Until We Fly (Beautifully Broken 4)

This summer will probably kill me.

Or condemn me to hell.

At the moment, though, I don’t care. Everyone around me has gotten where they are today not by thinking of other people, but by thinking of themselves. Putting themselves first. Maybe it’s time I start.

Being with Nora feels good.

Isn’t that enough of a reason?

The silence is comfortable and familiar as we drive to the rental car company and exchange cars and then head back for the cottage. We’ve managed to kill most of the day with driving, but it was nice.

Nora turns down Honeysuckle Drive. As we pass my mother’s house, I grit my

teeth, as I remember that her life is practically in my hands. Her life as she knows it, anyway. I sigh.

Fuck it.

She doesn’t deserve my help.

But just as quickly as I have the thought, I think something else. No matter how much of a bitch she is, I don’t want to give her the power to make me be someone I’m not. And I’m not an asshole.

Nora glances over at me.

“You know what I’ve recently decided?”

I shake my head. Of course I don’t.

Nora stares straight ahead as she speaks.

“I’ve decided that I can’t help how people treat me. All I can do is handle myself… and not let their actions reduce me. No matter what happens, I’m going to be me. They can’t take that away.”

What a curious thing to say. It’s almost as if she can read my thoughts.

“That’s very wise,” I nod. “But easier in theory than practice.”

Nora puts the car in park outside the cottage. “I know. Trust me. Wanna watch me practice?”

Puzzled, I start to ask what she’s talking about, but then realize that another car is in the drive, a sleek black Mercedes.

Turning, I find Maxwell Greene sitting on the porch, waiting for us, dressed in an expensive suit and shiny loafers. He’s as out of place on that porch as anyone I’ve ever seen. And from the expression on his face, he doesn’t want to be here, either. I can see from the way he’s looking at me that he doesn’t approve of me.

At all.

I clench my jaw.

Fuck him.

I don’t need anyone’s approval.

I climb from the car and grab my crutches as Nora greets him.

“Hi dad,” she calls cheerfully, but the smile on her face is forced. I wonder why she hates him so much? Because it’s clear to me that she does.

Her father scowls.

“What are you doing here, Nora?”

He doesn’t even bother to greet her, as if she’s too unimportant to waste his breath.