Read Beautiful Broken for Free Online Page A
Authors: Nazarea Andrews
anyway.
I close my eyes, ignoring the tears in my eyes, snapping the rubber band on my wrist as I try to sleep.
I don't get up to see him out. I'm awake—how the hell could I not be? But I lie in my bed, tense and unmoving as he showers and dresses and makes his coffee. Once, he pauses by my door, and I almost think he'll come in. But a minute later, he's shutting the front door, and I hear the Viper roll down the driveway.
I lie in bed for another twenty minutes, nerves stringing tighter and tighter. Even though it's Dane's house, and that has always been synonymous with safety, I can't relax. So I slip from bed and hurry to the front doors, checking the locks.
Of course he's locked the door. He'd never leave me exposed like that.
A smile tilts my lips up, and I go to the fridge, pouring a cup of OJ before I retreat to my bedroom.
There's a note stuck to my door, Dane's scrawl messy and familiar.
If you want to work with Curtis Interiors, call Avery. She can probably help.
D.
I crawl back into bed and dial his number.
"I didn't mean to wake you up," he says immediately, his voice rough and tired. It pulls at things low in my belly, and I shift in bed.
"You didn't," I lie. "I got up for some OJ—must have just missed you."
"Did you need something?"
"Why can Avery help? How?"
His voice is a husky laugh, burning through me. I shouldn't have called him from bed. It's a bad idea—making me think things I can't afford to.
"Call her and find out. I'll text you the number."
I hesitate, and I think he'll end the call. But he doesn't. He's there, quiet as he drives across town. Or maybe he's already at his office, and he's just humoring me. It's not a long drive.
"Where did you go?" I ask, softly. Immediately hating myself for asking.
He sighs. "Scout, don't ask me that. I don't want you to look at me like that."
"Like what?" I demand.
"Like a whore," he says, without inflection. "Like I'm only good for a one night stand. Even if it's true, that's not what I want you to see. I wish..." He trails away, his voice unusually soft.
"I don't," I whisper. "I've never seen you as that. I couldn't—you are so much more to me. Don't you get that?"
"I'm not," he says. I can hear loathing in his voice that he's not even trying to hide from me. "Don't see more in me than is here, Scout. I'm not a good guy. If I was—" He cuts off abruptly. "I'll be home late. I have to meet Mel for dinner," he says, the softness fading from his voice. He's gone before I can tell him that it wasn't his fault.
What happened to me wasn't his fault.
I close my eyes. I hate that he thinks that—that he is killing himself over it, all these years later. And yet, it’s not terribly surprising.
Dane has always been really good at absorbing the pain of those around him. And since he was the one to find me—is it any wonder he thinks it’s his fault?
My phone vibrates in my hand.
Dane : 871-7021. Call Avery.
That's it. He's shutting himself off, for now. And as much as I hate it, I have to let him. If I want space, I have to be willing to give it.
So I get up and make a bagel and dial the number.
"Hello?"
Avery's voice is warm and sleepy, melodic and beautiful even first thing in the morning.
"This is Scout," I say, awkwardly.
"Oh! Hi!" She sounds startled, but pleased, and I wonder if I shouldn't give this girl a chance. For Atti's sake. "What can I do for you, Scout?"
"Um. Dane told me to call. I mentioned wanting to get a job at Curtis Interiors, and he said you might be able to help. Not really sure why."
She laughs, and I frown. "I'll make some calls. Want to meet for lunch?"
I agree, and we make plans to meet at a local sandwich shop—close to UB, but not on the campus. It's a minor distinction, but it matters to me.
Avery is running a few minutes late. I find a table for us, and a waiter swings by to drop off menus. Next Best Thing is crowded with college students breaking away for a decent lunch,
I close my eyes, ignoring the tears in my eyes, snapping the rubber band on my wrist as I try to sleep.
I don't get up to see him out. I'm awake—how the hell could I not be? But I lie in my bed, tense and unmoving as he showers and dresses and makes his coffee. Once, he pauses by my door, and I almost think he'll come in. But a minute later, he's shutting the front door, and I hear the Viper roll down the driveway.
I lie in bed for another twenty minutes, nerves stringing tighter and tighter. Even though it's Dane's house, and that has always been synonymous with safety, I can't relax. So I slip from bed and hurry to the front doors, checking the locks.
Of course he's locked the door. He'd never leave me exposed like that.
A smile tilts my lips up, and I go to the fridge, pouring a cup of OJ before I retreat to my bedroom.
There's a note stuck to my door, Dane's scrawl messy and familiar.
If you want to work with Curtis Interiors, call Avery. She can probably help.
D.
I crawl back into bed and dial his number.
"I didn't mean to wake you up," he says immediately, his voice rough and tired. It pulls at things low in my belly, and I shift in bed.
"You didn't," I lie. "I got up for some OJ—must have just missed you."
"Did you need something?"
"Why can Avery help? How?"
His voice is a husky laugh, burning through me. I shouldn't have called him from bed. It's a bad idea—making me think things I can't afford to.
"Call her and find out. I'll text you the number."
I hesitate, and I think he'll end the call. But he doesn't. He's there, quiet as he drives across town. Or maybe he's already at his office, and he's just humoring me. It's not a long drive.
"Where did you go?" I ask, softly. Immediately hating myself for asking.
He sighs. "Scout, don't ask me that. I don't want you to look at me like that."
"Like what?" I demand.
"Like a whore," he says, without inflection. "Like I'm only good for a one night stand. Even if it's true, that's not what I want you to see. I wish..." He trails away, his voice unusually soft.
"I don't," I whisper. "I've never seen you as that. I couldn't—you are so much more to me. Don't you get that?"
"I'm not," he says. I can hear loathing in his voice that he's not even trying to hide from me. "Don't see more in me than is here, Scout. I'm not a good guy. If I was—" He cuts off abruptly. "I'll be home late. I have to meet Mel for dinner," he says, the softness fading from his voice. He's gone before I can tell him that it wasn't his fault.
What happened to me wasn't his fault.
I close my eyes. I hate that he thinks that—that he is killing himself over it, all these years later. And yet, it’s not terribly surprising.
Dane has always been really good at absorbing the pain of those around him. And since he was the one to find me—is it any wonder he thinks it’s his fault?
My phone vibrates in my hand.
Dane : 871-7021. Call Avery.
That's it. He's shutting himself off, for now. And as much as I hate it, I have to let him. If I want space, I have to be willing to give it.
So I get up and make a bagel and dial the number.
"Hello?"
Avery's voice is warm and sleepy, melodic and beautiful even first thing in the morning.
"This is Scout," I say, awkwardly.
"Oh! Hi!" She sounds startled, but pleased, and I wonder if I shouldn't give this girl a chance. For Atti's sake. "What can I do for you, Scout?"
"Um. Dane told me to call. I mentioned wanting to get a job at Curtis Interiors, and he said you might be able to help. Not really sure why."
She laughs, and I frown. "I'll make some calls. Want to meet for lunch?"
I agree, and we make plans to meet at a local sandwich shop—close to UB, but not on the campus. It's a minor distinction, but it matters to me.
Avery is running a few minutes late. I find a table for us, and a waiter swings by to drop off menus. Next Best Thing is crowded with college students breaking away for a decent lunch,
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