Wrecked: A Stepbrother Romance Novel (6 page)

“
V
anessa
,” he greeted stiffly, his eyes narrowing as he took in my reaction and pressing his lips into a fine line.

I couldn’t respond. All I could do was helplessly gape as my eyes roamed over his face, trying to figure out what the
fuck
had happened to him.

There were jagged scars all over the left side of his face—hard protruding edges that twisted and pulled at his skin, creating dark shadows that made his already prominent bone structure look even more unreal to the point that it was almost scary. The scars went further down his jaw and neck, hiding beneath the button-down shirt he was wearing.

Suddenly, his disappearance was beginning to make sense.

“What….
God,
Brandon. What happened to you?”

His jaw clenched, the movement tugging at his flesh and making the scars look even more prominent. I couldn’t suppress my wince in time and the moment he saw it, he turned away, clearly embarrassed. Without thinking, I stepped forward and brought my hand up, gently resting my fingers on his scarred cheek and turning him to face me once again.

For the briefest moment, his eyes fluttered shut and I felt butterflies flying around in my stomach almost as hard as they did when we were teenagers rolling around in the front yard. But the moment disappeared as quickly as it came and he harshly jerked away from me.

“
Don’t.
Don’t touch me. I… I don’t like it.”

You used to
, I wanted to say. Instead, I looked away and murmured, “Sorry.”

Brandon cleared his throat, refusing to even let his gaze come up to my face, let alone meet my eyes again. He made a sweeping gesture with his hand before turning away and stepping further into the house, waiting for me to follow him.

“I’ll show you to your room.”

It was beyond clear to me that he wanted the subject of his scars dropped, for the moment at least, and I didn’t have much say in the matter. I followed wordlessly behind, unable to focus on anything other than the stiff posture of his back and his mild limp.

“Is that why I’m here?” I asked, interrupting whatever he had been saying about the house.

He froze and turned back, frowning at me questioningly. I made a vague gesture towards his leg and recognition dawned on his face.

“You noticed.”

“Kind of hard not to since I’m right behind you,” I said lightly, giving him a half-smile that fell off when he didn’t return it.

His frown merely deepened as he explained, “I was trying to hide it.”

“There’s really no need. I mean, I
am
here to be your nurse. I’m going to need to know what I’m dealing with.”

There was an awkward pause then, broken by the sound of him clearing his throat before granting me a curt nod of agreement.

When he continued on the path to my room, his spine stayed straight and his limp remained partially hidden. I barely managed to suppress my sigh as I trailed behind.

T
he room
he had taken me to was nearly as big as my entire apartment and I gaped like an idiot for a long moment before I turned and told him as much. Brandon simply shrugged and scratched at his neck awkwardly, then told me that dinner would be served in two hours and I was free to use the time to nap or settle in. Then he was gone, leaving me to my own devices.

To say I was disappointed would be an understatement, wanting nothing more than to question him about his disappearance and the scars, but I imagined that my initial reaction hadn’t helped matters.

I was sure to get an explanation soon considering the reason I was here, so I decided to busy myself unpacking, knowing that I likely wouldn’t be able to sleep even if I tried. Not with the adrenaline pumping through my system.

The walk-in closet was empty save for a number of available hangers and an empty dresser, so I made the most of the space and hung up as much as possible before neatly folding the rest and putting them in the drawers.

A fresh wave of guilt and fondness hit my system when I got down to the green dress Brandon had paid for and I carefully placed it on a hanger before hiding it in the back of the closet.

I wondered how he’d react if he knew I brought it. I still wasn’t entirely sure why I had put it in my bag—surely I wouldn’t get an opportunity to wear it—but it just felt like the right thing to do at the time.

Now I was not only second-guessing my decision to bring the dress, but myself as well.

The man who answered the door might have had the name Brandon Jensen, but I had a sinking feeling that the man I once knew was long gone.

A
few hours later
, a knock on my door brought me out of the light nap I’d accidentally fallen into after emptying my bag and fully exploring my bedroom and the attached bathroom. I rolled off the bed and hustled to the door, swinging it open and pointedly not reacting when I saw Brandon’s scarred face.

Even with everything I’d seen as a nurse, it was still going to take me a little while to get used to seeing the scars. It was just too big of a shock to the system.

