Beautiful Broken (6 page)

"She likes you," Jason says, interrupting his story to make the observation. He glances at Avery. "Who wants to tell me what I'm doing here? Not that I mind a free lunch and babysitting, but usually my dates tend to the more male persuasion."

Avery rolls her eyes. "Shut up, Jason. This is Atti's sister. She's looking for a job."

His expression brightens, and he studies me with renewed interest. "A job, hmm? What do you do?"

"Not a lot of anything, honestly. I've been...distracted. School, life." I dart a glance at Avery, but she's staring at her menu, letting this play out without any more interference.

"Hm." Jason glances at Avery as well, something serious in his laughing eyes. The waiter makes a reappearance, and we place our order. Then the menus are gone and there is nothing but the three of us and this awkward, unlikely conversation.

"Well. I need someone with experience," Jason says, his expression apologetic. "And if you say you have none..."

"Jason," Avery says. He looks at her again, something wordless passing between them.

"Fine. You can do paperwork, billing?" He asks, the flaky demeanor vanishing, his expression turning serious.

I nod, swallow. "I'm good with computers and scheduling. And I want to learn."

"I'll be honest, Scout. I'm not looking to teach. But we'll see what we can do," he says. He smiles, an impish expression, and says to Avery, "You, lovely, owe us a weekend of babysitting."

Dane

I'm a bastard. I know it—know from the way my office staff is ignoring me as much as they possibly can—but I don't really give a damn.

She's been here three days, and she's already getting into my head, under my skin. It's a bad idea. I don't know why I agreed to it. I feel antsy, too tight in my skin. I want to score.

Jesus. She's got me that rattled, that I'm ready to go hunt down the nearest dealer at UB and pop a handful of pills.

My phone rings and I grab it, "Guillot."

"Dude. You sound tense. What's wrong?"

"You dumped Scout into my lap like I've got nothing going on in my life, and then you think asking what's wrong is a good idea. What the hell?"

Atticus laughs. "She's not so bad."

Then why am I the one dealing with her? "And yet," I say, my voice patronizing.

"How is she? Seriously."

There it is—the concern that Atticus is good at, when he can remember. Atticus is a good guy—one of the best, and a helluva a lot better than I'll ever be. But sometimes, he's a shitty brother. I should tell him about Kevin, but all that will do is bring Atticus back early, hounding her. She doesn’t need that.

"She's good. Avery is trying to get her a job today," I say.

"Why? She'll be starting school in a few months," Atti says, bewildered.

"Because Scout needs something to keep her occupied and away from drugs," I say patiently. "And don't push the school thing. It might not be what's best for her."

There's a moment of quiet and then: "What's going on there, Dane?"

I fill him in on our conversation, about Scout's hesitation to go back to school. I don't go into why the UB campus makes her so nervous. It’s not my story to tell.

My secretary, Glenda, knocks, her eyebrows raised. "Someone to see you, Mr. Guillot."

Thank God. "Atti, gotta go. Appointment."

"Do I need to come home?"

A few minutes ago—before he called—I was ready to pack her up and ship her to Atti's cabin in the middle of the woods.

Now the thought of her leaving me makes me want to panic. I shake my head before remembering he can't see me.

"No. She's solid. We're going to a meeting tonight. Just give her some space. Try to be accepting."

He sighs, but I know my best friend, and I know he's backing down for now. I hang up and call to Glenda, "Send in my appointment."

Scout breezes into my office in a short sweater dress, torn tights, and black knee high-boots. She's got on a little bit of makeup, her long black hair pulled into a high ponytail on her head. She looks amazing, like sex on a stick, and she's staring at me with a challenging gleam in her eyes.

"I thought I said I'd see you at home," I say, swallowing hard.

She closes the door behind her. "How did you know Avery could get me a job with Curtis Interiors?"

"Jason is one of her best friends. If anyone could, it's her," I answer.

Scout nods, dropping into the chair across from me. Her dress bunches under her, and when she crosses her legs, I get a tantalizing glimpse of tight-encased thigh.

Why the hell that would drive me crazy when she's been prancing around half-naked for three days doesn't make any sense. But it does.

