Текст книги "Until We Fly"

Автор книги: Courtney Cole

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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.”

With my hard-on.

Her mouth twitches. “No worries. Let’s get you back out to your chair and I’ll bring you your pills.”

I don’t argue, I simply turn and begin the slow hobble to my chair.

Nora follows at my elbow, and as I’m twisting to drop into the chair, she gasps.

“Holy shit, Brand,” she breathes. “Your leg.”

I glance down and find a large spot of blood spreading on my inner thigh.

Fuck. I must’ve jostled the sutures in the kitchen.

Without another word, Nora bends over me, yanking the elastic band of my shorts down. I lift my hips to let the shorts slide down, and Nora’s cool fingertips find my inner thigh.

I grit my teeth.

Not because of pain, because there isn’t any. But because Nora’s fingers are literally a couple of inches away from my dick.

Cold fish. Cold fish. Cold fish.

Cold.

Fucking.

Fish.

“You broke open your wound,” she says needlessly, her voice panicked. She pulls at the blood-soaked bandage, examining the injury. She covers it with the gauze again, pressing her fingers firmly to it for a long moment before looking at it again.

“Okay. I think it’s fine. It was just a little tear, and it stopped bleeding.” She looks up at me, her face calmer now. “But you’ve got to be more careful, especially these first few days. If you need something, call me. Don’t try to get it yourself.”

I nod curtly, but I’d probably agree with anything right about now. Her fingers are pressed to my groin again and she’s kneeling in front of me. My thoughts aren’t on my fucking injury.

In fact, my thoughts are far from my fucking injury, but thankfully, I’m saved by someone clearing their throat in the doorway.

Nora and I both turn at the same time.

My mother stands there, her face disapproving, her shoulders stiff.

“Am I interrupting?” she asks icily.

I stare at her hard, because I haven’t seen her in nine years, because no one invited her here, and because she didn’t even bother to knock.

Bethany Killien is smaller, frailer and grayer than she was nine years ago.

Her thin arms stay at her sides. She doesn’t approach me, she doesn’t reach for me, she simply stands there, limp and quiet. Her face is tired, her hair pulled into a bun at her neck. She looks like someone who has lived a thousand lives.

“No, you’re not interrupting,” I tell her coolly, while Nora scrambles to get up. I don’t acknowledge the fact that Nora was on her knees in front of me, or that I’m in my underwear. I know what it might look like.

But it’s none of my mother’s business.

“Well, I see that you’re deep in grief,” she says curtly, “so I won’t stay long. I just brought your truck down for you. The mayor brought it to my house after the explosion. There’s some fire damage to one side of it, but it still runs.”

My mother stares pointedly at Nora, and Nora looks at me.

“Should I give you a few minutes?” she asks quietly, staring only at me. She acts like my mother doesn’t even exist. I could hug her for that.

I nod. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

She regally walks past my mother without another word or glance.

Again, I could fucking hug her for that.

I stare at my mother, who hasn’t moved even an inch toward me. I don’t bother asking how she knew I was here. I just cut to the chase.

“Well, are you going to come in and tell me why you need me? I assume you need something or you wouldn’t have bothered calling me.”

I hate that I sound so bitter and hateful. I hate that she’s done this to me. I hate that I’ve let her do this to me.

I try and swallow the hate.

It won’t hurt anyone but me.

My mother walks into the room and sits at the chair across from me, holding her small body stiff. There’s no maternal concern here. She doesn’t bother to ask how I am.

It’s only now that I notice she’s carrying something. She places a wooden box on her lap and stares at me.

“It’s your father’s will,” she says simply. “You’re the sole heir.”

Shock slams into me like a Mack truck, and I stare at her in confusion. Her face is a steel mask, unyielding, expressionless.

“There’s no way, “ I manage to say. “Why would he do that?”

She shrugs.

“I’m as surprised as you are. After everything you did, I don’t understand it either.”

Everything you did.

The words linger in the air between us and I swallow hard, trying to contain my hate. I don’t bother to try and defend myself. It doesn’t make any sense anymore. My father is gone, so what difference does it make? There’s no point.

But that doesn’t mean that I deserve her resentment.

“I don’t want anything of his,” I tell her icily. “Not his shop, not his truck, not anything.”

She stares at me, her brown eyes hard. “So you’re telling me that everything he left you… the shop, his truck, his bike, even the house… you don’t want any of it?”

I level my gaze at her. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

I pause, thinking of his bike. A glistening, aggressive 1964 Triumph. It was my grandfather’s before it was my father’s, and my grandfather meant for it to come to me.

