Beautifully Broken: If You Leave Part 9

"You missed out." She shakes her head. "She just said yes."

Why does that annoy me so much? Maddy looks up and catches my gaze, her cheeks flushing. Why do I bother her so much? What the h.e.l.l did I do last night?

"I don't own her, Jace," I finally answer. "She can date whoever she wants."

"But I want her to date you," Jacey says. "You don't even know how perfect you are for each other." I just roll my eyes and turn back to Brand.

We watch Jacey walk off and then Brand looks at me.

"You're going to f.u.c.k him up, right?"

I know he's not talking about the candy-a.s.s who just asked Madison out. He's talking about the little a.s.shole giving my sister a hard time. I stare at Brand levelly over the rim of my beer bottle.

"Yep. If he comes anywhere near her."

Brand nods in satisfaction. "f.u.c.king p.r.i.c.k. Jacey's gotta stop dating those losers."

"I know," I agree. "She's got to stop dating so many guys, period. She needs to be more discriminating. Jesus."

Brand looks at me, his expression suddenly serious.

"You know, it might help you to be here. It's a good place for you to try and get back on your feet, to get healthy again, you know?"

A knot forms in my throat and I ignore it. I nod wordlessly as I stare out the window. I don't like talking about this s.h.i.t, not even with Brand.

"I know what it's like," he reminds me. "Everyone's got demons. You and I just happen to share ours. And dude, it's not your fault. And it's not my fault. We got served a s.h.i.t sandwich that night. You've got to stop blaming yourself for it. Mad Dog wouldn't want that."

"Mad Dog can't want anything," I tell him grimly. "He's dead. And if I hadn't been distracted..."

"No," Brand interrupts. "No. Just stop right there. There's no way we could've known what was going on. Not you, and not me either. You've got to deal with this and move on, Gabe. Trust me, I know."

I stare at him for a minute before I finally nod. He's got a point. It really might help me to be here. And he does know what he's talking about. When we first came back from overseas, Brand signed up for extensive PTSD therapy, while I opted out. For one thing, I think therapy's a bunch of bulls.h.i.t. For another, they can't fix me like they fixed Brand. What happened wasn't his fault. It was mine.

"Fine," I agree. "I'll try to deal with this. How's your foot?"

That night... the night that we both would like to forget, has left lasting scars on the both of us in different ways. The explosion that blew apart our Humvee broke every bone in Brand's left leg and foot, basically crushing it. The doctors had to reconstruct the entire thing and now it's more steel and screws than it is bone. Brand still walks with a barely discernible limp.

"It's getting better," he answers. "Still hurts like a b.i.t.c.h, but you know what they say. Pain is just weakness leaving the body."

"You're a crazy summab.i.t.c.h," I tell him. "You know that, right?"

"Uh-uh," he answers, shaking his head. "I pa.s.sed the psych test with flying colors when we discharged. I'm certifiably sane. True story."

I roll my eyes. "Nope. You just know how to act that way. True story."

Brand laughs and throws a twenty on the table as a tip for Jacey.

"Isn't that a bit much?" I raise an eyebrow. He shrugs.

"It's her birthday. And she's always broke. That girl seriously can't manage her money. She needs to get her a.s.s back in school so that she can get a job where she makes more of it."

I shake my head at the mere thought of my sister's fickle career plans.

"If she made more money, she'd probably just spend that too. She's changed her mind a thousand times. But she'd better figure it out soon. She can't wait tables forever."

Regardless of my harsh words, I toss a tip down too. She does need the money.

Brand hesitates before he walks away. "I mean it. Take some time off."

Jacey's nowhere to be seen, so I shoot her a text, telling her that I'll see her later tonight. I take a step for the door, and then get an idea.

Taking the extra receipt lying on the table, I scribble a note and then my cell number before I fold it over and walk it to the burly guy tending bar.

"Could you give this to Madison?" I ask him. He stares at me curiously, but holds his hand out for the note.

"Sure," he answers, questioning me with his eyes.

"Thanks," I reply, handing it to him, not offering him an answer.

I leave without looking back, climbing into my Camaro.

It's not a practical car, but I always wanted one, so when I discharged from the Rangers I bought one brand-new... sort of as a consolation prize for giving up my dream job. It's a bada.s.s car, but it's not nearly good enough to make up for the life I lost.

One single night changed my life forever.

One f.u.c.king night.

And the worst part is that even though it was my fault, if we'd been better protected, Mad Dog would still be alive and Brand's leg wouldn't have been destroyed.

None of that can be changed for us now. But if we can change it for future soldiers, we'll try like h.e.l.l to make it happen. All we have to do now is finish designing the product, get another investor so that we can have prototypes made and then successfully pitch it to the Pentagon.

Easy.

I light up a cigarette as I blow down the quiet highway. Everything here in Angel Bay is quiet and uneventful; barely anything happens. This really might be what I need to get my s.h.i.t straight.

And it doesn't hurt anything that this is where Madison is.

I grin at the sheer f.u.c.king coincidence of it all.

And then I grin again at the note that I left for her.

We need to finish what we started.

Chapter Seven.

Madison

I grit my teeth as I think about those words, color flooding my cheeks as I let Gabriel get to me once again.

We need to finish what we started.

Who the h.e.l.l does he think he is? Oh my G.o.d. He's so f.u.c.king arrogant. He thinks he can completely ignore the fact that he turned into a crazy person the other night, offer me no explanation whatsoever, stroll into my restaurant and just find me waiting to f.u.c.k him?

