If possible, you should stay longer, to get that knee healed up. If you absolutely can’t, then you can travel when your artery completely heals. Until then, though, you’ve got to stay put.”

He goes over a few other things with me, and then he slips back out. I do the only thing I can think of.

I call Gabe.

As my best friend and business partner, he and I have been through hell and high water together. We spent every summer together while he was staying here with his grandparents, we attended West Point together, we made the Rangers together, and we were together when our HUMVEE was bombed by Taliban rebels.

He answers on the first ring.

“Whattup, bro?”

I quickly give him a run down.

“Jesus,” Gabe breathes. “I’m sorry, Brand. I had no idea. I’ll be on the next flight.”

“No,” I tell him quickly. “There’s no reason to do that. It’s just a leg injury, not heart surgery. You can’t make me heal quicker. But can I use your cottage?”

Gabe and his sister Jacey had inherited their grandparents’ lake cottage. I spent so much time down there with them growing up that honestly, it feels like a second home.

Gabe doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t ask about my mother, he doesn’t ask any questions at all. He simply agrees.

“Of course,” he tells me. “Mi casa is su casa. You know where we keep the key. But when I tell Jacey, she’s going to freak out. She’s in Europe with Dominic for a couple of weeks, but I bet she’ll be on the first plane home when I tell her.”

Gabe’s sister. Beautiful, feisty, blonde Jacey. She was like a little sister to me, until all of a sudden, she wasn’t. Hormones and sex appeal suck balls.

I hesitate, and Gabe knows why. I’d fallen in love with Jacey, and she’d married someone else. It was a bitter pill.

“Dude,” he tells me. “She loves you. She’s going to want to come mother you.”

Dude. She didn’t love me enough.

But I don’t say that. I also don’t say that I can’t bear for her to come smother me with attention…. Attention which is only that of someone who considers me ‘like a brother.’ I can’t fucking take it.

“Then let’s not tell her for a week or two,” I suggest. “She’s in Europe, for God’s sake. Let’s not spoil her trip.”

Gabe sighs. “Fine. But you get to be the one to explain why we didn’t call right away.”

“Fine,” I mutter.

“Don’t worry about work,” Gabe tells me. “You know it’s practically taking care of itself right now anyway. Can I set up some sort of home nurse or something? You’re not going to be able to travel home for a while, dude.”

I sigh.

“I know.” The anesthesia has worn off enough that hot fingers of pain are beginning to wrap around my knee and ankle. By tomorrow, it’s going to hurt like hell. “No. I don’t want a home nurse. Thank you, though.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Gabe tells me. “And if you decide you need me, call me. I’ll be on the next plane.”

“Stay home with your wife,” I tell him. “I’ve got this.”

“I know you do.”

Gabe hangs up and I stare at the wall.

Fuck this. I didn’t want to be here in the first place, and now I’m fucking stuck here.

I can’t roll onto my side, I can’t even get up to take a piss.

Growling, I stuff the crinkly hospital pillow over my head to drown out the hospital sounds.

This is real.

I need to get used to it.

Chapter Three

Nora

I stare at the little newspaper on the kitchen island.

Brand’s picture is plastered to the front, along with a big headline.

Local Hero Hasn’t Lost His Touch.

The story goes on to detail how Brand was a Lt. Colonel in the Seventy-Fifth Regiment Army Rangers, served a colorful stint overseas in Afghanistan and earned a Purple Heart. His father died last week and Lt. Col Killien retuned home only to save a bus of cub scouts upon arrival here.

The picture was taken by a by-stander, and it shows Brand carrying a kid off the smoking bus. There’s fire all around him, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. Instead, he’s tall and strong, and rises out of the wreckage like the hero he is.

He’s here because his father died.

I don’t even realize I have goose-bumps until my mother sits next to me and rubs them off of my arms.

“That was something, wasn’t it?” she murmurs, handing me a glass of fresh orange juice as she glances at the picture of Brand.

“It was something,” I agree. “He saved me, maman. He picked me up and carried me out of that building.”

“Well, almost,” my mother smiles. “But he was certainly amazing and I, for one, am certainly in his debt for coming to your rescue. Isn’t that the boy who used to work at the club? I seem to remember that you were frequently tongue-tied whenever he was around.”

I roll my eyes.

“I’m all grown up now,” I announce. “No one tongue ties me.”

Well, hardly anyone. But that’s neither here nor there.

“I’m going to the hospital again today,” I tell her. “Do you need anything from town? When is dad going back to Chicago?”

Mom looks away. “He left early this morning, my love.”

Without bothering to say goodbye, or make sure that I’m really okay. I shake my head. It’s for the best. I didn’t want to see him anyway.

