Dangerously Broken

by Eden Bradley

  That first year after Brandon died it had simply been where they’d all gathered, showing up one by one, as if they’d ended up there purely by accident. Maybe they had, at first. But Jamie didn’t quite believe that. This was New Orleans, and no one could live here for any amount of time without believing at least a little that there was more to life than random chance.

  The evening air was moist on his skin, hot even in his cotton wifebeater as he walked down the row past the stone and brick and marble structures with their low, ornate iron fences, past the statues of weeping angels. The scent of old stone and plaster was strong in the air, mixing with the aroma of decaying flowers and the hint of exotic spices that lingered everywhere in the city.

  He saw them as he approached their usual meeting place—at the end of the row that housed Marie Laveau’s tomb. Even in the dark he could make out Mick’s tall, lanky form, his arm around Allie’s shoulders. He could see the long curl of Marie Dawn’s hair, her husband Neal—Mick’s brother—at her side. Then he saw Summer Grace and every muscle in his body went tight.

  He knew it was going to be difficult, but had no idea it would be this gut-wrenchingly hard to see her. No, that was total crap. He’d known it—he’d simply kept himself too busy all day to think about it. But it had always been hard to see her. He should be used to it. Every single time he ran into her over the years his resolve had been challenged. Summer Grace Rae had grown up to become the embodiment of temptation, pure sex in a doll’s body. And now he knew that body. Maybe even more, he knew her. The woman she’d grown up to be. The woman he’d left after having the best sex of his life. The kind most people read about and called bullshit on because nothing in reality could be half that good, that damn life-changing.

  He was well and truly fucked.

  He watched the silhouette of her delicate figure as she moved in to hug someone. Watched her long, pale hair catching the moonlight as he walked up to the group. So damn pretty, that hair. And everything else. Beautiful.

  Don’t look at her too closely.

  As if she were Medusa, about to turn him into stone.

  Oh, she’d make him hard, all right. Always had. Always would, he suspected. Not that he planned to do anything about it tonight. No, they had to talk first. If she even wanted to talk to him. Fuck, if it were any night but this—the anniversary of her brother’s death—he’d make her talk to him.

  But it was this night. July twenty-fifth. Damn it.

  “Hey, Jamie.” Mick greeted him, coming up to slap him on the back. “I see you made it over the wall. Wish they didn’t shut this place down like fucking Fort Knox at three in the afternoon.”

  Jamie shrugged. “It doesn’t keep us out, though, does it?”

  “Never.” Mick grinned and bent to retrieve a beer from the six-pack on the ground, tossing it at him.

  “Thanks. Hey, Allie.” Jamie bent to kiss her cheek. He was damn happy to see the two of them back together after all their years apart. And pleased with himself that he’d had something to do with it. It had been a few months and he’d never seen either of them happier.

  “Good to see you, Jamie,” she said, smiling at him.

  “Marie Dawn, Neal. How are you two?”

  “We’re good,” Neal answered. “Just . . . you know . . . we’re here.”

  Marie Dawn grabbed her husband’s hand, shooting Jamie a look that told him Summer Grace had confided in her friend about the two of them. Great. Now everyone would know he was an asshole.

  “We all still miss him,” she said, putting voice to the one thought Jamie knew they all shared. “Especially this year, with Allie home again. It’s like we’re all back together again except for Brandon.” She paused, shaking her head. “It just feels wrong to be here without him.”

  “Yes.” It was Summer Grace, her voice small but with a raspy edge that let him know how upset she was. It would be arrogant of him to assume it was all about what had happened between them. What he’d done to upset her.

  God fucking damn it.

  He took a breath. “Good to see you, Summer Grace.”

  “Summer,” she said stubbornly.

  She’d always hated that he called her by her full name. He did it partly to annoy her, he had to admit to himself—never to her, of course. But also partly because he’d known her forever and that was who she was to him. It was what Brandon had called her.

  “Jamie,” she said more softly, and went into his arms for a hug he hadn’t offered.

