Beautiful Broken (2 page)

Dane

The thing about Scout is that you can never really predict how she'll react. Hearing that her brother was divorcing the woman who had been part of our lives for so long, and risking his career for a girl that Scout doesn’t know—even under the best circumstances, Scout would struggle with that.

"He's serious about her?"

I nod, shifting gears. "Yeah. If it helps at all, I think she cares about him. She isn't another Nik."

"That doesn't help, actually," she says, glancing out the window. Her fingers are snapping that band around her wrist again, the tattooed skin red.

Without thinking, I reach for her hand and pull it to my lap.

Surprise makes her stiff, her breath catching in her throat. Shit. I should have probably thought that one out. But too late now to do anything but play it off as nothing.

"What's your plan now?" I ask.

Her fingers, on my thigh, twitch. "Get a job? I can’t go to Branton, not until next semester at the earliest, and it’d be good to have something to distract me until then."

"Have you thought about where you'll stay?" I ask.

I can't believe she'd want to go to the dorms. After that night, I'd pushed to get an apartment— we took a financial hit moving out mid-semester, but that didn't bother me. Getting Scout out of that dangerous environment was the only thing that could matter.

"I'll stay with Atti. Or get an apartment."

Stay with me
. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow hard. What the hell am I thinking? This is Scout, not one of the idiots at the club, or Melanie. She's my best friend's sister, and I need to get a grip before I scare her.

"Avery spends a lot of time at Atti's place, but we can get you set up somewhere," I say nonchalantly. She wilts in her seat, and pulls her hand from my leg, curling deeper into her seat. She's not going to like this but it has to be said. "And a group meeting. I'll go with you, if you want."

"I don't need that, Dane," she says, her voice dangerous.

"You don't
want
it. And I get that. But you've been clean about five minutes. A little help can't hurt you."

She twists to stare at me, her expression fierce and tragic. "You know it won't stick, don't you? That's why Atti isn't here—because this is just a waste of everyone's time. It's only a matter of time before I relapse."

"Scout, no one gets to decide that but you. It's your sobriety—you decide if it's something you want or if the high is worth everything you've gone through the past six years."

Tears fill her big green eyes, and I look back at the road. "If you want sobriety, I can help you. I want to help you."

"And if I don't? If it's too much? My dealer just tried to pick me up from rehab, Dane. What about that screams sobriety?"

There isn't a safe answer for that. If I threaten, she could lash out just to see if I'll stand by my threats. If I'm too soft, she'll never believe it. So I settle for a noncommittal shrug and keep on driving.

I love Branton. It's weird, because so much happened here—shit I can't undo or take back. The whole city is covered in memories—the little salon where Nik and I would go to get our nails done before her dates with Atti. The ice cream shop Dane and I went to every weekend and shared a ginormous ice cream sundae before he cleaned the Viper. The biking trail Dad and I used to wander. The university pool where Lou and I would work on our tans and watch the college boys swim.

The whole city that became our backyard during the summers. And despite the fact that there are bad memories—ones I can't bear to think about—there are so many good memories that I can't help the little surge of excitement as Dane drives through the streets.

"The Pumpkin festival is coming up," I say, craning my head back to read the sign as we pass Main Street.

"Yup. The whole fucking place will smell like rotted pumpkins in a few days. And we'll have to worry about the damn gators coming up to investigate."

I snort. "This used to be your favorite festival," I say.

Dane glances at me, faintly amused. "I used to be twelve."

He takes a left off of Main Street, headed away from the hub of the city, away from the college and the memories that come with it. It's not possible to forget everything, but Dane's house is a safe place. It's always been a safe haven. Does he realize that?

Atticus' truck is in the driveway when Dane eases the Viper in. He kills the engine and I sit there. I feel stuck—part of me wants to dash in and throw myself at my brother, cry and explain everything that has been chasing me for the past half dozen years. Another part is so terrified I can't move. My nerves are stretched tight, and I wish—not for the first time—for a smoke. Anything, even a cigarette, will take the edge off the fear cresting in my chest. Stealing the air from me Dane shakes my knee, breaking me from my thoughts. "He doesn't bite. He's here for you. Remember?"

I nod, a jerky, almost hysterical motion, and I see the concern in his eyes for a split second before it's shuttered off.

"Do you need him to go?"

"No," I croak, and he hesitates for a heartbeat, giving me a chance to change my mind. When I don't, he shoves the door open and steps out of the car into the sunlight.

Dane

I follow her up the walkway. She seems to have left her fear in the car, and she walks with the cocky sway I know in her—a bluster as much as my asshole attitude in the clubs. I don't call her on it. Let her take whatever she needs to get through this first reunion.

Atticus is waiting in the living room, Avery curled against his side, her blonde hair messy. I hope they didn't screw on my couch—she has a freshly fucked look about her that annoys me.

"Hey, Atti," Scout says awkwardly, stopping abruptly. I almost smack into her, brushing against her as I swerve toward the kitchen.

I need a drink.

"How you feeling, sis?" Atticus asks, his voice cautious and hopeful.

"Uh, sorta gross. Dane, can I take a shower?" she calls, lifting her voice.

"Stay out of my bathroom," I call back, and she laughs, a soft noise that warms me. I shake my head, hard. Swallow a shot of SoCo and reach for a beer.

