Until We Fly (The Beautifully Broken)

by Courtney Cole

  But I know there’s no way I’m going back to sleep.

  Instead, I grab my laptop and I sit in the chair by the window. I promised her I would stay and so I will.

  I punch the name into the search engine and read the multitude of articles that are returned.

  William Shepard Greene II.

  The oldest son of William Shepard Greene I, older brother of Maxwell. Heir to half of the Greene fortune when their father passed. He’s lauded highly in the business world, known for his keen instinct and sharp dealings.

  He’s older than Maxwell by ten years. He’s sixty-two.

  The mere idea of his hands on Nora turn my stomach and I glance at her again. She sleeps softly, curled onto her side, her hands by her face. She sighs in her sleep and my gut tightens again.

  How dare he put his hands on her?

  Why didn’t anyone stop it?

  I already know the answer. Because business comes first in the Greene household. I saw that firsthand tonight. And Camille… she doesn’t give a fuck about the business, but she feels powerless to stop anything in that house. I can see that, too. Maxwell is the powerhouse in that family, and everyone else are his pawns.

  Fucking rich people.

  Rolling my eyes, I put the laptop away and crawl back into bed, careful not to disturb Nora. I pull her into my arms though, and keep her sprawled comfortably on my chest.

  Here in the night, in this bedroom, there’s no one but her and me.

  That’s how I want it to stay, although that very notion scares the shit out of me.

  I can’t put myself out there again. I’ve been through the bloody hills of Afghanistan, but there’s nothing scarier than opening yourself up to someone else, only to get shattered.

  I’ve been through that before, and I don’t want to do it again.

  With a groan, I run my hands over Nora’s perfect bare ass.

  Everything in me reacts, my heart pounds, my dick twitches, my groin contracts.

  Somehow, I’m guessing I won’t have a choice.

  I’ll end up laying myself out there.

  I only hope there’s pieces of me left when it’s all over.

  ***

  I wake in the morning to someone staring at me.

  I open my eyes to find Nora on her elbow, her hair tickling my mouth.

  “Good morning,” she says softly. Her mouth is full and lush, and suddenly, I want to kiss it.

  So I do.

  She kisses me back, soft, then firmer, before she pulls away.

  “I…uh. I thought I was on the beach last night,” she murmurs, looking away and staring out the window. Her cheeks are flushed.

  I nod. “Yeah. You were. But I brought you in, cleaned you up and put you to bed. The next time you want to finish off a bottle, can you just do it in on the couch?”

  I’m joking, but she blushes even more, the flush spreading to her chest.

  “I’m sorry,” she tells me. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” I answer quickly. “It’s fine. You had a hard night.”

  She rolls on top of me, her hands on either side of my face, her legs straddling my hips.

  “I don’t remember, so if I said anything embarrassing, please just forget it,” she pleads prettily, her hair falling into my face in a cascade. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  She wiggles her hips, grinding into my groin, which of course reacts. My dick springs to life, pressing into her and she smiles in satisfaction.

  “Maybe you do want me,” she says huskily.

  “I do,” I agree, remembering her pitiful question from last night. Why don’t you want me?

  As I stare into her beautiful face and I see all the questions in her eyes, the insecurities, the doubts, I do the only thing I can do… the only thing I think will help.

  I show her how much I want her.

  You’re not used.

  My hips flex.

  You’re beautiful.

  I run my hands over her back, her shoulders, her hips.

  Inside and out.

  I push my fingers into her, sliding them out, then back in. Her neck arches, she sighs.

  I can’t say the things I’m thinking, because she doesn’t want to talk about it. Because she thinks that I don’t know. Because talking about it with me would kill her.

  So instead, I show her what I’m thinking.

  You’re worthy.

  You’re beautiful.

  You’re mine.

  I plunge inside of her, deep inside, claiming her for my own, for now, for the summer, for as long as she’ll let me.

  You’re mine.

  I press my forehead to hers as we rock together, as I claim her over and over and over.

  You’re mine.

  She’s trembling when we’re done, limp in my arms as I hold her.

  Mine.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Brand

  Days are seamless here now.

  We chat on the porch, we sit on the pier, we lie together in the hammock at night, watching the stars.

  Each day, I think Nora will confide in me.

  Each day, I think she’ll trust me enough to tell me what William did to her. I know, in my gut, what it was. But I can’t know it for a fact until she tells me.

  Each day, she doesn’t.

  Each night, I hold her until she falls asleep.

  Each night, I try and steel myself against her, to keep from getting sucked in further.

  Each day, I try not to trust the feelings that are growing, the attachment, the tenderness, the bond.

  Each day, I realize I’m failing.

  Nora

  I watch Brand sleeping on the couch with a book on his chest. He’d fallen asleep an hour ago and ever since, I’ve watched him.

  He’s so peaceful when he sleeps, his face so open.

  I could watch him all day and all night.

  But my phone dings, distracting me, filling my heart with dread.

  I know… I know… the other shoe is getting ready to drop.

