Unbroken (20 page)

“Ah, yes, I recall that little trick you did with your tongue, Miss Matteo.”

Heat rushing to my cheeks, I turn away, suddenly bashful.

I read. A lot. Somewhere along the way, I learned a few things. I guess it all paid off because Brody hasn’t complained yet.

Even so, though, he wasn’t supposed to bring that up. But I like that he’s being playful with me. I like to think I’ve opened him up for that possibility, because he was all…silent and broody before.

Broody Brody. Ha.

I laugh aloud at that, causing his head to whip in my direction abruptly. “What’s so funny?”

I don’t want to tell him my new nickname for him just yet, so naturally, I change the subject. “Why do you call me Dove?”

This works to my advantage, because he sits up and gawks at me in the most adorable of ways.

I’ve been wondering why he calls me that since the first time it slipped from his mouth. But he said it before we made love, and plenty of times during. Hell, he might have even said it afterward. It’s adorable and sweet, but I want to know what it means exactly.

“I don’t know. It just seemed to suit you. After we read
To Kill A Mockingbird
in tenth grade, Nickayla and I went into this deep research mode. We wanted to know everything there was to know about birds, what each once signified, shit like that. And when I met you, you were fierce.” I must raise my eyebrow because he chuckles. “You were a fighter. You didn’t take any of my shit, and you yelled at me to stop bitching when no one else would. But beneath all that, I could see a sweetness to you. There was something pure about you. Doves signify gentleness and innocence. And I just thought it suited you.”

Oh, my heart.

I don’t even know what I expected when I asked him that question, but it damn sure wasn’t
that
. He put so much thought into it, and it took me by surprise. By now, I shouldn’t be surprised by his words or his actions, but he continues to shock me at every turn. When I expect him to do one thing, he does another. When I expect him to say something thoughtless like most other guys, he says something so lovely and thoughtful and leaves me floundering for words.

“And I’m guessing it fits, by the looks of the tattoo on your back,” he says. I laugh. “I can’t believe I never saw it before, but it’s gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

“But it doesn’t compare to the way you look tonight. That dress is just…whoa.” He turns bright red at his lack for a better word.

I smirk at him. Oh, I can’t help teasing him when he gets like this, because he’s normally such an eloquent speaker.

“Whoa?”

“Whoa. I know every guy who wasn’t related to you was watching you wiggle your perfect ass in that dress.”

I laugh. “The only person besides you who isn’t related to me is Henry. And his girlfriend would kill him—and me—if she thought he was checking out my ass.”

Brody kisses me on the lips. “He’d be a damn fool not to. You’re stunning, Sabrina.”

Heart fluttering, I grin up at him. “You’re not too bad yourself. I think saying that just earned you a round four, Mr. Durham.”

I squeal in excitement as he descends upon me once more.

…

WHEN WE GOT HOME, Sabrina didn’t even make it to her bedroom. She came straight to mine, stripped of her dress, and collapsed on my bed. We talked for a little bit, but I could tell the day’s events had worn on her. She’s lying on her stomach, a blanket draped over her lower half. She’s been in and out of sleep for the past couple hours. I’m not even sure which one it is right now.

I run my finger over the raised skin of her tattoo, admiring it up close not for the first time tonight.

“I could feel you watching me for the past ten minutes,” she mutters into the pillow. “But touching me when I’m not even awake to give my consent? You’re bordering on creeper status, dude.”

I laugh, but I don’t take my hands off her. Now that I know I have her, I want to touch her, look at her, admire her every chance I get. I can’t get enough of her, ever.

Sometimes I watch her when she doesn’t know I’m watching her. I get in these moments when I can’t help but stare at her, because I can’t believe that she’s here, that she’s mine.

Her long, midnight hair gets pulled to the side, revealing a bare shoulder.

“Why birds?” I ask, referring to her tattoo.

It’s an intricate piece: it’s a large black feather, and toward the tip of the feather, it fades out to a series of birds flying off. It’s beautiful. It suits her, but ever since I saw it for the first time a few hours ago, I’ve wondered why she got it.

She turns marginally and glances at me over her shoulder. “Freedom. I got birds in the hope that someday, I’d be free of the things that hurt me. That someday, when my wings are fixed, I can fly far away from this place.”

Wrapping my arms around her and pulling her against me, I press a kiss to her shoulder and sigh. “It’s a lovely sentiment, Dove, but your wing’s not broken, and neither are you. You never were.”

She buries her face into her pillow, and I lean over, resting my head on her back. I hope I haven’t said anything to upset her. Hell, I really suck at this whole ‘being together’ thing.

I rarely say the right thing. I rarely do the right thing. But I want to do right by Sabrina, and I don’t want to hurt her. I care so much about her but at the same time I hate the way she makes me feel. She makes me second guess myself three times as much as I normally do.

“Sabrina. Dove, are you okay?” I ask cautiously, preparing for the worst.

She nods into her pillow, says, “I’m fine,” and I groan.

I’m not totally fluent in girl speak, but I know these three things.