Avery is eyeing the drink. "Is that gonna be a problem, with Scout here?" she asks.

I stare at my best friend and the girl he loves. The girl he threw everything away for. If I had known, last May, how things would turn out—would I have placed that stupid ad?

Yes. Because Atticus deserved to be happy. And God knew he never would be with that harpy he married.

"Scout isn't staying here. So it shouldn't be a problem."

Avery darts a glance at Atticus, and I lower my drink, slowly. No. Hell, no. Even if some part of me wanted it, I know he wasn't about to suggest...

"She needs some accountability, Dane," Atticus says.

Shit. He was. "I'm a lawyer, Atticus. Not a damn babysitter or sober companion." I lift the beer, wave it mockingly. "And this isn't the best sober environment for Scout."

"It's just a month. Till the end of the fall semester when Avery graduates. I'll move home and take care of her."

"Dammit, Atticus."

"She'll relapse if she's left alone," Atticus says, quietly, and I know it's true. That's the hard part. I
know
he's right. And even though I know it's a stupid thing to do—the stupidest thing I've done in years—I breathe a curse.

"She could relapse before then," I snap, and I tell him. About Keith and the hunger in her eyes as she watched him. She’s clean—but there is no promise she’ll stay that way.

"That’s why she needs you, Dane. She needs someone who understands," Atti pleads. I flinch, hating that he’s right. I do understand. I don’t want to. But I’m the one who’s been in her shoes—and I know what’s driving her, better than Atticus ever could.

"Fine. One month, Atti. Then you get your ass home and take care of your sister. Do you understand?"

Atti's expression—sheer relief—is enough to convince me I'm doing the right thing. I'd do just about anything to see that look on my boy's face.

Her scent precedes her down the hallway. Light, clean, and softly citrus—so feminine it makes my head spin.

A month. A whole month of her in my house, and my perverted thoughts. Oh, god, I was going to go to hell for this.

Scout

I lick my lips, snap my rubber band, and stare at my brother, unblinking. "I don't get it."

"Scout, I can't stay right now," Atticus says, his voice soft and pleading. Asking me to understand why he’s putting something—
someone
—before me. "Dane understands what you’re going through. He’s the best person to help you."

I flick a glance at Dane. It’s true, and Dane taking care of me is nothing new—but part of me still wants my brother. "You can finish the book anywhere."

Atticus is shaking his head. "I can’t, Scout. I need to some distance. I can’t stay in Branton right now."

"Because if you do, UB and Randall might realize you’re screwing a student," I snap.

"Scout," Dane says, amusement and warning in his tone. I make a face. "It won't be so bad. I mean, before graduation, you practically lived with me, and Atti was always with Nik."

I blanch. Did he really just bring that up? I swallow the acid rising in my throat, and say, hoarsely, "Yeah, that wasn't the best arrangement in the world, if I remember right."

"It's temporary, Scout," Avery says quietly, and my eyes narrow.

"Look, I know my brother likes you, and that's great and all, but I don't know you. I don't want to know you. I don't want your opinion on my life," I say bluntly.

Avery flushes, looking down. Atticus pulls her to him. I stand, cutting my brother off before he can start his lecture. Atticus is damn good at giving lectures.

"One month. If you aren't home, I'll find my own place. I'm not staying with Dane forever."

God knows, seeing Keith was going to be hella difficult with Dane around.

Scout takes long showers. Long, hot showers full of loud music.

It's almost as bad as living in the frat house again. Almost. At least I can make a decent cup of coffee to counter the hellacious singing. One month of her. Already, she’s putting her touches on the place—magazines on the couch, an un-rinsed cereal bowl and half empty carton of orange juice. A citrusy smell that I can only classify as Scout coming from the guest room.

How do I always end up with a Grimes in my guest room?

My phone vibrates on the counter. Melanie. My on-again-off-again girlfriend. Not that I ever called her that, not to her face. There's no point in encouraging her delusions.

"What's up, Mel?" I ask, sipping my coffee.

"My parents are having a get together this weekend—I want you to go," She says without preamble.

This is the problem. This meet-the-parents bullshit. I don't know where she got the idea that I even want to meet her parents. Or maybe it's that she doesn't care if I want to. She's so convinced that we'll become something permanent, it doesn't matter what I want.

Scout comes strutting out of the bathroom, and my eyes narrow, a smile on my lips. Maybe she can be useful. "I can't, Mel. I have some unexpected relatives in town."

Scout gives me an amused look, but thankfully keeps her mouth shut.

"And you didn't tell me? We should have a dinner party!"

For a smart girl, she's as dumb as a box of rocks. "No," I say sternly. "This is definitely not dinner party kind of people. I just need to spend some time at home."

Mel is quiet for a few minutes—silence stretches between us like a tangible thing. I make no effort to break it. I like silence. It's a natural state of being for me.

"Fine. I'll reschedule with my parents for next Wednesday. We have reservations at Chris Angelo. They can join us."

I don't respond, and she takes my silence as acceptance. She usually does.

Scout is standing by the fridge with a glass of orange juice, watching me with her big green eyes, clearly amused. As I hang up, she laughs, a mocking little laugh. "Why does a girl like Mel put up with your shit?"