Until We Fly (Beautifully Broken 4)

“You ok?”

I nod. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

We watch the flames for a while, the oranges and blues and reds, before we walk away, down the beach to the only house that ever truly felt like home to me.

Chapter Twenty-One

Nora

I can’t believe that just happened.

Brand literally burned his past down.

It’s astounding. Overwhelming. Exhilarating.

And it’s nothing short of what I would expect from him. He’s so decisive. When he takes control of something, he doesn’t do it halfway. The mere thought sets my belly aflutter.

I hear the shower running as Brand washes away the lake water, the ash from the fire and probably some bad memories, too. I know how that goes. I curl up on the sofa and give him his privacy. He deserves some solitude after what he just did.

As I lay still, I can’t help but stare at the little wooden box.

It’s fascinating to me. Ebony wood with an ivory inlay. Black and white. I have to wonder if his father did that on purpose…. Did he contrast black with white as an analogy for life? Life isn’t black and white.

Unable to stop myself, I pick it up, turning it over and over. I shake it lightly.

There’s a solid clunking noise inside. Something in the box has some heft. With a man as hateful as Joe Killien apparently was, it’s hard telling what he put in the box.

I get goose bumps as I remember horror movies of the past… when body parts and worse have been sent as messages. Quickly, I set the box down.

Surely Joe didn’t put a body part in the box, but I’m not sure that I want to know what actually is in there.

“I’m curious too,” Brand says from the hallway. I turn to find him standing there, a towel slung around his waist. I’d been studying the box so intently, I hadn’t even heard the shower water turn off.

He takes a few steps into the room, his strong calves flexing with his movement. Each movement he makes is so lithe and controlled. He picks up the box and turns it over in his large hands.

“I want to know, but yet I don’t want to give him that satisfaction,” he finally says, turning to me. “Does that make any sense? I know he’s gone and he’ll never know if I look or not. But I’ll know.”

“So you’re not ever going to look?” I ask quietly, in a tiny bit of disbelief. Because I know I’d never have that kind of willpower. I’d have to know. Even if what was inside killed me or fueled my guilt or hate. But this is just one more way that Brand and I are different. He’s got willpower. I don’t.

Brand shrugs and sets the box aside. “I don’t know. Maybe I will. But see, it’s taken me years to get to the place where I don’t care what he thinks, or what he says. I think it’s something inborn in every person…. you need the approval of your parents. For better or worse, you need to know that you’ve met their expectations, that you are good enough. I know that I never will. And that’s something I’ve had to let go of—and get past. It’s taken me a long time.”

“But anyone would be proud of you,” I begin to argue, but Brand holds up his hand.

“You don’t have to do that. I know all the arguments. Jacey used to argue the same things. When I graduated West Point with honors, they didn’t come. They didn’t send a card. They didn’t acknowledge it at all. I threw a party with Jacey and Gabe. When I made the Rangers, they didn’t say anything, and again, I celebrated with Jacey and Gabe. But at the same time, I didn’t write home and tell them, either. It’s been a two-sided road. I haven’t held up my part, but neither did they.”

I shake my head and interrupt because he can’t stop me. “But they gave you very good reasons to stay away. Your father beat you. Your mother didn’t stop it…”

Brand nods. “Yeah, I know. But life is fucked up. People get hurt, people are scarred, people are damaged and sometimes, things aren’t meant to be fixed.”

“And you’re afraid if you looked in the box, it might mess up your resolution?”

He nods. “I guess. I just don’t want to have to start back at square one and try to forgive them again.”

I suck in a breath. “Have you forgiven them?”

He stares out the window. “I don’t know. I try. But I guess, mostly, I just continually put it out of my mind so that I don’t have to think about it.”