  Well, hell—he had to put his arms around her, didn’t he? Offer her some comfort on the anniversary of her big brother’s death? And pretend in front of their oldest friends that nothing was going on between them, good or bad. But if Marie Dawn knew then Allie knew, which meant Mick knew, and hell . . .

  He held on to her as long as he could, trying not to feel every soft curve of her small body, the press of her breasts right up against him, for God’s sake. He pulled in a breath and gritted his teeth, waiting for her to pull away. She didn’t, which made him feel even more like an ass. Maybe she really did need some comfort from him.

  Finally, he pulled back. “You get a beer?”

  “I’ve had two already,” she answered. “Could probably use a few more tonight.”

  “Yeah, we all could,” he agreed, thankful she was talking to him at all.

  “So,” Mick began. “Who wants to start?”

  Jamie popped his beer open and took a long swallow. “I will,” he said. He was always the first one to talk about Brandon. Mick asking was a formality.

  He glanced at Summer Grace but Allie had pulled her aside and looped an arm around her shoulder. He was glad to see someone was caring for her, since he couldn’t. Not tonight.

  “You have the floor then, buddy,” Mick told him as some of the others sat on the ground or on the shallow steps of one of the old mausoleums with their beers.

  Jamie took a long swig, swallowed, and did his best to focus on the reason they were all here. “Brandon was my best friend from the time I was eight years old, new to the country and full of fight. Even then, he was the best guy I knew. He never made fun of my accent. Never acted like he cared that I was the new kid. He taught me about New Orleans—taught me to love this place. He was more than a friend to me. He was family.” He was quiet a moment, taking another long swallow of his beer while gathering his thoughts. “When someone dies at nineteen, it’s just not fucking fair. He deserved more of life. I can’t help thinking—all the time—what would he be doing if he were here with us now?”

  Mick chuckled, said quietly, “Probably making out with some girl and ignoring us.”

  Jamie started to grin, the constriction in his chest easing a little. It was true. The girls had loved Brandon—there was always one or two mooning over him—and he’d loved them right back.

  “He would have gone into business with you, Jamie,” Summer Grace said, the low rasp of her voice soft on the night air, “the way you two were always talking about. He would have rebuilt your muscle cars with you, spent his time covered in grease and happy as could be, doing what he loved. Happy to be working with his best friend. The man who was like a brother to him.”

  Jamie took another pull from his beer. “Yeah,” he said, forcing the lump in his throat down deep, where he kept it, safe and sound, other than this one day each year. Except this year there was another reason for that lump. This year he’d broken his promise—not by being with Summer Grace, but by hurting her.

  She looked over at their friends. “We all know it’s true, don’t we? I mean, everyone here loved him, but Jamie and Brandon were never happier than when they were hanging out together. Unless they were competing over a girl. Or a game of Frisbee. Or a sandwich. Two peas in a pod, my parents used to say. He was never happier than when he was with you, Jamie.” She stepped closer, grabbed his beer bottle from him and took a sip. As she tuck
ed it back into his hand she whispered, “So was I.”

  Even in the moonlight, he could see the baby blue of her eyes beneath the long lashes. Eyes that seemed to look right through him, to recognize the desire he’d felt for her since the first time she’d crawled into his bed when she was fourteen years old. He’d been seventeen at the time, a walking, out-of-control hormone factory. He’d been staying the night at the Rae house—something he’d done often. She’d woken him with a soft, wet kiss, lying on top of his prone body. No fourteen-year-old should have known how to kiss like that. But this girl . . .

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Summer Grace,” he murmured, letting the others think it was about Brandon, if they wanted to. And it was. But it was also about them.

  “Come on. Let’s walk it out like we always do,” Mick suggested.

  Allie squeezed Summer Grace’s shoulder. “Come on, honey.”