“I want the bike,” I amend. “I don’t want anything else. You can have it. Or burn it. I don’t care.”

My mother stares at me in satisfaction. Obviously, that’s what she came to hear.

She holds out the box.

I stare at it. It’s a cube made from ebony wood, with an ivory inlay in the wood. My name is carved into the ivory.

“Your father made this for you out in his woodshop,” my mother says. “He left it with the estate attorney, along with the will.”

I don’t move to take it from her. “I don’t want it,” I tell her firmly.

She looks away in disgust. “Your father must’ve worked hours on that. I don’t know why. But he meant for you to have it, and you’re going to have it.” She sets it on the floor at her feet before looking back up at me. “I don’t know why he chose to forgive you, Branden. But I never will.”

I taste bile and red bleeds into my vision as the hatred swells through my chest and pumps through my veins.

“You don’t know what you think you know,” I manage to say thickly, every word like ice. “Now get out.”

She steps over the box and walks stiffly toward the door. Once there, she turns.

“I’ll send the papers over for you to sign once they’re ready.”

I turn away and look out the windows.

I hear the door close.

I taste the bitterness in my mouth. I feel my heart beat, pushing the hatefulness through my limbs before it returns to my heart, poisoning it.

But I don’t feel anything else. I’m numb.

“Are you okay?” Nora asks softly from the door. “I couldn’t hear what was going on, but you don’t look okay.”

She walks over to me, and picks up the box.

“This is beautiful,” she observes gently. “What’s in it?”

I shrug as if I don’t care. “I don’t know.”

She starts to take the lid off, but I stop her.

“Don’t, please.”

My words are soft but firm. Nora stops in surprise, her fingers poised on the lid.

“Okay.” She sets it on a table by the sofa, across the room from me. It seems to mock me and I look away.

I don’t want to know yet what my father had to say. I don’t know if I ever will.

“Thanks,” I tell her. She looks down at me and her eyes are filled with understanding. I don’t know how, but she seems to get it.

Although she can’t possibly. No one can.

“No problem,” she says gently. “Now, on to more urgent matters. What should I try to make for dinner?”

I chuckle at the look of utter fear on her face. “Have you never had to cook for yourself?”

She shakes her head. “At my parent’s house, we have a housekeeper. When I was away at college, I ate in the dorms, and then when I moved to an apartment in grad school, I had takeout.”

“I’m doomed, then, is what you’re telling me?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood. She laughs.

“I’m going to try something easy. Meat loaf. After it’s in the oven, I’m going to take a quick dip in the lake to cool off. Do you need anything beforehand?”

I shake my head. “Nah, I’m good. Unless you could get me a book?”

She grabs one from the shelves on the far wall, and hands it to me before she disappears into the kitchen. I concentrate on reading, rather than focusing on the pain throbbing in my leg, or the fucking wooden box mocking me from across the room.

Nora emerges thirty minutes later, looking a bit frazzled, but otherwise, no worse for the wear.

“Okay,” she announces triumphantly. “We have a loaf made from meat baking. I don’t know if it’ll be edible, but it’s baking. I’m headed out to the lake. Hopefully the water will wash out the hamburger under my fingernails. Otherwise, it might be there permanently.”

I smile. “Enjoy yourself.”

She glances at me before she heads to her bedroom to change. “After your thigh heals, maybe we could get you out there? It might be a good way for you to exercise since you don’t have to bear weight.”

Alarm floods me, quick and white-hot and I immediately shake my head.

“I don’t swim.”

Nora stares at me in surprise. “You can’t, or don’t?”

“I don’t.”

She’s clearly puzzled, but she doesn’t pry. “Ok. It was just an idea.”

“I know,” I tell her, my pulse still bounding wildly in my throat. “Thank you.”

She nods and leaves and I stare out the window again, calming down.

Stop being a pussy.

But God, it’s hard. The one thing I can’t get past. I was able to get past the bullets and explosions of Afghanistan, for God’s sake.

But not this.

At the mere thought of it, my heart pounds in my chest, threatening to break free from my ribcage.

With a deep breath, I watch the water, rippling peacefully against the shore, in a fluid age-old motion, a harmless, serene motion.

It’s harmless, you fucking pussy.

But I know that it isn’t always.

As I stare at the familiar landscape, I’m filled with trepidation.

I don’t like being home. Being here brings back memories, and uncomfortable feelings…. things I would just as soon keep buried.

Home. Most people take comfort in being back home. Home is a place they always feel safe, secure and loved.

Too bad I’m not most people.

I felt safer in the battlefields of Afghanistan than I did here.

Quit being such a fucking girl.

