Until We Fly (Beautifully Broken 4)

It started so long ago.

It makes me seethe, because I don’t know Jacey, but I know girls like her.

She started clinging to him, making him feel important to her, reeling him in, going to him for advice, growing closer and closer. She kept him on the hook just in case she ever decided she wanted him… but then she never did, because he was like her ‘brother.’

And Brand never saw it coming, because he’s such a good guy. He never knew he was getting played, getting strung along.

Then when he bared his heart to her, she probably crushed it.

I stare at the picture, at the blonde little girl with her arms wrapped around Brand, and I can’t help but hate just a bit. She hurt him, and now he’s distant from every other woman as he protects himself from that happening again.

He hasn’t said, but I know that’s what he’s doing.

All because of her.

In the picture, he’s young and innocent. He’s laughing at Gabe, still oblivious to the hooks Jacey would cast into him a bit later.

It twinges at my heart and I stop packing.

Because it reminds me that he’s so fucking good. As I look at his boyish face in the picture, all I can see is teenage Brand, the boy who picked me out of the dirt and cleaned me off, all at the risk of getting in trouble. The sexy boy who grew into a sexy man, a man who fought hard for his country, a man who loved a woman he couldn’t have.

Even though he’s hardened and cautious now, he’s still good.

That’s why he doesn’t want me throwing myself at him, lowering myself to begging. He doesn’t want it that way.

It’s been so long since I’ve been around a good man, I didn’t even think about that.

I put my clothes away.

I head out to the living room and fold the towels in the basket, all the while watching out the window.

Brand grows sweaty and takes off his shirt.

The sun beats down on his shoulders and back, tanning him even more. I literally ache to go out there and smooth sunscreen over his shoulders, running my hands over that rippled muscle, running my fingers over those fucking words.

I stand on a wall to protect what is mine.

I swallow hard.

The sun glints on his honey-blond hair, and a sheen of sweat appears on his forehead. He stretches, and leans back once again, his muscles flexing with every movement.

His pole twitches, and he grabs it, reeling it in.

He pops a fish off the end of the line, then drops it into a bucket next to him.

I smile because he looks so satisfied.

He stretches one more time, then slowly climbs to his feet, careful not to twist his injured knee.

He grabs the bucket and dumps it out into the lake… and I see two other fish fall back into the water and I’m shocked. Why would he sit out there in the sun if he was only going to throw the fish back?

I ask him as much when he finally emerges in the house a few minutes later.

He glances up at me, his hair damp from the heat.

“Because I can clean them, but I doubt you know how to cook them. So why should I kill them for no reason?”

He limps past me, headed for the shower, and his simple answer warms my belly.