Until We Fly (Beautifully Broken #4)(8)
Author: Courtney Cole

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.

“36×34,” 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.