With a sigh, I turn my attention back to the book, scrolling through each page, until a movement outside distracts me an hour or so later.

Nora is wading out of the lake and onto the beach. She looks like a sea nymph or a siren as she swings her long wet hair out of her face, and the sun envelops her body, glistening on every wet plane.

Her thighs are long, her tits are full and perky and she’s practically naked now, fully wet as the water streams over her body.

My dick tightens in reaction and I suck in my breath.

Through the window, Nora’s eyes meet mine and I’m not sure what I see hidden in hers. Determination, I think.

But what exactly is she determined to do?

As I watch her bend to get her towel, I’m not sure I want to find out, although my penis seems to disagree. He’s interested in every little thing Nora Greene does.

He doesn’t know what he’s getting us into.

To be honest, I don’t know either.

Chapter Five

Nora

As I change out of my bathing suit and into a sundress, I ponder the look on Brand’s face.

Hesitant.

Reluctant.

But why? I saw him watch me. I know that at least part of him wants me.

Butterflies flutter in my belly at that thought. Brand Killien wants me.

But he doesn’t want to want me.

That’s just as obvious and it quiets the butterflies back down. I stare glumly in the mirror as I comb my wet hair. There must be a reason, and it more than likely has to do with a woman. Brand is loyal as the day is long, I can tell. So there must be a girlfriend.

With a sigh, I put down my comb and head out to the kitchen.

Good Lord, the heat. The hot oven has turned the kitchen into a freaking inferno. Lesson one. Don’t use the oven on a hot day.

It’s even hotter as I open the oven and pull out the meat. Which, incidentally, is charred.

What the hell?

I poke at it and find that the top and bottom are covered in a blackened crust. Only the middle is edible and I have no idea why. I did everything the recipe said to do. Crap. Excerpt set the oven timer. I baked it thirty minutes longer than I was supposed to.

I’m blowing the hair out of my face when Brand calls in to me.

“How’s it coming?”

I don’t want to admit defeat. But I’m sure the man is hungry.

I slink out with my tail between my legs.

“I’ve got many talents,” I announce. “Unfortunately, it seems that cooking isn’t one of them. Yet.”

Brand bursts out laughing, setting his book on his lap. I flush as I remember his lap shoved against me earlier. And how happy his lap had been to see mine.

“Take-out?” he suggests.

I nod. “Takeout. Any ideas?”

“Actually, yes,” he tells me. “I was actually here last year for dinner. Some friends of mine owned the little Italian place and I came here one evening. They sold it, but I believe it still serves the same menu. Italian sounds good to me.”

“It does to me too,” I tell him as I grab my purse. “Especially since I won’t have to cook it.”

Brand tosses me his wallet. “It’s on me.”

I don’t argue, because I know there would be no point. I can already tell that he’s stubborn.

I head for The Hill. I’ve actually eaten there many times throughout the summers.

Like always, it’s packed tonight with hungry tourists. I patiently wait my turn to order at the take-out counter, and when it’s finally my turn, an older Italian woman smiles at me.

“Hello there, welcome to the Hill. What can I get for you?”

I give her our order, and she rings it up. “That will be eighteen dollars and twenty-four cents.”

I open Brand’s wallet and pull out the money, but the woman’s eyes are frozen on his driver’s license picture.

“Do you know Brand?” she asks me, her face lighting up. Surprised, I nod.

“Yes. You do too?”

She nods happily. “That’s a good man, sweetie. After my husband Tony died, Brand came to the funeral, but then he came back with his friend Gabe to haul my daughter’s stuff to college. That’s a good family, bella.”

I’m confused. “But he and Gabe aren’t related, right?”

The woman laughs. “They might as well be. Well, he and Gabe. He and Jacey on the other hand… aye yi yi.”

That snags my attention, but she’s holding out her hand now. “I’m Maria, bella. And you?”

I shake her hand. “Nora.” I purposely leave off the Greene. “It’s a pleasure. What were you saying about Brand and Jacey?”

Maria eyes me knowingly. “He and that girl. Jacey means well, but she never could get her head on straight. Always made bad choices. One of her ex-boyfriends killed my Tony, you know. Ran him right off the road. Brand tried to get her straightened out, and we all know why. He was head over heels for that girl. But she married someone else. Some famous actor. I never could understand why, probably another bad choice. Because Brand’s the cream of the crop, honey. She’s crazy for not wanting him. Let me tell you, if Brand’s interested in you, you’d better keep him.”

Maria stares at me pointedly and I realize that I’m holding Brand’s wallet, paying for a dinner for two with it. Of course she thinks there might be something to that. But I can’t focus on that, mainly because I know Brand doesn’t want me. Or he doesn’t want to want me, anyway.