His face was angled slightly away like he wanted to purposely keep the worst out of my vision, but when his head tilted to the side and he grinned, it brought the marks back to my full attention. I returned the smile, but furrowed my brows questioningly.

“Nice hair.”

My smile dropped and I reached up, feeling the tangled mess that my hair turned into during my sleep. He chuckled as I hastily smoothed it down and even though part of me was mortified, seeing him smile even a little made it worth it.

“You didn’t come down for dinner. I was waiting.”

“You didn’t show me where to go.”

“I pointed out the dining room on the way to your room.”

I frowned, thinking back and remembering that I had been so thrown by his appearance that I hadn’t listened to a damn word he said then. I apologized and forced a smile, giving him a gesture that I hoped said
‘lead the way.’

It apparently worked, because he turned on his heel and I followed, making sure to make mental notes of the different doors as we passed them.

The dining room wasn’t extravagant, but I had a feeling that it was designed like that on purpose. It would have truly surprised me if Brandon ever had dinner guests over, save for maybe the occasional employee that worked for him on the island.

He pulled a chair out for me and I sat down, waiting for him to follow suit.

But instead, he left the room. I sat in a confused silence until he came back, sitting down two plates of lasagna on the table before he took the seat beside me.

The side that kept the scarred cheek facing away from me. Unsurprising, but slightly maddening. I was going to need to get used to them eventually and he certainly wasn’t making it any easier.

He dug right in without a word so I did as well, making it halfway through my plate before my curiosity was more of a pressing matter than my appetite. I regarded him carefully—the way he slightly hunched over his plate like a frightened animal, the stiffness in his neck, the way his eyes were constantly looking my direction even though his head wasn’t turned towards me.

“It’s good to see you,” I said softly, knowing that jumping right into questions would likely result in him running like earlier.

He carefully set his utensils on his plate, silently debating for a long moment before he finally asked, “Is it?”

“Of course. I missed you,” I admitted, hoping he’d be able to read the deeper meaning in my words. I had been missing him long before he ever disappeared. If nothing else, he deserved to know that. “Mom and Harold miss you too.”

He nodded absently. “Yes, I miss them as well.”

As intended, the absence of a returned
‘I missed you, too’
stung like a bitch. I swallowed around the lump in my throat, reaching for the glass of red wine he had poured for me and downed it. I had to stand to reach the bottle, but I topped myself off quickly and took my seat again, pointedly trying to ignore the way he frowned at me with narrowed eyes.

“I must ask that you refrain from drinking on the days following my surgery.”

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. “D you seriously think I would do that?”

He shrugged. “We haven’t been close for a long time, Vanessa. You don’t know me any better than I know you.”

Truer words were never spoken
, I thought as I regarded him coolly. I knew he was a changed man the last time I saw him and now, it was even worse.
We’re worlds apart now.

As soon as the thought fluttered through my mind, I noticed he was still staring, waiting for a response.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just stay sober when I need you.”

This time, I held myself back from rolling my eyes, but I did reach for the wine again. Perhaps it was out of spite, but I apparently wasn’t old enough to care about being petty. I gave him a sugary-sweet smile before making short work of the glass, sitting it back down with an exaggerated noise of content.

Brandon clearly wasn’t amused. “I’m serious.”

“And I’m serious about my work. I’ve never gone to work drunk or hungover and I don’t intend to start now.”

He nodded, accepting my answer and returning his attention to his food after a whispered, “Good.”

The wine was making me a little bolder than when I first arrived, so I leaned back in my chair and casually watched him as I ate. The scars weren’t pleasant to look at—not in the slightest—but the rest of him was just as gorgeous as I remembered.

Even more so, if I was being truthful. It was obvious that despite whatever health trouble he’d been having that he found a way to stay in shape and he’d bulked up quite a bit. There was nothing left of the scrawny computer nerd I knew as a teenager.

Okay, well maybe he was still a nerd. After all, he was still a total introvert who ran a software company. Now he was just an extremely well-muscled, sexy-as-fuck nerd.

And scarred. Damaged. Broken.

I sighed to myself as I dropped the fork, unable to hold this back any longer. The sudden noise captured his attention and he turned to me with a frown.

“Do you not care for the food?”

I stared at him incredulously. “Are you kidding? No, it’s incredible. I just—I can’t sit here and take this silence. We need to talk. About everything.”