  These past days have been too good, too comfortable, too perfect.

  I approach my phone, and as innocuous as it seems lying on the kitchen counter, it might as well be poison, because when I pick it up and read William’s words, the toxin runs through my veins, pulsing through my heart.

  I want to see you. Sunday. In the conference room of Greene Corp, just you and me. 2pm. Be there. You don’t want to know what will happen if you don’t show up. But here’s a hint: It involves your boyfriend.

  I knew he’d been threatening Brand the other night with his text. You and your boyfriend fucked up.

  I knew it. And I’ve been waiting with bated breath, every day, to see what he was going to do.

  And here it is.

  I’ve been summoned.

  I’ll finally know.

  I glance at Brand and I literally have to fight the urge not to shudder over what I’ve done. Being here could’ve put him at risk. Every day I wanted to tell him, every day I didn’t .

  Each day, he’s been nicer and nicer to me, making it impossible for me to want to ruin it.

  I didn’t want this fake little bubble that we’ve built here to burst… even though it was never real in the first place.

  I should’ve told Brand from the very beginning that I’m encased in a bubble, my bubble is made of Swarovski crystal, and at the whim of my uncle or my father, I would drop to the floor and shatter.

  But I didn’t.

  Because I’m too selfish.

  But the clock was ticking… seconds, hours, days.

  And the time has come.

  The other shoe is going to drop.

  Chapter Twenty

  Nora

  I can’t let him go.

  I watch him as he sits on the beach, staring at the fucking buoy that taunts him.

  I know I should. I know I should cut the strings right now and walk away, but I’m not strong enough.
I need him.

  I need him.

  Something has changed in him, something important, but I don’t know what. His expressions soften whenever he looks at me and I can feel the change when he holds me at night. He’s tender and his touch is ever so soft, a glaring contrast to the hardness of his body.

  He’s a trained killer, an Army Ranger. He’s capable of so many dangerous things, but when he’s with me, his touch is feather light. Careful.

  Like I might break, like he suspects that I’m made from crystal, like he wants to protect me from shattering.

  Warmth gushes through me at the thought.

  Somehow, he’s opened himself to me. He wants me. And as much as I thought I couldn’t expose him to me, because I might taint him, and somehow take his goodness away, he’s still Brand.

  He sleeps with me every night, and he’s still as good as he ever was.

  Is it possible that I could be with him and not tarnish him?

  Am I delusional to even hope?

  There would be complications, of course, but there always is in life. He sees me for who I am. And he doesn’t ask questions. He just sees me.

  My heart wants to burst from the mere happiness of it all.

  So much so that I want to do something for him.

  Right now.

  Before the other shoe drops and my world crashes down.

  While I’m still strong.

  Before I break on the floor in front of him into a million pieces.

  I get up and march outside, straight to where Brand sits.

  “Call that lawyer,” I tell him. “We’re taking care of this today.”

  Brand stares up at me in surprise, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

  “What do you mean? Take care of what?”

  I put my hands on my hips.

  “I know I told you to handle your father’s will however you want to handle it. And I meant that. But I know you, Brand. You don’t back down from anything. Ever. Ring the bell, Brand. And don’t ring it for him… ring it for you. Ring it so that you can put all of that ugliness behind you--- so that from now on, whenever you see a lake or an ocean or a buoy… you won’t think of ugliness. I’m going to swim with you. We’re going to do it together. Because I’m with you, Brand. I’m with you.”

  He stares up at me, dumbfounded and then he simply nods.

  “Okay.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Okay?”

  He nods. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

  He pulls out his phone, punches in a number and waits.

  “Todd? Come out to the beach. I’m taking a swim this morning.”

  He slips the phone back into his pocket and gets up.

  “Should you wear a bathing suit, or are you planning on making Todd’s day?”

  I roll my eyes and laugh and we stroll to the house to change.

  “You don’t have to give everything to your mom, you know,” I tell him. “You can do whatever you want with it. You need to take this swim for you, Brand. Not for her, not for him and not for me. You need this… to be free from them.”

  He stops, turns and pulls my face to his, kissing me as thoroughly as I’ve ever been kissed.

  He pulls away and doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. Everything he had to say was in that kiss.

  We change and head back down to the beach. Todd arrives a few minutes later, holding a paper in his hand.

  “It has to be from the beach behind your parents’ house,” he announces without preamble. “That’s part of the stipulation.”

  “Fine,” Brand tells him, and without another words, stalks down the beach. He’s barely even limping.

  I follow behind, and before long, we’re standing behind Brand’s childhood home. The buoy looms huge and haunting out in the lake, tilting with the waves. I shudder when I think that his sister died out here…. and that his father used to beat him right where I’m standing.

  I feel someone staring at me, and as I look over my shoulder, I see Bethany Killien standing at her windows, watching us. Her face is set, and firm, and I don’t see any softness there. I shiver, and turn back around.

  Today isn’t about her.

  I grab Brand’s hand.

