Irreparably Broken (Irreparable 1)

I honestly can’t understand what he’s saying. I’ve known the Hunters my entire life and I can’t imagine what possible secrets they could have. “What do you mean, Brady? That doesn’t make any sense. Can you be more specific? I’m not a child anymore. You can talk to me about this. ”

Brady grins, and his eyes glance at my chest. “No, Tori, you’re clearly not a child. But like I said, it’s nothing I want you to worry about, and I don’t want to discuss the reasons.”

As he turns away, his hands lock above his head. Watching the muscles in his back flex and move, all I can think about is the naughty things I want him to do to me. Good God, what is wrong with me?

He drops his hands and spins back to me, his expression gravely serious. “Tori, please don’t say anything to my sister or Tug. I don’t want to upset them.”

I offer him a reassuring smile. “I would never betray your trust, even with Liv. But you should talk to someone, and I’m a pretty good listener.”

His eyes lift at the corners. Aw…there it is. His panty-dropping grin returns. I hate that goddamn grin. All right, I’m a terrible liar. I love that grin. “Nah, I gotta work this shit out on my own. But thank you for offering.”

The minor irritation festering under my skin is enough to make me want to go. But God help me if I don’t see something helpless and troubled behind his eyes – emotions that draw me to him with irrefutable force. “Why tell me anything, then, Brady?”

“I wanted to apologize because I hurt you, and I meant what I said last night. I never want to hurt you. I lost co

ntrol last night because I want you so fucking bad it’s killing me, but I can’t. It’s not a good idea for you to get involved with me. I’ll only end up hurting you, again.”

Peering up at him from under my eyelashes, I use his words from last night. “Because you’re fucked up?”

His mouth opens in surprise and he laughs. As he presses his lips together, his face turns serious again. “Yes, and I’m also bitter and jaded. The last year I’ve been through some seriously fucked up shit. There are things you don’t know about, and you’re not going to. You’re too good for me, Tori.”

Tasting his words on my lips, I shake my head. Brady is physically every woman’s fantasy. He’s from an affluent family and on his way to becoming a successful lawyer. How on earth can I be too good for him? An ordinary girl from a struggling middle-class family, working as a barista, with okay grades from an average state college. He’s obviously as messed up as he claims. I wish he’d tell me what he’s been through. I want to help him.

I realize Brady’s offering an apology, and decide to accept it, offer him something in return. “It’s not your fault.” As his smile grows, I elaborate. “I mean me and Jake breaking up. I did blame you, but you were right last night. He’s always been a cheater.”

He lets out a harsh breath. “He’s an idiot, too. If I had a girl like you, I’d never risk losing her.”

Relax, I tell myself. He said “a girl like you,” not you. “You know, Brady. Why don’t we…start over? You’re here all summer, and we live in the same house. How about we try being friends again?”

His eyes are bright, like I’ve made him happy. “I’d like that.”

“Good, all settled, then. Friends it is.” I smile and extend my hand to him. “My name is Tori Preston. It’s very nice to me you.”

Dazzling smile still in place, he takes my hand, giving me the same introduction. His hand is warm and somewhat sweaty. Is he as nervous as I am? I don’t know for sure , but his eyes are different, longing almost. I’m instantly aware my legs may no longer have the ability to hold me up. They’re suddenly as steady as straws filled with Jell-O, and equally as useless. I yank my hand away in case I need it for support. My nipples pebble under the thin fabric of my tight cotton tank. I cross my arms over my chest to shield my stimulation, and pray he doesn’t see. Brady quirks a brow and laughs ever so softly. His smile carves even deeper. He definitely notices what I’m hiding under my arms.

Testing his bravery, I say, “Something funny?”

His eyes widen bashfully, and I spot a hint of blush in his cheeks.

Ha! Take that!

Without answering my question, he slips his hand through his hair, holding it against his head, and says, “I’m happy we talked. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” It’s barely a whisper. I have to get out of here before I do something foolish.

Escaping from Brady is the easy part. Calming my raging hormones is a great deal more difficult. I slump against the wall after closing the door to the garage and try to calm my erratic breathing.

Why do I turn to warm mush every time he looks at me? I mean, he broke my heart before, opened the door to reality and forced me to watch. Yet when his body closed in on me, I liquefied. Oh, God. His body, shirtless and so close, radiating heat, sent my libido into a tizzy. I nearly begged him to take me up against his truck. Then I saw his tattoos, newly inked and vibrant with color. A masterpiece, offering a story of what he’s been through recently. I catalogued them, trying to understand their meanings.

On his side is a female angel holding a newborn baby. She has large, exquisite, and intricate wings, bent protectively as if shielding the infant. Is that what happened with Vanessa? Did they have a baby? Did the baby die? Oh, God, I don’t want to know. His arm, showcasing a wooden door, latched and locked with a chain. The chain wrapping once around his arm and then looping around a female hand. With red fingernails, the slight feminine hand is folded delicately over a large brass key that sticks out of both sides of her hand. Lastly and most interestingly, across his chest are scripted letters, not in English – Latin, maybe. I wish I could remember the letters so I could type them into Google translate.

He stirs too many emotions, scares me, and if he decides he wants me, I’ll never be able to deny him. In the last year his life’s shifted, been cruel to him, and he’s blaming himself. He refuses to care, keeps his secrets buried deep inside, and I desperately want him to share with me. I want Brady to open up, free his thoughts and then take me, love me…and…oh, God. What the hell is wrong with me? We just agreed to be friends, and I’m acting like we have a chance for more. I seriously need my head examined.

I go straight to the fridge for water to wet my parched mouth. Liv is leaning on the counter, crunching on Cheetos. Her raised eyebrow asks the question.

“It was nothing.” I turn to face her and gulp down half the bottle of water. “He just wanted to make sure I was okay after last night. I was pretty shook up after my encounter with the roofie pusher.”

She narrows her eyes, tapping the puffy orange tube against her lips. “Uh-huh? Last night you and Brady show up soaking wet, holding hands, and out of breath. You had lipstick smeared across your face. Brady finds me and tells me he left you in the car, and when I get there, you have tears. Oh, yeah, don’t deny it. Running mascara doesn’t lie. Today you see him without a shirt and your eyes practically pop out of your head, and then he suggests a private conversation. There is something going on, all right.” She stands with her hand on her popped-out hip and her lips pressed together in a flat line.