He followed my lead, setting down his fork and pulling the napkin from his lap with a flourish. “You mean we need to talk about my scars.”

Part of me wanted to nod, but I didn’t. Instead, I decided to take a different, hopefully less hostile approach to this.

“We need to talk about your disappearance. Do you have any idea what it did to us? How fucking
worried
we were?”

Brandon scoffed. “I wrote to my our parents. They knew I was fine.”

I folded my arms over my chest and raised an eyebrow. “And what about me?”

“I didn’t owe you a damn thing,” he hissed, turning to face me full-on with a fire burning in his eyes as his scowl warped the surrounding skin.

The last time I saw that look was in my aunt’s wine cellar nearly seven years ago. The memory of the heated kiss we had shared lodged itself in my brain and the one of the argument we had afterwards promptly knocked the wind out of me.

“Excuse me,” I muttered, standing up and storming out, praying that I’d be able to find my way back to my room.

I wasn’t sure what I expected coming here, but I knew this wasn’t it. I wanted to make things better between us—find some way to bury the hatchet—but it was starting to feel like that was the last thing Brandon wanted. He really was completely done with me, just like he told me all those years ago.

So why did the reminder hurt so much?

L
ater that night
, I was staring up at the ceiling in my room when I heard a soft knock on the door. I turned my head towards the sound, mentally debating about feigning sleep for a long minute before I finally sighed and called out, “Come in!”

The door creaked open slowly and I could just barely make out the silhouette of Brandon as he hesitantly stepped into the room, shadowed by the darkness. After the door clicked shut behind him, I heard him shuffling around awkwardly on his feet by the door, obviously second-guessing his decision to come by.

I had to give him points for effort when he finally spoke and asked, “Can we talk?”

“I don’t know. Can we?” I fired back, propping my pillows up behind me and leaning against the headboard so I could cross my arms over my chest.

Even though I doubted he could see my stance in the dark, it still made me feel a little better. More prepared for whatever was coming.

Brandon sighed heavily. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just… this isn’t easy for me. Having you here.”

Before I could even think to stop it, I snorted. “And you think it’s easy for me? I just decided yesterday to actually go through with this.”

There was a long pause where the only thing I heard was my own slightly labored breathing. When he finally broke the silence, his voice was soft.

“I honestly didn’t think you’d show up. I think that’s the biggest reason why I’m having such a difficult time with it.”

I shrugged despite the fact that he couldn’t see it. “I wanted to see you. But I wasn’t under the illusion that it was going to be all happy smiles and rainbows. I just wasn’t expecting such hostility from
you
of all people.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, the sincerity evident in his tone. “I’m… I’m not really used to interacting with people anymore. Especially not…”

“Me?”

“Women. I never got used to interacting with women in general.”

I scoffed. “I find that hard to believe. I mean, I remember how it was in high school, but don’t forget that I saw you when mom and Harold renewed their vows. You were probably beating them away with sticks.”

Brandon laughed, but the sound was forced—hollow. Done purposely for my benefit. I frowned as I considered what it could mean, but the thought was interrupted when he spoke again.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Well, what about your girlfriend? The one you mentioned last time we saw each other?”

Even without seeing him, I could still sense the tension that rose in the room, making his voice strained.

“That hardly counts.”

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said curtly and the sound of his footsteps moving towards the door told me this conversation was over. “I’ll see you at breakfast. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Brandon.”

I wanted to push him more, but figured it really wasn’t my place to do so. I imagined it must have been a rough break-up if he was so unwilling to talk about it, but hopefully he would open up more to me later. After we at least partially repaired the incredible rift between us.

As the last of the light from the hallway drained out of the bedroom, so did the last of my energy. I fell asleep before I could even finish replaying the conversation in my head.

“
G
ood morning
!” I cheerily called when I found Brandon in the kitchen the next morning.

He turned towards me briefly, the scarred cheek cleverly tilted away as he nodded in acknowledgement. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it was a start. I waited and watched as he fiddled with the coffeepot, tense with uncertainty as he struggled to come up with something to say.

“How did you sleep?”

“Like a baby,” I said with a sigh, taking his question as an invitation to move further into the kitchen and make myself a cup of coffee by his side. “That is seriously the most comfortable bed I have ever slept in. Not gonna lie—It was really hard to get up.”

