Until We Fly (Beautifully Broken 4)

“He wouldn’t have the balls,” she tells me.

She’s probably right. I could saw the fear hidden in his careful expression the other day.

We get up and walk back to the house, and as we cross the threshold of the living room, I can’t help but look at the fucking wooden box that my dad left for me. It mocks me.

Nora follows my gaze.

“What do you think is in it?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “I can’t imagine.”

“Do you want to know?”

“I don’t know that, either,” I’m honest again. “Part of me is curious. Part of me just wants to burn it without looking. I don’t really care what he has to say to me.”

Nora stops in her tracks and is perfectly still as she watches me. “What did he do to you?” she asks quietly.

I shake my head. “It’s not worth talking about anymore. He’s gone. And he took his hatefulness with him.”

Nora takes a step, and puts her hand on my chest, feather-light, directly over my heart.

“He didn’t take it all,” she observes. “Part of it still lives on in here.” She taps on my heart. “He put those scars there, Brand. Somehow. You’ve got to figure out how to get those scars off.”

“I’ve heard vitamin E oil works,” I tell her glibly, without acknowledging what she said. She rolls her eyes.

“I’m serious. Deal with it and put it to bed, Brand. Whatever he did to you, he can never do it again. Because he’s gone.”

“He is,” I agree. “But so is my sister.”

Why did I just say that? The words came out before I could stop them.

Nora’s head snaps up.

“You have a sister?”

I opened this can of worms. With a sigh, I try and close it again.

“I did. She died a long time ago.”

I try and walk past Nora, but she grabs my arm and stares up at me, her blue eyes so so serious, and so fucking perceptive.

“How did she die?” she asks quietly, never taking her eyes off of me.

I swallow.

“She drowned. Out in the lake.”

“Oh my God,” Nora breathes. “Did you see it happen? Is that why you don’t like to swim?”

I look away, out at the water, at the sky, at the beach.

As I do, I can’t help but remember that night.

“I was sleeping when it happened,” I tell her woodenly. “My sister used to sleepwalk. They put a lock on her bedroom door on the outside, to lock her in so she couldn’t hurt herself on the stairs. But that night, my father forgot to lock it when he tucked her in before he went to the bar.”

Nora stares at me in horror.

“I don’t know what to say,” she finally says. “That’s awful. Why does he want you to ring the bell?”