Beautifully Broken 4: Until We Fly

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.

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 c**k 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 f**king 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.