Unbroken (26 page)

I lost my mother because I couldn’t fight her fight for her. I lost Michele because I
wouldn’t
fight for her. Finally I meet the one girl who’s worth fighting for and she won’t let me do it. I won’t give up, and I won’t let her do it either. She doesn’t get to make my decisions for me, doesn’t get to tell me what I
should
do. I know what I want.

And it’s her.

It’s always been her.

“Why? If you want me to pack up my shit and my siblings and walk out of your life forever, you’d better at least tell me why.”

I see the mess of emotions flash through her dark brown gaze right before she turns them off. She cuts me to the quick with the cool gaze she shoots at me, lacking all emotion I’m used to seeing there.

“Because. We’re no good for each other. I’m no good for you, and you’re
damn
sure no good for me. You’re—” she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, “you’re too broken for me. Nothing can fix you, and I’m not going to try.”

I don’t give her a chance to say anything else. I walk out the front doors and collapse against the ground in front of the restaurant. My head in my hands, I let out a frustrated scream. I didn’t think anything could hurt me, not anymore. But hearing her declare the very thing I’ve always told myself…she might as well have just stabbed me with my own knife.

I close my eyes, grabbing at my hair as I bury my head against my knees.

An image flashes before me.

Her smile was glorious. Her hair, long, ebony, and draping down her back. She wore short shorts and a baseball styled t-shirt for her volleyball team. Her legs were seemingly endless. When she spoke, even though she sounded tired, there was life behind it. Everyone in the bakery hung onto every word she said. When she walked, she turned heads. She barely spoke. In fact, the only thing I got out of her was a shy, muttered
hello
. But it was enough. It was more than enough to sear her image into my mind, brand her into my soul. The last I saw of her two years ago was of a pair of tattered, run down Chuck Taylors, and the words
butterfly you
written across the toes.

I scramble to my feet and throw the doors open once more. She’s walking toward the back when I step inside again, and I race to the edge of the bar, my hands out in front of me to brace me for a stop.

“Butterfly you!” I yell.

She skitters to a stop, her arms flat at her sides. I see the steady rise and fall of her shoulders, see how tense she is from my words. Slowly, she pivots on one foot until she’s staring back at me.

“What did you just say?” she whispers.

“
Butterfly you
. Those were the words written on your shoes the first time we
really
met. I didn’t know what they meant
then
, but I know what they mean
now
. I asked Nickayla. It’s the only nice way in the entire world to say
fuck you
. And that’s what you’re saying isn’t it? Butterfly me, right? Fuck the fact that you’re the first girl I’ve felt something for in almost a year. Fuck the fact that you’re the
only
girl I’ve ever felt this strongly for. Fuck the fact that I need you like I need air to breathe, and you pushed me away. Fuck the fact that you’re the one person who makes my world spin.” I see the tears swimming in her eyes, and I advance on her, propping myself up on the bar and propelling myself over it. I’m in front of her now, invading her personal space as I finish what I have to say to her. “Yeah, butterfly me. That’s what you’re saying. Yeah, Sabrina, maybe I am broken. And maybe you are, too. We’re both missing something. But together, we’re not. All the pieces of me that were missing are filled in when I’m with you. And I hold the pieces of you together when you’re with me. We’re this one unbroken being. So you know what I say to the fact you think I’m too broken for you? Butterfly you. Because when I’m with you, I’ve never felt so whole. You know what I say to the fact you think nothing can fix me? Butterfly you. Because
you
fix me. And you know what I say to the fact you think we should stay away from each other? Butterfly, butterfly, butterfly
you
. Because I couldn’t stay away from you if I tried.”

I’m breathing heavily now, and I’m centimeters away from her face. I watch every tear as they spill over from her beautiful chocolate eyes, and roll down the apples of her perfect cheeks. I watch her lower lip quiver as she struggles to keep herself composed. She takes one deep, calming breath, and she averts her gaze.

“Brody,” she whispers through her tears. “I know about your father.”

Five words slam me in the chest and push me against the bar. I grab hold, trying to keep myself upright, because I’m afraid I might fall.

There’s no way she knows about my father. She can’t possibly. If she knew, she’d be dead. Or I would.

Images from last year haunt me.

He found out about Michele. I don’t know how he found out, but he did. And he beat me until I admitted to him that I wasn’t good enough for someone like her to love me. And he told me to break things off with her, or he would find her and kill her. Then he’d finish me off once and for all. So I did. To protect her.

And I tried to do the same with Sabrina, tried to end things before either of us got in too deep. But I gave up giving him what he wanted because I thought I was free of him. I thought that once I was out of his home, I wouldn’t have to worry about him. I thought we were both far beyond his reach. Living with the Matteos protected me; they took me in and helped me escape my daily nightmare. They allowed my siblings to see what family is really about. The Matteos cared for us, truly cared for us, almost as much as the Quinns did.

And I fell for Sabrina. I fell for her
hard
.

I thought she was safe.

“What do you mean you know about my father?” I ask. “Who told you?”

She collapses onto a bar stool and furiously wipes tears from her eyes.