I purposely ignored the way he tensed when I got close, doing everything in my power not to let my frustration show. I knew it was going to take time for him to get used to me again, just like it was going to take time for myself to become used to the new Brandon.

The strangest part thus far was just how quickly I was getting comfortable with him again. The worst of it was when I got a direct look at his newly-scarred face.

Well, new to me anyways.

“So what’s on the agenda for today?”

Brandon grunted as he dumped a spoonful of sugar into his cup, then one in mine. “The doctor who is performing the surgery will be stopping by around lunch time to answer any questions we may have. Beyond that, you’re free to do whatever you’d like.”

I frowned at his back when he turned away and marched towards the table where his toast and newspaper were waiting. For a brief moment, I considered taking advantage of the gorgeous weather here and hitting the beach, but the idea left a bad taste in my mouth.

“Are you free today?” I asked, forcing my voice to remain nonchalant.

He froze, looking up from the paper at me with surprise. “I… I have some work to do this morning, but I’ll be free afterwards.”

“Want to hang out? You can show me around or we can watch movies or something.”

I could tell just by his furrowed brow that he wasn’t sure why I wanted to be around him and I braced myself for rejection. But whether he was simply too curious to pass up the opportunity or he couldn’t think of a valid excuse to say no, he lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

“That sounds fine.”

When I beamed at him, the corners of his mouth twitched in response and my stomach flipped at the sight. The warmth I felt deep inside was as much of a red flag as it was when we were teenagers, only this time, I realized that the warning meant nothing to me anymore.

Uh-oh.

A
round ten minutes until noon
, I heard a soft knock on my bedroom door.

“Vanessa? The doctor just arrived.”

“Coming!” I shouted from the bathroom, taking a final glance at my hair and outfit, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles as I wrestled with my nerves.

After a rather stilted breakfast filled with lots of tense silence and awkward small talk, Brandon had taken off to his office to wrap up the work he had to do this morning. I had fled to the bedroom and taken a long bath in the luxurious tub, taking extra time to shave everywhere that needed it before I got out and blow-dried my hair.

Before I even realized it, I had straightened my hair, perfected my makeup, and was in the process of putting on an outfit that was far cuter than what the day called for. It’d been a long damn time since I got ready for a date and I felt totally insane for thinking about an innocent afternoon of hanging out with Brandon in such a way.

I got all dolled up to spend time with Brandon. I’m officially crazy.

But regardless of my sanity, or lack thereof, I had a job to do. Granted today was going to be solely meeting with the doctor and finally getting an explanation of why I was here, I still needed to put on my game face and stop thinking about Brandon as something more than he was.

“He’s a patient and my stepbrother. That’s all,” I firmly told my reflection.

But the primped-up image presented back at me said an entirely different story. I could only hope that Brandon wouldn’t notice.

M
y hope
that Brandon wouldn’t notice the effort I put into my appearance was in vain, but luckily, he seemed to be completely clueless as to why I had done it. His eyes constantly strayed to me as we moved through the house, making our way to his study. But every time I looked over, he’d turn away, a pink blush forming on his cheeks.

He really has no idea that I did this for him.

No, I didn’t do this for him!

Irritated at myself, I shook my head and let out a huff of frustration. He held open the door to the study and gave me a questioning tilt of the head, which I shrugged off with a mumbled, “It’s nothing.”

His mouth opened—to argue I was certain—but a crisp British accent cut off whatever he was going to say.

“Good day Mr. Jensen. I take it this is the woman who will be acting as your nurse post-surgery?”

I turned to the older man and nodded, reaching my hand out to shake his. “Yes, I’m Vanessa Jensen. It’s nice to meet you.”

The doctor took my hand for a brief second then dropped it. The dark eyes behind his glasses moved rapidly between myself and Brandon and I awkwardly shuffled on my feet as I waited for his name.

“Jensen, did you say?”

Brandon chimed in from behind me. “Her mother is married to my father. She’s my stepsister.”

“Ah,” the man breathed in understanding. “Very well. I’m Dr. Shaw. Pleased to meet you.”

I nodded and glanced down, thankful that he hadn’t reached out for another awkward handshake. I took a step back so I could see them both, waiting for an explanation. Dr. Shaw was flipping through the contents a unlabeled folder and Brandon was staring blankly at the wall. After a few moments of silence, I finally snapped.