He's crazier than I thought he was.

I look into the mirror as I put in my earrings, the diamond studs that I wear when I want to dress up. They were the last gift that my parents gave me before they died, a college graduation present.

I study myself now. My hair is pulled into a loose chignon at the nape of my neck, I'm wearing lipstick, a little black dress, and kick-a.s.s black strappy heels. I'm the perfect picture of a date.

And h.e.l.l no. I'm not going out with Gabriel. He thinks he can come in and shove someone around in my restaurant and I'll just fall at his feet in grat.i.tude? He's crazy. The Hill already had one bully, and he's been dead for four years. We don't need another one.

The memory of Gabriel's face as he slammed Jared against the door causes my stomach to clench. He almost seemed to like it. He liked having Jared at his mercy. I squeeze my eyes closed, then open them again, refocusing.

No more thinking about Gabriel.

Ethan is making me dinner tonight and d.a.m.n it, I'm going to like it. Or at least I'm going to pretend like h.e.l.l that I do. I sigh and pick up my black clutch, turning the lights off and heading out to my car.

Screw it.

Other people's perceptions don't usually bother me at all, but for some reason I really hate the idea that everyone thinks I don't have a social life. I don't have a social life because I haven't met anyone who makes me want one.

It only takes ten minutes to drive across our little town and Ethan meets me as I walk up to his door. He's wearing a light-blue V-neck sweater that complements his eyes and slim black pants that complement his a.s.s. I should be attracted to him.

So why aren't I?

"I'd thought you'd be right on the lake," I tell him as he greets me. "I'm surprised you'd live in one of these new condos."

He smiles and takes my sweater.

"I know. But my schedule's too crazy to take care of a cottage. I'm pretty much a slave to the hospital."

I stare at him, marveling once again that people put their health (and their very fragile babies) into his large and clumsy hands. I can't help but tell him that very thing.

He laughs good-naturedly. "Oh, Maddy. You've got to get to know me again. I think you're gonna be pleasantly surprised."

As we walk into his condo, I have to admit that I am pleasantly surprised by it. Everything is so sleek and modern; and everything is neat and clean. It's not what I was expecting, based on the guy Ethan used to be. As hard as it is for me to imagine it, maybe he really has grown up.

"This is gorgeous," I tell him as I turn around, taking it all in. "A very grown-up condo."

He chuckles. "It suits the grown-up man who lives in it."

I stare at him. "Touche. All right. I admit it. I'm going to have to try and see you in a different light, not like the boy who ate a gra.s.shopper."

He rolls his eyes. "Seriously. Am I never going to live that down? I was ten years old! A lot changes in fifteen years, Madison."

We laugh and he sits me down on a sleek sofa while he pours me a gla.s.s of wine. "I hope you like red," he says as he hands it to me. "We're having veal so I paired it with a nice merlot."

"That's perfect," I tell him as our fingers touch. "And very grown-up. I love merlot."

He grins, then excuses himself to go check on the food. The delicious smells coming from the kitchen make my mouth water.

"It's such a surprise to find out that you can cook too," I call across the room. The condo is an open design, so I can see everything he's doing. He chuckles as he closes up the oven and then comes around the kitchen bar top with the bottle of wine.

"I'm good with my hands," he tells me suggestively as he sits next to me. "Trust me." I have to smile.

"OK. You really have changed. You weren't this flirty in high school."

Ethan stares at me, surprised. "I was too! Just not with you. You scared the s.h.i.t out of me. I wanted to ask you out for four years straight, but I was afraid you'd crush me if I ever did. You were out of my league."

I'm the surprised one now. "Out of your league? You know that everyone called you Ken, right? As in Ken doll... because you were so perfect?"

He's interested now, staring at me intently. "Tell me more about this," he grins.

I laugh and we chat and suddenly everything feels like old times again, just like when he used to come to my house with groups of our friends and hang out for bonfires on the beach.

The problem is, it feels just like old times. I don't feel any chemistry with him now, just like I didn't back then.

"So, what do you do for fun, Ethan?" I ask politely, sipping at my wine. He mimics the motion, sipping his.

"I don't really have time for much," he admits. "My time is pretty much all taken up by the hospital. If I'm home, then I'm sleeping or watching TV for a minute. I have very little free time."

"Yet you're spending an evening with me," I point out. Ethan grins.

"See? You should feel flattered."

I practically sigh aloud as I ignore the way he keeps edging closer to me. It's apparent that he's not having the lack-of-chemistry problem that I'm having.

To make matters worse, he's probably used to women at the clinic throwing themselves at him for the simple reason that he's a good-looking doctor. He's not used to rejection because those nurses and nurse's aides and patients... they don't care that he's boring as h.e.l.l and just lives to work. All they see is the "MD" on his name tag.

They don't care that he lacks a spark. They don't care that he'd never slide his hand between their legs in a taxi. They don't care that he would never f.u.c.k their mouths with his tongue while the cab driver sneaks glances in the rearview mirror. My cheeks explode into flame.

f.u.c.k. Why am I thinking about Gabriel again?

And worse, why do thoughts of him turn me on so freaking much?

I'm almost relieved when dinner is finally ready, when I can step away from Ethan, when I can stop pretending to be interested in what he's saying. When I can stop pretending that I'm not thinking about someone else.