"Dane?"

Her voice is different, and I look at her—really look.

"Yeah?" I ask, my voice rough.

"Did you ever talk to someone, after—after everything?"

I freeze and look at her. She's so small and fragile looking, despite the kickass boots and attitude. Without thinking, I open my arms, and she immediately comes and snuggles into my lap.

It doesn't mean anything. It's never meant anything—it’s just Scout and our weird almost-sibling relationship.

"No," I say hoarsely. "I thought about it. But—" I shake my head, and she burrows deeper into my chest, the smell of her filling my head. "I didn't. I self-destructed instead. It's something I'm good at."

"I think I should," she says softly.

And I nod. Because she should—we both should, even if I won't. "Dane?" she whispers.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry. For whatever I said that made you think you had to go fuck a stranger."

I groan. The combination of Scout, soft and pliant in my arms, her little body hot and pressed against mine, and talking about me having sex with someone—I couldn't stop my erection if I tried.

And with her in my lap, I can't hide it.

She tenses, and I freeze, trying to think unsexy thoughts—Atticus punching me, dead fish, Nik—and then she tilts her head up, peering at me.

Shit
.

"Did you need anything else?" I ask, voice low.

A little smile tilts her lips, and I don't think. I shift my legs under her a tiny bit, slip a hand behind her head, and kiss her.

Her lips are soft, deliciously full, and I suck the bottom one lightly into my mouth. Her hand is on my chest, the other on my thigh, and both are clenching and unclenching, driving me crazy. I lick at her lips, and she sighs, a softening that I want desperately to take advantage of. The tiny taste of her isn't enough—it's sweet and clean and tasting slightly of citrus.

I want more.

Instead, I force myself to pull away from her. She whimpers, and I drag her closer, hugging her to me as she shifts on my lap.

"You should go home, Scout," I whisper.

"Don't want to."

I laugh at the petulant tone, the glazed look in her eyes. "Go. I have to work." I kiss her forehead, and she wiggles against my cock. She smirks when I groan then stands.

Scout hesitates by the door, looks at me and opens her mouth, like she might say something. But she doesn't—just leaves without another word.

What the hell have I started?

Scout

It's one thing to say I want to talk to someone. It's another thing entirely to actually find someone. It’s funny, because I grew up here. I know this city better than any other in America. But finding a therapist is something completely different.

I call Louisa.

We both grew up around UB—her father is a professor there; he mentored Atticus. But before that, Louisa and I were in school together. From kindergarten on up, we were there. We were close until sophomore year, when everything in my life seemed to fall apart in a matter of weeks.

I never explained it to Louisa. But sometimes, I think she knew.

As I punch in the numbers, I grin. It's funny that years later, I still know my best friend's parent's house number.

"This is Stella, can I help you?"

I falter. For some reason, it didn't occur to me that Louisa wouldn't be the one to answer her parent's phone. "Hi, Ms. Stella. It's Scout."

"Oh, gracious, Scout! How are you, darling? Are you back in town? Atticus didn't bother to tell us."

"I am—for a while, anyway. Atti's been a little busy, with his work, you know."

For a few minutes, I'm engulfed in mindless chatter about Branton and the inner workings of a small Southern town. I promise to come by for sweet tea and a hug, and I realize that it's a little awkward, but I've missed it—the sense of belonging, the warmth and affection that comes with no strings.

Stella isn't nice because she knows I have drugs, or the money to buy drugs, or because she wants to sleep with me. She's just a sweet lady, excited to hear from me.

"Have you talked to Louisa?" she finally asks, and I seize on it.

"No, ma'am. I was actually hoping to get in touch with her."

"Sure. She's at class right now, but if you wanted to swing by the campus, she'll be at the Doctor's office in about thirty minutes."

I hesitate, and then: "Sure. That sounds great. I'll do that."

It doesn't sound great. It sounds like a nightmare. But I can't bear to disappoint Stella, and I want to see Louisa. I tighten my ponytail and fix my lipstick—Dane smudged it, and I'm really going to not think about that right now because just no.