I push away from the counter and kiss my mother’s cheek, grabbing the newspaper. “I’ll be home later.”

My mother perks up and smiles at me. “Rebel is waiting for you,” she says brightly. “You’d better take him some carrots on your way out.”

Of course I will. The mere thought of my old horse always brightens me up. I’ve had him since I was a kid, and although he’s getting old, he’s still perfectly capable of leisurely strolls on the beach. I head straight down to the stables, only stopping to say hello to Julian. The groundskeeper/groomsman has been with our family since before I was born. He takes care of this house all winter while we’re gone.

“Miss Nora,” he beams, holding his tanned arms out. I fold into him and inhale. Julian always smells like sunshine and happiness. “I’ve been waiting for you. Rebel too. He isn’t the same when you’re away.”

I laugh as I take a step back. “He should be used to it. I’ve been away at school for six years.”

Julian grins back. “Yes, but you come back every summer. He waits for that all year.”

A sad but true fact: Rebel was my best friend growing up. My father never approved of any friends I tried to bring home from school, so I never had a proverbial BFF. Rebel was a poor substitution, but he did his best.

“It’s because I bring him carrots,” I announce, holding out the orange veggies. “You starve him when I’m gone.”

Julian chuckles, rolling his dark eyes. “Yeah, he’s neglected. I think he’s fat enough to roll out of the stables now.”

I giggle, and continue on my way, anxious to see my old pet.

Rebel nickers when he sees me, stretching his long chestnut neck out so he can nuzzle my fingers.

“You know I come bearing gifts, don’t you boy?” I murmur, stroking his silky coat. He chomps on his carrots, then nudges my hand for more.

“Nope, that’s it. Julian wasn’t kidding,” I tell him, eyeing Rebel’s barrel sized belly. “You’re getting fat.”

Rebel flicks his ear, regarding my comment with disdain. I giggle. “I’ll come back later and ride you.”

He snorts, and I wander out of the stable, and down the winding trail to the beach below. The smells here assail me… the sand, the sun, the water. It brings back instant memories of playing out here with my older brother Nate. Fun, lighthearted memories.

The images of my brother laughing and running make me smile, until they’re replaced by more recent memories… of a serious, subdued Nate. The Nate who is being groomed to take over for my father. Distinguished and polished, self-disciplined and sharp.

A good Greene.

I swallow hard as I stand staring out across the water, my feet sinking into the wet sand. I pull off my sandals and dangle them in my fingers.

Tilting my face to the sun, I absorb it, soaking it in. The sun means health, and happiness and warmth. I can take all of that I can get.

What if I don’t want to be a “Good Greene”? After everything that’s happened this past year, I don’t know if I want any of it.

But it’s done now.

I start work in the Fall.

There’s nothing to be done about it.

I ignore the nausea in my stomach, fighting to control the billows of anxiety that flood through me. To change the channel in my brain, I focus on something else, anything else that might distract me from my own impending fate.

The first thing that comes to me makes me smile through my panic.

A golden-haired warrior reminiscent of a Norse God.

Brand.

It’s always been Brand, even if he has never known it.

All through college, even though I dated periodically, no one ever stacked up to the image of the perfect man that I held in my head, the memory that I held close to my heart, the memory that sustained me through horrible things.

Brand.

Warmth floods through me and it doesn’t have anything to do with the sun.

I need to see him again.

Not just because I owe him my life, but because I need to see him. It’s a need I can’t explain, a feeling that hearkens back to my youth– and it hasn’t faded over time. If possible, after yesterday, it’s only flared up even stronger.

The memory of his calm face staring down at me as he carried me in his arms sends flutters through my belly.

God, he makes me feel safe.

He makes me feel safe in a world that is dangerous and ugly, a world that has only hurt me.

That’s what it boils down to. No matter what ugliness has happened over this past year, there’s one thing, one person, that can eclipse it, because in my head, he’s always personified everything good in the world.

Brand can take away the ugliness and make me feel good again, even if it’s only an illusion… a temporary illusion.

If I can get Brand to want me, then there must be something good in me, something redeeming, something to balance out all of the black ugliness.

I know the logic is ridiculous, but I can’t help how I feel. And honestly, I’ll cling to any notion that gives me hope.

And that notion is Brand.

I’m only here for the summer, and I doubt Brand will be here long, so the window of opportunity is closing by the minute. After futilely watching for him every summer, I know I can’t waste this opportunity. He’s only here because his father died. This might be my last chance.

I know what I have to do.

Clutching the newspaper under my arm, I drop into my car and head for the hospital.

* * *

I arrive just as a nurse is going over his discharge instructions.