  Allie had only been back in New Orleans a few months, but Jamie knew she and Summer Grace had kept in touch while she was off doing her pastry chef gigs in Europe, same as she had with him—and now he knew they’d solidified their friendship in a whole new way.

  He stayed back and watched the two women walking side by side, their heads close together in the stark moonlight, everything cast in monochromatic shadows. And he knew suddenly that he wanted to be the one walking with Summer Grace tonight. Soothing her. Making sure she was okay.

  He’d spent too many years underestimating her. She’d been Brandon’s little sister for so long—a smart-mouthed temptress who’d tested his patience along with his resolve to keep his hands off her. But lately he’d found out so much more about her. Like how smart she was. How competent. How independent. Maybe a little too much so. He couldn’t count the times over the years he was certain her sass would get her in trouble. But she’d come through all right so far, and now that sass only added to the attraction.

  But it was more than simple attraction. She made him smile, made him want to ease her fears—and instead he’d only proved them right. He’d told her he wanted to be with her, to see where things led, then he’d left her the next day. “Asshole” didn’t even begin to cover it. He was irresponsible, too. He hadn’t checked in to make sure she wasn’t experiencing subdrop, knowing full well that sometimes people in drop were unable to reach out when they needed to. And maybe most important of all, he hadn’t told her that when he’d looked into her eyes that night, he’d felt like he was finally home.

  The group had started to move down the path and he hurried to catch up with them, staying quiet as they walked up one row and down another, past the wall crypts and mausoleums. This was part of their yearly ritual, to tread the ground for Brandon. Get drunk together. Celebrate him. Remember him.

  It suddenly occurred to him that Brandon might not appreciate their yearly remembrance of him. He’d like that they all found a reason to get together en masse once a year, but he might say “Get over it, already. Move on. Don’t mourn for me—live for me. Throw a party, not a wake.”

  Sometimes Jamie’s life felt like one continuous wake. A memorial to Brandon. To Ian. To the other young life he’d lost. Was he so afraid of yet another loss that he was pushing away someone he cared for before they’d even had a chance?

  In silent meditation Jamie did his best to shift his thoughts from Summer Grace to her brother, but he was hyperaware of her presence at the edge of his vision, her arm linked through Allie’s. He couldn’t help but notice the gentle sway of her slender hips in her denim cutoffs, her tiny waist outlined by her tight black tank top.

  He was definitely going to hell, because instead of maintaining his focus on the group’s silent meditation and their purpose there, all he could think about was tossing Summer Grace over his shoulder, carrying her off to some dark corner of the cemetery and kissing her until he’d gotten his fill of her lips. He remembered how beautiful she’d been in his chains. How much she’d loved it, and how perfectly she’d matched him, need for need.

  And Jesus, this was not the time or the place. He subtly adjusted his tightening jeans and kept his pace slow, his friends ahead of him.

  When they got back to their starting point, they all sat down on the ground, leaning against the iron gates and stone vases, some empty, some full of wilting lilies, and told their stories while they went through the beer until they were all at least a little buzzed.

  Summer Grace was more than a little buzzed, he noticed, and too far away.

  “You remember that time Brandon drove his car right across school campus?” Neal asked. “He tore the hell out of the lawn. I thought the dean would have his ass, but he managed to charm his way out of it, like he always did. That was crazy.”

  “He always did have a wild streak,” Allie said. “But that was what the girls all loved about him. I don’t think I knew anyone—cheerleaders, stoner girls, theater nerds—who didn’t have at least a small crush on him.”

  “And it wasn’t just the students,” Marie Dawn said, laughing. “Remember when he got caught kissing the art teacher’s aide in the supply closet at the end of senior year? That French girl, Gabrielle. He almost didn’t get to go to graduation. What was that art teacher’s name? She almost had a stroke when she caught them.”

  “Mrs. MacGuire,” Neal said. “She was an old crone.”

  “But the aide was hot,” Mick chimed in.

  “Hey!” Allie protested.

