Beautifully Destroyed (Beautifully Broken)

There’s a cool breeze coming from the ocean, and clouds are scattered in the sky. The atmosphere is peaceful, like a soothing balm to my destroyed soul.

My eyes stay on the ocean until Quinn says, “See that white and blue house?”

I glance to where she’s pointing, and seeing the beach house, the corner of my mouth lifts. “So pretty.” The house has character. My heart gives an excited beat as if it’s trying to revive itself. “I love it.”

It would be perfect for Dad and me.

“That’s Ethan’s house.”

My heart sinks back into the dark hole as my eyes snap to Quinn. “You said it was falling apart.”

“He’s done a lot of work on it,” she explains.

I glance back to the house, admitting, “I can see why he bought it.”

We begin walking again, and my gaze keeps drifting back to Ethan’s house. It’s exactly what I’m looking for. The porch wraps around the front, two white deck chairs giving it a vacation feel. The shutters are my favorite shade of blue, the kind you see in pictures of Greece.

Suddenly the front door opens, and when Ethan comes out, my heart stutters in my chest.

I know I’m overreacting, that not all men are bad, but there’s nothing I can do to keep the fear from flooding my veins.

“Hi, Ethan,” Quinn calls out.

His eyes land on us, then he starts to head in our direction.

God. Keep calm.

Quinn says the Jacksons are good people. They stood by her while I was in Naperville instead of here, comforting her.

There’s nothing to fear.

“Taking a walk?” Ethan asks as he gets close to us, his voice deep and edgy as if it’s carrying an undertone of warning. It makes a shiver scatter over my skin.

“Yeah, we’re checking to see if there are any houses for sale,” Quinn explains.

When Ethan moves closer to Quinn, I can’t stop myself from taking a couple of steps backward, my heart lurching to my throat.

Ethan points up the stretch of beach. “See the one with the yellow shutters?”

I take in the veins snaking under the bronzed skin of his arm and can’t help but think there’s enough power in that arm to hold me down, let alone the rest of his body.

I can’t force my eyes away from Ethan as Quinn murmurs, “Oh… yeah.”

“It’s a bargain. You might want to jump on that.”

Ethan’s eyes lock with mine, and one second of staring into the icy-blue depths has me ducking my chin to my chest. A prickling sensation scatters over my skin again because it feels like he can look right into my heart. He can see the filthy secret.

“Thanks,” Quinn says. “Let’s go take a look.”

I move closer to her just as Ethan adds, “Stanley Jefferson’s the owner. I’ll text you his number.”

“That would be great. Thanks, Ethan.”

He glances at me again before walking back to his house, and as his powerful strides increase the distance between us, my breaths come easier.

With my trauma bearing down on my shoulders, I turn my gaze to Quinn. She takes hold of my arm, tugging me toward the house. “Come on.”

I glance over my shoulder, watching as Ethan takes the steps up to his porch. Before the attack, I think I would’ve liked Ethan. He’s been nothing but friendly since I arrived, and I get the feeling he’s actually making an effort to keep his distance from me. A miserable feeling has the darkness thickening around me because I’m no longer an ordinary eighteen-year-old girl.

I turn my attention to the yellow and white beach house. It’s almost a replica of Ethan’s house, and it actually makes a smile tug at my lips.

“He sure has an eye for a house,” I mention.

“Right?”

Taking the stairs up to the porch, I notice the place needs a fresh coat of paint. There’s work to be done, and maybe it will keep me busy so my mind won’t keep going back to the attack.

Cupping our hands around our eyes, we peek through the windows. The living room is big, and I can see a kitchen to the left.

“I’ll give Stanley a call and ask him to show us the inside,” Quinn says.

Turning around, I stare at the ocean, and there’s a flicker of the excitement I felt before that night. It’s faint but there. “It’s perfect.”

Maybe the peacefulness of the ocean will help me heal.

We take a seat on the steps, then Quinn says, “If you need any work done, I can ask Eli. He’s really good with handyman stuff.”

I brush a hand over my forearm, feeling the salt sticking to my skin. “I’d like to do everything myself. Thanks, though.”

Quinn glances over her shoulder. “It looks sturdy enough, right?”

I follow her gaze. “Yeah. A fresh coat of paint, and it will be good as new.”

I wish I could do that with my heart and soul. Give it a fresh coat of strength to cover the horror.