Beautiful Broken (13 page)

I can see the way she goes tense when I say the words, and for a moment, I think I screwed up. But even if Scout and I are never more than we are in this moment, I can't be with Mel. She's not what I need.

"Why?"

"Because she needs more than a guy who will screw a girl in a club and then go on a date with her. And I need a girl who is worth enough to me that I won't be that guy."

Her head cocks to the side, toying with my words, and I'm quiet and still, letting her. What is she thinking? Will she be as happy—as relieved—as I am?

Then she turns to me, and a smile has curved her lips up, devilish and making me want to kiss her until she's panting my name.

My phone rings, and I glance down at it. Curse and step toward her, kissing her hard and deep before letting go and growling, "Your brother has the worst timing ever."

I release her and bring the phone to my ear. "Didn't I just talk to you?"

"Did you really buy my sister a Jeep?"

I blink. How the hell did he find out about that already? "Actually, she bought it herself. Why?"

"Don't split hairs, dipshit. That's not a really appropriate vehicle for Scout. You know what she's like—she'll get drunk and kill herself in something that dangerous."

A headache is forming behind my eyes. "I'm not really sure why you’re calling me instead of her," I say, honestly.

Atticus is quiet. I can hear him move around in his cabin. "She won't listen to me, Dane. She thinks I'm judging her—that I'm waiting for her to fail."

"Well," I say, "you are."

Silence. I can almost feel his defensive anger. I sigh. Turn away from Scout and her prying, watching eyes.

"She's trying, dude. She's going to meetings and avoiding triggers and she found a job—she's working hard to keep herself clean. Do you think you could maybe back off a little and support her?"

I can feel her watching me. I don't like this—being caught between the best friend I've ever had, and the girl I love.

"Do you really think she'll stay sober?" Atticus asks, and for the first time, I hear something like hope in his voice.

I look at her, clean and healthy, a little weight on her, hair adorable and falling in her face. Eyes clear and questioning as she meets my gaze. This is the girl I fell in love with without trying.

"Yeah. I really do. She wants this."

Atticus is quiet, and then: "What's going on there, man? What's different about this time?"

I could tell him. It’s the perfect time—tell him that I'm in love with her and that she wants me. Except, I don't want to be the only reason she stays clean. And I don't want to scare her.

And telling him means admitting something out loud that I've been ignoring for years. I'm not ready for that.
We're
not ready.

"Who knows? Does it really matter? She's clean and trying to stay that way. Support her."

It's not a request, and Atticus knows it. "I'll be home for Thanksgiving," he says, changing the subject. I nod; I expected that. It's gonna be a busy holiday this year, if Tripp and Heidi come into town too. "Avery is inviting the boys and Kelly for dinner."

"Have her call Scout—we might want to use the big house for it, since there are so many people this year."

"Is Tripp coming to town?"

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and turn in time to see Avery lick frosting off her thumb. Everything south of my belt tightens, and I shift, drawing her attention. "He might. Who knows with the old man."

She smirks as I approach her, and I meet it with a grin of my own. Put the water bottle down and grab the discarded container of frosting. Her eyes go wide when I smear the remains on her lips. I put Atticus on speaker and thumb the mute button. He's rambling about my dad—nothing I haven't heard before. I catch Scout's face in my hands and tilt her head back. Nibble at her sticky sweet lips, and slowly lick at her, cleaning her lips of the sugary frosting, dipping my tongue into her mouth with the barest of thrusts. She clutches my shirt, her nails digging into my pecs, and I hiss. Bite lightly on her lip. She moans, swaying into me as I grind my erection into her belly.

Foreplay is my favorite pastime. I'm damn good at it—I've been seducing women for longer than Scout's been driving. But this is maddening. I want her so badly I can taste it. Any other girl, the game would have ended days ago. I'd have slept with her and moved on.

"D?" Atti says, annoyed, and I grab the phone, hitting mute quickly.

"Sorry, I'm here."

"Busy day at the office?" Atti says, a grin in his voice. That's always been his sly way of asking if I was hooking up in my office.

I almost say yes. It'd be easier to say yes. But I can't—I don't want anyone thinking that right now.

I'm not ready to tell him about my feelings for Scout, but I'm not so much of douche that I want him thinking I'm screwing other girls, either.

"Nah, Tripp's been busting my ass about an upcoming case."

"I'll let you go work," He says.

"Don't worry about Scout so much, Atti. I'll take care of her."

Atti laughs, softly. "You've always been really good at taking care of my baby sister, man."

I hang up and shake my head. I haven't. That's the problem—I should have taken better care of her.

Scout is staring at me, hard, picking at a tiny piece of bread. "You didn't tell him about us."

"Hard to tell him about something that hasn't even been defined by us," I say, lazily.

"Do you want to define it?" Nerves flicker in her eyes, like she's not sure how to handle whatever I say next. And even though I'm ready to tell her yes, I back down. Because I can't scare her off.

"I just want to be with you, however you think that should be," I say, softly. "I don't need a definition to know I enjoy spending time with you."

"You don't spend time with the girls you sleep with, Dane. You screw them and toss them out."

I nod. I can't be angry when she's pointing out the truth. "You aren't those girls, though, Scout. This isn’t like that. And you and I both know it. I don't want you to be scared, but I'm enjoying this—the time we spend together even outside of my bed. I like being with you. Do you want to change that? Quit spending time with me?"

She shakes her head, quick and hard. Something tight and worried loosens in my chest, and I draw her close. "Then, for now, let's just go with what we've got. Okay?"

She nestles there, feeling so damn right it's crazy, and lets out a tiny sigh. "Okay."