  “Well, she was. Hot enough that he kept seeing her until after graduation. Brandon got all the hot girls. Except you, of course, baby.” Mick leaned down and kissed Allie’s cheek.

  “She was the last girl Brandon kissed,” Summer said quietly.

  Jamie nodded. “Yeah, she was. Gabrielle . . . She came to the funeral, you know. She stood in the back and left before it was over. But I saw her. I saw her crying.”

  They all sat silently for a moment, thinking, he knew, of the funeral. Summer Grace got up then and walked off slowly, as if no one would notice her absence. As if he wouldn’t immediately feel it.

  “Jamie,” Allie whispered, reaching out to smack his arm. “Go after her, would you?”

  “If I say no, you’ll just smack me again,” he muttered, already getting to his feet to follow her—as if he wanted to do anything else. The cemetery at night was no safe place for a girl alone, and he knew she was upset, thinking of her brother. Probably upset with him, too, and he couldn’t blame her.

  But Jesus, the girl moved fast. By the time he peeked down the row she was nowhere in sight.

  “Summer Grace?”

  He moved quickly, peering down the side aisles through the dark, and was just starting to worry when he finally saw her leaning up against a stone urn in front of a moss-covered vault.

  “Hey. You okay?”

  She shrugged. “Marie Dawn was right. I love having Allie home again, but it makes it harder, too, you know? Now we’re only missing one.”

  “I know.” He stepped closer. “And I know I’m probably the last person you want here, but I need you to know I am here. I know you’re missing him. Even more than I do.”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure about that. He was really your brother, too. Neither one of us has much family left. And these anniversaries are so Goddamn hard.” She sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “As if we don’t remember every day. As if we don’t remember his smile or him waiting to walk me home from school. As if we haven’t heard that story about the last girl he kissed a dozen times.”

  “Hey.” He moved in, steeling himself as he pulled her in close. But he could smell her hair, and her body felt familiar in his arms. So damned good. “It’s okay,” he told her. “It’ll be okay.”

  “I can’t stand to think about that shit sometimes, Jamie. To think about who else he might have kissed after the art teacher’s aide. Who he would have ended up with. God, who knows? He could have married Marie Dawn. Or
Allie.” She paused. “No, Allie was always Mick’s, wasn’t she?”

  “Yeah. Always.”

  It was true. Allie and Mick—that was pure destiny. It had taken some convincing for Mick to get over himself and see that. And Neal and Marie Dawn were right together, too. Out of the group it was just him and Summer Grace who still ran solo. Or not.

  Can’t think about that now—not while she’s crying over her brother.

  “In some ways it doesn’t get easier, you know what I mean?” she asked, her voice muffled against his chest. He hoped she couldn’t hear the hammering of his heart as he breathed her in. “He’s been gone for twelve years and I still sometimes feel like I can just pick up the phone and call him. Like I’ll walk around a corner and he’ll just . . . be there. Is that ridiculous?”

  “No. I feel it, too. About Brandon. Even about Ian.”

  She turned her face up to his and those big, blue eyes glistened with tears. It made his breath catch to see her hurting. “Really?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Really.”

  “But your brother’s been gone since you were seven years old. Do you even remember him that well?”

  “Sort of. He was . . . Nah, this is really going to sound crazy.”

  “Come on. Tell me, Jamie.”

  When had he been able to deny her anything? Well, almost anything.

  “The thing is, Ian was my twin, so my whole life I’ve had this weird idea that he’s grown with me, still looking like me. Like if I look hard enough into the mirror, he’ll be there staring back at me.”

  “Wow.”

  “See? I told you it was crazy.”

  “No, I don’t think it is. I think it’s sort of amazing. And sweet.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Traci never understood when I talked about Ian like that.”

  “Yeah, well, you guys weren’t married long enough for her to really get you,” she said.

  It was true. He’d gotten hitched to the first girl he’d hooked up with after they lost Brandon, less than a year later. It had been a stupid move, and she’d left almost as quickly. He couldn’t blame her. For a lot of things.