1. Silence is not golden. A girl will tell more with her silence than she
ever
will with her words.

2. ‘What?’ is not an invitation to repeat what you said. It’s her giving you an opportunity to correct it before she promptly slaps the shit out of you.

3. When she says ‘I’m fine’, she’s definitely
not
fine. And chances are, you did something to induce this feeling of not-fineness.

So yeah, I’m freaking the fuck out right now.

“I’m sorry—er, I apologize for hurting you,” I say, backtracking and trying to figure out what I could have said to hurt her feelings. Whatever it was, I want her to know I didn’t mean it.

She lifts her head from the pillow and glares at me over her shoulder. “What?”

Oh. Shit.

This is not good. This is actually going worse than I thought.

I’m still not quite clear on what it was that I did, but I’m going to try to fix it nonetheless. I don’t want to do anything to lose her when I just got her.

“I just…I can see you’re upset, and I wanted to apologize for whatever I said that hurt you. I didn’t mean to.”

She sits up, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes as she bursts out laughing. She bends completely forward and her laughter turns into hysterics. I’m just lying here wondering what the Hell is so funny.

I swear, I will never understand girls. Ever.

She stops laughing abruptly and faces me head on. In fact, she climbs onto my lap and leans back onto her heels. I hold her at arm’s length, not sure where any of this is about to go. I’d much rather be safe than sorry.

“Brody, you didn’t say anything to hurt me. I just…no one has ever said something like that to me before. I was just stunned.” I glance at her curiously and she nods. “My family and I have had a rough six months. It’s partially due to me, and partially due to my douchebag of an ex-boyfriend. It’s been tough, and I got the tattoo shortly after we broke up. It was my way of claiming my own freedom, I guess? Because I have felt broken. And wounded. And confined. I’ve been having one of those ‘I know why the caged bird sings’ moments for the past six months. But you’re the first person to say something like that and mean it.” She pauses. “You
did
mean it, didn’t you?”

Yeah, of course I meant it. She’s not broken at all.

Ever since the day I met her, she’s reminded me of Hercules. In the Disney version, he was always screwing things up because he didn’t know his own strength. He was stronger than he realized, and he moved on from his mediocre life because he finally realized he was meant for something greater. That’s Sabrina.

She walks around here being the backbone for everyone. I see it.

When her mother’s tired, Sabrina cooks dinner. When her siblings are stuck, she helps them with their homework. When something needs to get done, she does it. She’s so busy being strong for everyone else, she forgets to do it for herself sometimes.

I know she thinks I don’t notice how she cries into her pillow every night, and in the shower when she thinks no one’s around to listen.

She tries to be quiet about it, but I’m the master of suffering in silence. I found her out right away. I can feel her shaking beside me from the extent of her cries when she thinks I’m sleeping. When she rolls over and rests her head on my chest, I always flip her pillow over so she never ends up on the wet side. And I can just barely hear the sound of her sobbing over the stream of the water while she showers. The fact she holds all that in just so no one else has to see her in pain is beautiful, but it’s also incredibly sad.

“Of course I meant it, Sabrina. There’s a quiet strength in you. You think no one notices it, but I do.” I take her face between both of my hands, both loving and hating the feeling of tears rolling over my fingers. I hate it because I don’t want to see her cry, especially not on account of me. But I love it because she’s opening up to me and she doesn’t even know it. “I know I take advantage of you. I’m here because I needed help and you were in the position to help me. I have a ride wherever I need to go because you refuse to let me take public transportation. You sleep in my bed instead of your own because I literally can’t sleep without you. I just want you to know that I appreciate it, I do, but I’m here for you too. All this time, you’ve been my everything. All I’m asking is for you to let me be yours.”

A smile forms on her face through the slew of tears and she kisses me tenderly. With one hand resting on my cheek, she nods. “I’ll try.”

That’s all I needed to hear.

SIXTEEN

I’VE PULLED OUT ALL THE STOPS, or at least I’ve tried to. Mrs. Matteo agreed to let me use the Denali for the weekend. With her help, I made tortas for our date. I packed sparking cider, soda, chips, and various candies; I was unsure what she would like, so I got a little bit of everything.

An hour ago, she sent me a text message.

Dove: So, I’ve gathered we’re going on a date tonight. How shall I dress?

Me: Casual. Panties optional ;)

Dove: Down boy. I don’t kiss on the first date.

Me: Oh, you do more than that, and I haven’t actually taken you on a date yet.

Dove: Touche, mofo. Tou-fucking-che.

I laugh again, reading them over for the fifth time today. I love when she plays around with me.

I pile all our stuff into the trunk of the car. Once I’m sure I have everything, I head outside.

Pulling the keys out my pocket, I climb into the driver’s seat. I turn the car on and pull out of the driveway. Making my way around the block about three times, I stop in front of the house and turn the car back off. Grabbing the flowers I bought her, I get out of the car and walk up the front porch steps. Taking a deep breath, I lift the knocker and slam it down three times. Taking a step back, I wait for someone to open the door.