No weight bearing at all. Keep the wounds clean and dry. Pain pills every four to six hours. Make sure you take them.

I linger in the doorway hesitantly, but then the nurse bustles by.

She smiles. “I’m glad someone is here,” she told me. “He can go home today, but he can’t drive himself. And…um…he doesn’t have any pants.”

I flush at the thought. “No pants?”

The nurse shakes her head. “No. They had to cut them off when they brought him in.”

She bustles away and I look at Brand. He looks so tanned and healthy and strong in the white hospital bed, so entirely out of place in this building full of sickness.

But yet still so alone.

I can’t fathom why his mother hasn’t come. It makes me seethe on the inside, and I’m so terribly sorry that I called her at all. I can only imagine that she’s grieving, but I’m sure Brand is too. He doesn’t deserve to be alone.

As if Brand can hear my thoughts, he looks up.

He smiles when he sees me, a smile that shows off one dimple in his cheek, but doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His eyes take me aback. They’re beautiful, yes. They’re like oceans and oceans of blue. But they’re haunted by something. They scream out his demons to anyone who looks closely enough.

“Hey,” he greets me. “You didn’t need to come back.”

Not exactly the greeting I was hoping for. I would’ve preferred that he was just the tiniest bit happy to see me. But I paste on a smile and pretend it doesn’t matter. I’m good at that.

I toss the newspaper onto his lap.

“No? I had to come back and see the hometown hero, didn’t I?”

Brand’s face scrunches in confusion, but then he scans the article. “Oh, geez,” he mutters. “Perfect.”

That’s sort of what I’m thinking as I stare at him, perfect, but I don’t mention that, either.

“I hear you don’t have any pants,” I tell him instead. I try not to imagine what he looks like without pants, because, God, Nora. He’s injured. In a hospital bed. Get a grip.

He grimaces. “Apparently not.”

“And you can’t drive,” I add.

He grimaces again. “Nope.”

“And I owe you. So let me take you wherever you need to go. After I get you some pants,” I add quickly, red staining my cheeks.

A slow grin spreads over his face. “You don’t want to walk out of here with me naked?” he asks drily.

More than you know, I think.

“Nah,” I say. “We don’t want to give the little old ladies heart attacks.”

Or me.

“What size do you wear?” I ask, trying to put the image of Naked Brand aside.

“36x34,” he answers. “But it’ll be hard to put pants on, because of the knee brace. Shorts will probably be best, but you don’t need to get them. I can…”

He trails off hesitantly.

“Well, I guess I do need to ask you to get them. I don’t know what else I’d do. My bag’s in my truck, but I don’t know where my truck is.”

He sounds annoyed by that, and I laugh. “I can see you don’t like to depend on other people,” I tell him. “I get that. But trust me, I owe you. I could buy you a million pairs of shorts and my debt wouldn’t be paid. And we’ll figure out where your truck is.”

I walk out while he’s protesting.

I return thirty minutes later with a pair of athletic shorts.

I toss them to him. “They’re stretchy, so I figured they would be easier to slide on.”

“That’s perfect,” he tells me. “I’m not fancy.”

I’m awkward and hesitant, because I don’t know what to do now, not while Brand holds the shorts in his hand, and I know he needs to put them on. He probably needs help standing. His knee is in a stationary brace, his ankle must be sore, and he’s not supposed to bear any weight. And he outweighs me by a hundred pounds.

“How’s this going to work?” I ask him dumbly.

He grimaces. “I hate to ask you, but could you help? Or I can call the nurse…”

I shake my head immediately, rushing to grab the shorts. “Absolutely not. It’s the least I can do.”

I don’t know why my hands shake as Brand pulls back the sheet. I don’t know why I’m hesitant to look at his legs, which lead to his pelvis, which leads to his… Gah. No wonder my hands are shaky.

I grit my teeth and slide the leg hole over Brand’s knee brace, as carefully as I can. I see him grit his teeth as I slide them up, over his bandaged thigh. I’m as careful as I can be, but I know it must still hurt.

My fingers graze the hot skin at his waist, and the smoothness of it is electrifying. It’s silky and velvety at the same time as it is rock hard.

I suck in a breath as his fingers bump mine when he reaches for the waistband to finish pulling them up.

“Well, that was an Olympic maneuver,” he says wryly. “Thanks.”

I nod. “Where’s your shirt?”

He gestures toward the chair, and I grab the black tee, tossing it to him. Taking a step, I untie his hospital gown, glancing at his muscle-bound back as I do.

A bald eagle flies across his shoulder blades, a ferocious expression on its face, its sharp talons exposed and ready to attack. Bold black letters are scrolled above it. I stand on a wall to protect what is mine.

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 father 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.