  “Let’s do this.”

  He nods.

  And then he walks straight into the water, as if he’d never ever been scared of it. He dives under the surface with purpose and for a moment, I forget that I’m supposed to be swimming with him. All I can do is watch the strength with which he glides through the water, his strong arms pulling him through, stroke after stroke.

  I’m mesmerized for a moment, until I remember that I’m supposed to be with him, so I follow his lead and dive into the surf.

  ***

  Brand

  The water is frigid, of course. Because it always is. It doesn’t matter if it’s August or November, Lake Michigan always feels like ice water.

  But I don’t flinch or hesitate. I plunge in, and swim toward that motherfucking buoy.

  Each time I surface, I take a breath and dive back in.

  The water is clear, and cold, and everything I detest. But with each stroke, I realize that it isn’t the water I detest. It isn’t the lake. It isn’t even that fucking buoy.

  It’s my father.

  With every stroke, I shove his memory further away, decimating his power over me.

  He doesn’t control me anymore. I’m not the kid that I used to be.

  Nora’s right.

  He’ll never control me again.

  With strong, even strokes, I approach the buoy, gulp for air, and then explode through the surface, grabbing onto it. I cling to the buoy for a second, before I violently shake it, to and fro.

  The bell rings out clearly, into the air, all the way to the beach. I glance toward my parents’ house and see the curtains of the living room fold close. My mother had been standing there, but she walked away.

  That’s fine. I’d expect nothing less.

  I ring the bell again, then again.

  The sound is eerie and haunting and if I concentrate hard enough, I can almost envision my little sister standing on the beach, waving at me.

  I smile at the thought, at the memory of Allison. Through all of my father’s beatings, at least he could never take that away. I loved my sister, and she loved me, and it wasn’t my fault that she died.

  Ring the bell, Brand.

  I ring it one more time, hard and fast.

  Consider it rung, asshole.

  Nora reaches me now and flings herself at me, and we both cling to the buoy. She’s wet and excited and wraps her arms around my neck, kissing me hard.

  “You did it!” she cries out. “You did it.”

  I know there was never a question. I was going to do it. I’m no pussy.

  But I kiss her back and don’t say a word.

  “Let’s go back to shore,” I finally tell her when we break for air. “I hate this fucking buoy.”

  She laughs and we swim for shore. I chase her and grab her foot, she laughs and twists in the water. It’s as if I’m free now. Free from the constraining hate, free from the bitterness, free from all of it.

  But then we reach the shore and reality awaits.

  Todd waits.

  My mother waits.

  She’s come out of the house now and stands disapprovingly on the shore with the attorney, watching Nora and I frolic in the water.

  “I’m glad you’re taking this so seriously,” she says icily, looking down her nose at us.

  Nora’s head snaps back and before I can stop her, she stalks over to my mother and stares down at her.

  “You have no right,” Nora snaps, each word a pellet of ice. “You have no right to even be here. You have no right to hate Brand. You have no right to him at all. You don’t have the right. You forfeited any rights to him years ago. If he gives you anything at all, it will be a miracle, because you don’t deserve it.”

  I grab her elbow and pull her away. “Come on,” I tell h
er firmly. “She’s not worth it.”

  “Does your girlfriend know that you killed your sister?” my mother calls from behind us. The words stab me in the back and I stop, frozen in place, before I turn.

  “She knows everything.”

  With that, I start to walk away again, but my mother just can’t help herself. She has to keep prodding.

  “Everything?”

  The meaning of that one word is clear. Crystal fucking clear.

  Everything. By everything, she of course means that my entire life is a lie. Everything I am, everything I’ve become… is a lie. In her eyes, anyway. Because she believes me to be a monster.

  I’m frozen.

  Completely still.

  And Bethany Killian is as foreign to me as a stranger. She laughs.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  She spins on her heel and starts to walk back into the house, and anger wells up in me, red and hot, a fury that I haven’t felt in years. It’s so fierce that it clouds my vision, it’s everything I have bottled up inside of me….all the anger that I’ve been carrying with me for so many years.

  It explodes within me like a volcano.

  “Mom?” The word is as foreign to me as she is.

  She stops, and turns halfway around. She doesn’t answer, but she looks at me.

  “Go pack a bag. You have five minutes.”

  Now she speaks. “What?”

  “You heard me. Go pack a bag.”

  She takes a step. “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t have to. Go. Pack. A. Bag. Take anything you want from the house. It will be the last time you’re inside.”

  My mother looks at me uncertainly, and for the first time, I see a real emotion on her face. Fear.

  She’s afraid to believe that I’m serious.

  “You’re not kicking me out of my own house,” she says hesitantly, her eyes searching mine. “You wouldn’t.”

  I have to fight a sneer. “I wouldn’t? Why wouldn’t I? What exactly have you brought me in life except for pain? Tell me that. Tell me one good thing you’ve ever done for me, and I’ll let you stay.”

  My mother stares at me, looks away at the lake, lifts her chin and stares back at me.