Taking a deep breath, I head toward UB.

Being on campus is terrifying. There are clusters of students everywhere, and I stride through the Green without meeting their eyes, trying to be invisible. It doesn't work—I can feel them whispering, the kids I graduated from high school with, juniors now, and other students, who have never seen me before.

In a crowd of people wearing jeans and sweatshirts, my sweater dress and tights stand out. Screw that, though—I look amazing. If I didn't, Dane would never have kissed me.

I head to the History hall, almost running down the stairs.

I hate stairwells.

Louisa is talking to a guy, her hands dancing through the air as she makes some point that he's grinning about, as she walks toward her father's office.

"Hey, Lou!" I call.

She glances up, her eyes wide. There's a long second, uncomfortable and tense, where I'm not sure what she'll do. Then she shrieks, breaks away from the guy, and throws herself at me.

I laugh as she wraps me in a ridiculously tight hug. For a second, it's like the years haven't happened—it's only me and my best friend, no drugs, no secrets, nothing It's amazing.

Then she pulls away, a self-conscious smile turning her lips, and she stares at me. "What are you doing here?"

"I called your mom—she said it'd be a good place to find you."

"But when did you get back to Branton?"

"A few days ago? I'm staying with Dane for a few weeks until I get my own place."

There's a moment of silent surprise, and then: "You and Dane?"

"No!" I say, quickly and adamantly. "You know better—he's just a friend."

"That was six years ago, Scout. Things can change."

The guy she's with make a soft noise, and she turns to him. "This is my boyfriend, Luke Harrison."

"Nice to meet you," I say, extending a hand. He shakes it with a grin. "I'm the long lost friend."

"We'll have to go get coffee sometime," Luke says with a smile. He's got a nice smile, and his eyes don't wander, which is a huge point in his favor. "Babe, I gotta get to class."

Lou kisses him, quick and hard, and he grins once more in my direction before heading down the hall toward class.

"Come on in, Scout. Tell me what's been happening in your world."

I follow her into Dr. Randall's office. She tosses her bag onto the weathered sofa that's been there as long as I've known the Doctor. He's missing, and she goes to the mini fridge and fishes a bottle of water out. She offers me one, and I nod, catching it when she lightly throws it in my direction.

"So. You’re back. For good?"

I shrug. "Don't know yet. I guess we'll see."

"You look amazing," she says quietly, and I flush.

"I've been in rehab since July," I say. Her expression stays even, and I shrug again. "When I got out, Dane took me in. Until we figure out what I want."

"And you thought you should look me up," She says, leaning against her father's desk.

I stare at her, at the patient waiting in her gaze, the quiet acceptance. She looks like she did three years ago, the last time I saw her. Her black hair is shorter, sleek around her face, the clothes are different and the boy is new—but my Lou is still under those superficial changes.

"You said, once, that I was gonna wake up one day and need to face what drove me to drugs. That when I did, you would be waiting to help me."

Her eyes are wide when I look up at her.

"I didn't think you remembered that," She says softly.

I laugh, a little hysterical. "It was one of the few nice things anyone but Atti or Dane said to me in the past six years. Most people were just asking where they could score or if I wanted to give them a BJ."

Her expression twists, and I see pity in her eyes for a second. I shake my head. "Don't, Lou. It was my life—I chose it. It's not awesome, and it's not pretty, but don't pity me."

She takes a deep breath, and then: "So are you ready to face it?"

I nod, quickly, before I can change my mind. She looks away, but not before I see tears shining in her eyes.

Lou walks around the desk and scribbles a name and number on a sticky note then flips it over and scribbles her own. "This is a counselor a friend saw last year. She's really good—not too pushy, but she won't let you get away with evasions either. I'd suggest her."

I nod, reaching for the slip of paper.

"You should come by," I say before I can think. "Dane's place. It gets kinda boring, and I'd love to catch up."

Her eyes widen. I'm pretty sure she's remembering the last time she came by my place. I had been high as kite, a new guy pawing at me like I was a crackerjack box and he was trying to find the prize. I'd stopped kissing long enough to tell her to piss off.