“Which actor did Jacey marry, Maria?” I ask curiously.

She wrinkles her nose in disdain. “Dominic Kinkaide.”

I recognize the name immediately, and picture him in my head. Hollywood’s most famous bad-boy.

I’ve seen his face a thousand times in the movies. Tall, dark and dangerous. But at the same time, I do remember seeing photos of he and his new bride plastered on the tabloids.

Jacey Vincent-Kinkaide. Blonde, brown-eyed. Gorgeous.

Brand was in love with someone who is the polar opposite of me.

And he might very well still be, for all I know. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to want me. He doesn’t have a girlfriend, but he’s still in love with someone else.

I swallow hard.

“It’s been nice meeting you, Maria,” I tell her as she hands me the dinner bags. “I’m sure I’ll be in a lot this summer.”

She smiles. “Tell Brand hello for me, dear. I hope to see him, too.”

I shake my head as I head out to the car. Maria is very genuine. She truly wants to see Brand. Apparently, Brand has the same effect on everyone. They want to be near him, to soak him up. At least it isn’t just me.

Brand is waiting at the table when I get back to the cottage, and the table is set for two. I shake my head as I carry in the bags.

“You’re so stubborn. You’re supposed to rest. It isn’t that hard for most people, Brand.”

He shrugs. “I guess I’m not most people.”

Hell no, you’re not.

I dish our food onto real plates, and push one across the table to him.

“So, Maria was really nice.”

Brand looks up and grins. “You met Maria? She’s a sweet lady. Don’t let her fool you, though. Her husband died last year. She’s hard as nails.”

I take a bite of lasagna, trying to act casual.

“Yeah, she mentioned that Tony died. She mentioned a lot….about you, and Gabe and Jacey.”

Brand looks up at me, but he doesn’t show any reaction. “She did, huh?”

I nod. “Yeah. She said that Jacey’s ex ran Tony off the road.”

Brand sighs and takes a bite of his food. “Yeah. It was a hard time. Jacey didn’t always make good decisions. But she’s doing better now.”

“Yeah, Maria mentioned that, too. And that’s she’s married to Dominic Kinkaide.”

Again, Brand shows no reaction.

“Yep. In fact, I think they’re in Europe right now. You probably won’t see her this summer.”

This causes my head to snap up. “Why would I see her?”

Brand looks at me in surprise. “This is her cabin. Well, she shares it with Gabe. Like I mentioned, they inherited it from their grandparents.”

He’d mentioned his friends had inherited it. He hadn’t said that one of the friend’s was Jacey Vincent-Kinkaide.

“Oh.” I feel a bit deflated. I don’t know why. He might be in love with Jacey, but she’s married. To one of the world’s most famous actors. And she’s thousands of miles away right now. She’s not a threat to me. Brand can’t have her.

We eat in comfortable silence and after I clear away our leftovers, I turn to Brand.

“There’s no cable here.”

He smiles. “I know. It used to drive us crazy in the summers.”

“I can imagine. But I saw a checkers board in one of the bookcases. Do you want to sit outside and play?”

Brand stares at me in surprise. “Sure. I just never figured you for a board games girl.”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t know me yet.”

Yet.

I set the game up and Brand hobbles out on his crutches. Even injured, his biceps bulge and flex with each movement. I could watch his arms all day. But I can’t. I’ve got a game to play…in more ways than one.

Instead, I look up. “Black or red?”

Brand sits down. “Black.”

“Then you go first,” I suggest. “But I’ve got a caveat…something that will make the game more interesting.”

Brand raises a blond eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? And what’s that? Strip checkers?”

I smirk. “You wish. But no. If one of us gets jumped, the other one gets to ask a question. And we have to answer.”

Brand cocks his head. “Clever. What if we don’t really want to know the answers? Sometimes mystery is better than reality.”

I shake my head. “I disagree. There are things I’m dying to know about you.”

Brand rolls his eyes. “I’m not that interesting.”

“Let me decide that,” I suggest. “Your move….if you’re not afraid.”

He snorts, and I push the board toward him. He moves a black checker forward.

Then I move a red one.

We go back and forth a few times, until he manages to jump one of mine.

“Bingo,” he says with a grin.

“Wrong game,” I tell him. “What’s your question?”

He thinks on that, his large hand drumming on his thigh. “Hmm. Let’s see. Okay, why are you spending the summer here in Angel Bay?”

I answer immediately. “My father wanted me to take the summer off and recharge my batteries. I just finished law school.”

“So your brain is tired?” Brand grins and I swear, it could light up the entire lake. I nod.