“No one had to
tell
me, Brody! God! I found out for myself!” Her head falls forward slightly and she looks up at me through haunted eyes. “He hit me.”

Nothing in this world could ever prepare me for hearing those words come out of her mouth. They’re the last words I wanted to hear. I would feel a Hell of a lot better if someone told her about him. That’d be easier to deal with than the thought of the bane of my existence putting his filthy hands on the love of my life.

Yes. I love her. I love her so much, and if I could breathe right now, I’d tell her instantly.

“When? How?”

“The day we stopped by to get your clothes. And pretty fucking hard, actually.”

God. I need to touch her. I need to hold her and soothe her and let her know that everything will be okay, even if I don’t necessarily believe it. I walk over to her, wrapping her in my arms until I’m not even sure where I end and she begins.

I don’t know how to comfort her. I don’t know how to tell her it will be okay when I’m not even sure it will be. I don’t know how to take away her pain when I’m the reason she’s dealing with it in the first place.

Hands below her knees and one at her back, I drag her from the stool and carry her outside. I make it to her car and I climb in the backseat. I gather her into my lap and rock her as she continues to cry.

I knew she was haunted, knew she was broken before I made love to her for the first time. But this isn’t the brokenness I saw. This didn’t happen
before
me. This happened
because
of me. And I’ll never forgive myself for tainting her life with my existence.

I rest my head atop hers as, sobbingly, she recants her encounter with my father, including the threat he left her with. By the end of her tale, I am choking to death. The weight of what happened to her isn’t on my shoulders. It’s wrapped around my neck and squeezing tight, taking every ounce of air I have. It’s strangling me. It’s
killing
me knowing what I’ve done. This is why I tried so hard to stay away from her. This is why I tried to stop myself from falling in love with her.

And none of it worked.

I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t stop him from hurting her. And I couldn’t stop myself from falling completely, unregrettably in love with her.

“Sabrina,” I whisper into her hair as she hides her face in the fabric of my shirt. “I’m
so
sorry. I know that’s not what you want to hear but I can’t…I can’t think of any other words but the sorriest words in the fucking dictionary. I’m
sorry
.”

She nods against me, and I know she’s too afraid to speak.

Of course, now I know for sure the universe is against me, because the one day I admit, unabashedly, how I feel about a girl is the same day I find out said girl’s life is in danger because of me. I can’t win, no matter what I do.

The minute I think that, she lifts her head from its place against my chest.

“I am in love with you,” she says, full of conviction and with no regrets.

I shake my head at her words. Even though they’re the words I’ve been longing to hear from the moment I knew how I feel about her, this is not what I want to hear right now.

“You can’t love me. I’ll only hurt you. Look what my dad did to you because you’re involved with me. Pain comes with the territory of falling in love with me.”

She shakes her head, an unsteady hand coming up to cradle my face.

“These are my feelings, Brody, and I have them. You don’t get to tell me I
can’t
love you just because you think I’ll get hurt. I’ve been hurt before, and I’m still here. You don’t get to take away the right I have to be in love with you. Because I am, whether you like it or not. And whatever happens, I want to deal with it
with
you, not
without
you.” I suck in a sharp breath and she continues to speak. “I apologize for shutting you out, and for making you think I didn’t want to be with you. And I didn’t mean what I said. You’re not broken.” She gives me the tiniest of grins. “You’ve just let assholes run your life for far too long.”

I let out a rugged laugh at her choice in words. “Are you always this articulate?”

She smiles at me, a full, megawatt smile. “
Hercules.
”

TWENTY ONE

HE’S SO SEXY WHEN HE’S domesticated. Right this second, he’s outside with Mom, putting barbecue ribs, burgers, and hot links on the grill. There’s no specific special occasion or anything. He just wanted to cook, so Mom humored him.

Laid out on a lawn chair, rays of sun beaming down on my normally pale body, I can’t help but watch him. He wears a white wifebeater, shorts hanging low on his hips, and a pair of flip flops. Beads of sweat roll off his face, and his mouth sets into a thin line as he flips the burger patties over.

He’s chatting it up and laughing with Mom while the girls are throwing water balloons at each other. Dad is inside playing video games with Cason, and me, I’m
really
relaxing for what seems like the first time.

I should be reading, doing homework, fixing my signature potato salad, but instead, I’m admiring my insanely gorgeous boyfriend. I have never seen him this happy, or carefree, not even when we’re alone together. It makes me wonder what his life could have been like if his mother had lived. Would he still be the boy I love? Or would he be different? Changed?

I’m not sure.

After I confessed to him what happened at his father’s house, he broke down and told me all of his history. From the first beating to the one that took place the night he showed up with the kids at
Le Chateau D’If
, he bared his entire soul to me. He told me about his father’s threats against Michele, Mrs. Quinn, and even Nickayla. He wanted to hurt anyone who meant something to Brody. Suddenly, his trying to keep me at a distance made complete sense. And I wish I didn’t understand it. It just makes everything that much worse.

I know there’s a storm brewing. This happiness we feel is fleeting; it’s only a matter of time before the world comes crashing down on us. I just hope we both make it out alive.