I slip out of the Viper, and Dane leans across the seat to peer up at me. "Be careful in that thing, okay?"

"Quit worrying," I say, exasperated. "I'm just driving to work."

His expression eases a little, and he nods. "Text me if you can get away for lunch."

"I will." I shut the door before he can say anything else, because I know Dane—he'll go on and on with instructions for as long as I'll let him. And we're both running late this morning.

Yesterday had been good—we'd ended up watching movies on the couch and ordering pizza for dinner. Dane worked, lazily, and I wrote in the journal the group leader suggested, and it was a good, quiet day. The sort of quiet companionship that we hadn't had since I was in high school.

Jason called around six and asked if I could come in today to go over some paperwork and shadow him a bit. Which is why I was up so early, picking up my new Jeep and heading to work.

I smooth a hand nervously over my pencil skirt and tug my button-down straight. I have no idea what Jason expects for work attire, but I figure business casual can't hurt—and Dane's eyes went dark and hot when he saw me. So I was doing something right.

Curtis Interiors is downtown, a good ways away from the University. I park my Jeep across the street and take a deep breath. I want this. And I don't want to screw it up.

The office is lovely—a pale lavender with low-slung white couches and a small round glass coffee table. A neat white desk sits empty to side.

Jason steps out of the back. Without a baby on his hip and his best friend teasing him from across the table, he looks like the award-winning designer I've been studying for the past few months. A rectangle pair of glasses sits low on his nose, and he scans me with a quick, appraising eye.

Since he's wearing grey suit pants and a teal button-down with a gray tie, I'm suddenly glad I decided on the skirt and dress shirt.

"Come on into the back. We're actually closed today—you should know I don't work most Fridays. I like to be at home with the baby, and Jeff opens the Hill late on Friday, since we keep it open so late in the evening. But I did want to get a chance to talk to you, and get an eye for your design aesthetic."

"I know you hired me because of Avery. I really appreciate you taking a chance on me," I say, and Jeff waves a negligent hand.

"I hired you because I'm desperate and there aren't a lot of people in Branton looking to work in design. And most who are interested will leave after graduation."

"And you think I won't?"

He sits back in his chair. "You are Scout Grimes. Born and raised here. Your brother is a local professor. You've had a rocky few years, but spent the past three months in rehab and are now living with Dane Guillot—another local and family friend. Your best friend is Lou Randall. You and Atticus own a home on the outskirts of town that you've never tried to sell."

I blink staring at him, and he grins, mischievously. "I'm a bit of a gossip, and it's a small town. I did a little research."

"I can see that," I say dryly. He laughs. "So you’re basing my permanence on my ties to the community?"

He shrugs. "It's a gamble, Scout. But I like you, and something tells me you could use the chance to prove yourself. And I might not have mentioned—did I tell you I'm desperate? Because I'm very desperate. We just landed two big contracts. I'm thrilled about them, but if I don't get some help, I'll never get it all done."

He stares at me, another long assessing look, and I smile, setting my purse down. "So let's get started. What do you need me to do first?"

I spend the next few hours working on designing a large house on a computer program Jason gives me. He adds a few ideas, but mostly, he lets me work while he makes phone calls and orders couches. Around lunchtime, my phone vibrates, and I reluctantly drag my attention away from the room I've half finished. Dane's calling—I forgot to text him.

"What's up?" I say, half listening as I tweak the wall color.

"I take it you aren't going to get away for lunch today?"

"Probably not," I say. "Especially since I'm going to be leaving early for my session."

He's quiet, and I finally click the program closed, focusing on him. "What?"

"I didn't say anything," he answers, evenly.

"You manage to say more when you don't say anything than anyone I know," I shoot back. He laughs, and I shiver as the sound slides over me like warm honey. I don't have time for this—I need to focus on work and the meeting this afternoon.

"I'm just curious why you’re able to talk to a stranger, but refuse to talk to me."

"Because it is a stranger." I say, forcing my tone to soften. "And I don't even know that I'll be able to talk to her. This is just a test, D. I need to know if will help."

"I want to be the one who helps you," he says, so quietly I can pretend I don't hear him. So I do. I jump all over the ability to pretend, because I'm damn good at it. Avoidance is one of my best defenses.

"I've gotta go, Dane. I'll see you at home tonight?"

His voice is chilly and distant. I feel some of the intimacy we've shared over the past week slip. "Yeah. I'm going to work late, so I'm not sure when I'll be in. But I'll see you later. Call, if you decide you need anything."

He hangs up before I can answer, and my hands shake as I thumb my phone off. It wasn't fair—it was a parting shot he knew would leave me shaken and hurting. That he used it at all is infuriating. Why does it always have to be him? I don't know how to get him to understand that I need to be weak, broken, and I don't want him to see me like that.

I don't want him to save me—I don't want to
need
saving. And he doesn’t seem to understand that.

Jason leans into the room, clearing his throat softly. I flush, looking down at my phone. "Sorry."

"I’m not worried about a phone call, Scout. One of the perks of your own business—or working for a small business—is that I’m pretty relaxed about personal calls, as long as they don’t interfere with your work." He eyes me, his gaze uncharacteristically serious. "You seem upset."

"Dane has that effect on people," I say, forcing a smile.

Something flickers in his expression and I frown. "What?"

"Don't be offended, Scout, but Dane doesn't have the biggest fan in me."

I blink as his words settle. And then I am offended. "Why?" I ask, surprised at how calm my voice is—what I want to do is claw at his pretty little face.

"Well, you know he's responsible for Avery even meeting Atticus, right?" He pauses. "You do know about Avery and your brother, don't you?" I nod, and he grins. Tells me about the ad that Dane placed one night last spring when both of them were drunk off their ass.