“So is anyone going to tell me what’s going on or are you going to make me guess?”

My light-hearted attempt to move the meeting along wasn’t a good choice if the look on Brandon’s face was anything to go by. I spared a glance at the doctor and saw that he was scowling at me, even more unamused than Brandon.

“It would be completely unprofessional of me to not inform you of your duties prior to the surgery,” he said dryly, not bothering to spare me the annoyed rolling of his eyes. “Give me a moment to review Mr. Jensen’s questions and we’ll begin.”

So
that’s
what the folder was. It wasn’t medical history or anything I needed to be informed of, it was Brandon’s own personal questions and concerns about the procedure. Feeling a little stupid for my impatience, I slunk further back until I was leaning against the wall and waited. By the time Dr. Shaw closed the folder and looked sternly at Brandon, I was nearly nodding off just from sheer boredom.

“Mr. Jensen, I understand you’d prefer to discuss some of the questions in private, but I must address one of them now. You’ve mentioned that you would prefer to only be on painkillers for three days so you’ll be able to return to work by the fourth and I must decline this request.”

I cocked my head to the side and watched with bated breath as Brandon clenched his jaw, forcing away his anger before responding.

“Dr. Shaw, I assure you that I am aware of my own pain tolerance and limitations. I think that—”

“With all due respect, I don’t particularly care what you
think
. I believe I know better than you do in this matter and the minimum amount of time you will need to be confined to bed rest and medication is one week. Even that is too short in my personal opinion, but if you insist upon it, I won’t stop you.”

“Bed rest, meds, no work for one week. Got it,” I chimed in once yet another tense silence descended upon the room. I waited until they both looked at me before I asked, “Can you tell me what medications he’ll be on?”

The doctor opened his bag to retrieve a second folder, this one labeled plainly with Brandon’s name and date of birth. The moment he passed it to me, I flipped it open, going through the list of medications and details about his post-surgery care, searching for clues about the actual surgery itself at the same time.

Brandon stepped closer to the doctor and the two exchanged a few hushed whispers while I frowned down at the paperwork. It was clear to me that the doctor would obviously be working to repair whatever was causing Brandon’s limp, but that didn’t explain why he was to be kept in bed rest and not allowed a wheelchair.

“So in addition to repairing whatever damage is causing the limp, what else are you doing?” I asked, drawing the attention of both men immediately to me.

Brandon’s eyes widened for a moment and color crept onto his cheeks, but he did a damn good job of quickly covering himself. He cleared his throat and blandly stated, “Dr. Shaw will also be attempting to repair some of the scars from my accident.”

My eyes immediately went to his ruined cheek and I felt the guilt swirl in my stomach when I saw the recognition dawn in his eyes as he noticed my appraisal. He shook his head and raised a hand to gesture at his face.

“
This
… This is beyond repair. But it’s not the extent of the damage that was done and since I’ll be under the knife anyways, I figured I might as well get a surgeon who can take care of some of the scarring on my chest.”

It was then that Dr. Shaw raised his fingers in the air, requesting a turn to speak. “I disagree again, Mr. Jensen. I believe the mutilation of your face could at least be partially reduced by—”

“That’s enough,” Brandon growled, cutting the other man off mid-sentence.

“Sir, I’m simply saying that—”

“ENOUGH!”

Brandon’s booming shout startled both the doctor and myself, only Shaw managed to refrain from jumping. He seemed confused by the outburst, but I instinctively knew what had caused it and the desire to comfort Brandon was nearly strong enough to move me towards him, despite what it might have looked like.

“Brandon,” I said softly, hoping it would diffuse some of the tension in the room.

His face cleared instantly, almost as if the moment had never even happened. He turned to me and let out a wavering breath before quietly asking, “Vanessa, would you please leave Dr. Shaw and I to go over a few of the questions I’d prefer to discuss privately? I’ll come find you when I’m done so you can ask him any of your own.”

His tone was questioning, but his face was stern and left no room for argument. I forced a tight smile and nodded, giving the two men privacy to discuss whatever Brandon needed to talk about.

I rushed to my bedroom for a pen to jot down all the things I wanted to discuss with the doctor before the day of the surgery arrived, but my mind kept wandering back to the pained expression on Brandon’s face when Shaw referred to his scars as
mutilation.