“I guess you could say that.”

“Your move,” he tells me.

I move. Then he moves. We parry back and forth, until I finally manage to jump him.

“Do you love Jacey?”

I’m not one to beat around the bush. Brand’s head snaps back and he stares at me in disbelief.

“Wow. You don’t mess around, do you?”

“No. Maria talked so much about her that I’m curious. What’s your answer?” I stare into his eyes and he stares back. Finally he nods and for a minute, my heart stops beating. But then he clarifies.

“Yes. But not in the romantic way. I thought I did for a while, but maybe I never did. She and Gabe have been like my family. I was close to her, and maybe I got confused. Emotions aren’t my forte.”

“So you don’t love her romantically?”

Brand shakes his head. “That’s two questions, sweetheart.”

I suck in my breath at the endearment, and Brand smirks. “What? No one’s ever called you that?”

He’s kidding, but I shake my head. “No.”

“You’re joking.”

Brand is dumbfounded now and I have to laugh. “No, I’m not kidding. Believe it or not, I haven’t had that many relationships. My father never approves of anyone.”

Brand stares at me drolly. “But you were away at college. What your father didn’t know wouldn’t have hurt him.”

I almost shudder. “My father knows everything. Trust me. It’s your turn.”

Brand drops it, and goes, much to my relief. I don’t want to get into how my father kept tabs on me at school. Before long, Brand jumps me again. He levels a blue, blue gaze at me.

“Are you happy?” he asks thoughtfully, rocking back in his seat with his good leg. I suck in a breath.

“Blunt, aren’t you?”

He chuckles. “No more than you.”

Touché.

“No, not really,” I answer honestly. “I hope to be someday.”

Brand stares at me hard. “Why aren’t you happy now?”

“That’s two questions,” I throw his words back at him. “It’s my turn to go.”

Brand rolls his eyes, but I ignore him as I move.

I jump him two moves later.

“What happened in Afghanistan?”

He doesn’t even flinch. “My HUMVEE was bombed. My leg was shattered.”

“You earned a purple heart,” I tell him. “So I know there’s more to the story.”

He shrugs. “I don’t think it serves any purpose to talk about it. Some memories are best left alone. I’ve dealt with it and moved on, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy thinking about it.”

There’s a look on his face, a don’t fuck with me look, that I decide to heed. “Your turn,” I tell him softly instead. He nods.

He moves a checker, only to open himself up to a double-jump. I crow and jump him. Twice. He glares at me mockingly.

“I don’t like this game.”

I giggle. “I get two questions.”

He doesn’t argue, he just crosses his arms and waits.

“There’s something bothering you, I see it on your face. I have a feeling that it’s not your dad’s death, and you say you’ve dealt with Afghanistan, so what is it?”

Brand looks away. “I really don’t like this game.”

I smile, but I don’t back off. “What’s your answer?”

He stares out the window for a minute, at the lake, before he sighs. “Sometimes bad things happen in life. Sometimes they happen when you’re really young. Those are the memories that won’t fade with time.”

I’m stunned. It’s a vague answer, but it’s still oh-so revealing. Something happened to him when he was a kid, something bad.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask gently.

Brand looks at me. “That was your second question, you know.”

I nod. “That’s fine. What’s your answer?”

He shakes his head immediately. “No. I don’t want to talk about it. I’m a grown fucking man, not a pussy. I don’t need to talk about it.”

“Yet it still bothers you,’ I state simply.

“There’s no fix for it,” he tells me firmly. “My father’s dead. I guess that’s all the closure I need.”

I’m doubtful as I stare at Brand’s gorgeous face. His gorgeous, tortured face. He doesn’t have closure. I can see that right now. I don’t know what to think about his family situation. He doesn’t seem to be grieving, but he’s still troubled about something. Deeply troubled. But I can also see that he’s done talking about it.

“Your turn,” I say instead. He goes. I go.

After he goes again, I manage to jump him.

“What do you do for a living?”

He grins, pretending to be relieved, only maybe it’s not an act. I can tell he doesn’t like to talk about himself. At all.

“Gabe and I started a company together a couple of years ago. We developed military grade body armor. We started the company to keep soldiers safer, but it’s also being used by police departments and private security details.”

“That sounds amazing,” I tell him softly. And it sounds like exactly something he would do…keeping people safe. He shrugs.

“It’s a living.”

He pushes away from the little table. “I’m about done in for the day,” he tells me. “Thank you for going to get dinner, Nora. And I’m sorry you’re not happy. Hopefully you can figure that out soon.”

He hobbles away and I have to agree with the sentiment.

Hopefully I can figure that out soon.