Broken (21 page)

My throat is dry, and not for the first time I think about how little my problems are compared to his. Compared to
any
soldier's.

Paul's hands move up and down my back as he continues to talk. “The papers all say it was torture. They have to, to explain my face, and why we weren't all left to die on the side of the road. But it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Not for me.”

“Paul. Don't minimize what you went through.”

He gives a sad smile. “But I'm alive, Olivia. Don't you get it? I'm alive and none of them are.”

“What happened…after?” I ask. I'm not sure that I want to know, but I do know that he needs to say it.

Paul swallows. “Alex died in front of me. He died with that gun in his hands, and I couldn't even go to him. I tried.” His voice breaks now. “I pulled and pulled at the damned ropes, screaming his damned name, telling him to hold on, that I'd help him. But I didn't help him. He just slumped to the ground, blood coming out of his mouth. He just stared at me.”

I'm full-on crying now. This is so much worse than I imagined, and I imagined a lot.

He keeps going. “You know how in the movies, you can always tell the second someone's life fades away? Like their eyes just…change? I couldn't tell. Alex lay there looking at me and
I couldn't even tell when he died.
”

I hug him harder, even though I know it can't take his pain away.

“They found us the next day. The fucking cavalry showed up too damned late. I guess I should be grateful they found me at all. In the hospital they told me that some kids had given them a tip about a couple ‘bloody dead white boys,' but the truth is I don't remember anything about the rescue mission, and I didn't care enough to ask.”

Paul falls silent for a moment before continuing. “I didn't care about anything for a long, long time. Not about the medical magic they worked to save my leg. Not about the plastic surgeon my father hired to do what he could with my face. The only time I felt anything was when Alex's wife came to see me.”

My heart lodges in my throat. “He was married?”

Paul pulls back to look at me. “Amanda. They'd been together since they were fucking fifteen. I'd met her once, at the Marine Corps Ball, and she was perfect for him. Ballsy and sweet and gorgeous.”

I wipe my nose on my sleeve.

“He's got a kid, Olivia. A little girl named Lily, and she's fucking sick. Cancer, the kind with the shitty treatment options and the even shittier prognosis.”

He pulls back then to look at me, his eyes shining with tears. “I do what I can to help them. The checks I get from my dad…they're not for me. They've never been for me. But the money doesn't replace Alex. It doesn't replace any of the people that die over there.”

“Paul—”

“I lied to her, Olivia. I told Amanda that Alex died admirably, and that much was true. But I also told her that it was over quickly and that he didn't suffer. I think she knew I was lying about that, but she held my hand so tight and said thank you, even though it was me that was home instead of her husband. I…I told her that he said to say he loved her. He didn't have the strength to have any last words, so I made them up. I made a up a man's dying words, Olivia.”

My hands frame his face, my thumb gently rubbing against the scars. “You did good, Paul. You did right by your friend and his family. He'd have wanted his Amanda to have that small bit of kindness.”

He lets out a harsh laugh as though he doesn't believe me. But he lets me hold him as he starts to cry.

And for now, that's enough.

“I didn't think this was possible, but your girlfriend is actually getting worse at darts the more she plays,” Kali says, setting another beer in front of me before plopping down in the seat beside me.

We've been at the bar for a couple of hours, and Kali alternates between tending the bar and coming to join us in the back of the room.

It takes me a full minute to realize that I didn't recoil at the word
girlfriend.
Olivia's not my girlfriend. She's my…

Shit. I have no idea what she is, but
girlfriend
sounds like both an overstatement and an understatement. Olivia is more than that.

And yet we have no future. Do we? I don't let myself think about it much. After that night by the fire when I told her everything, things have been…great. I almost don't let myself think it.

I wasn't lying when I told Olivia that back in Afghanistan, we were worried we'd jinx the situation if we actually acknowledged the bad stuff. And now? Now I'm even more terrified that I'll jinx what Olivia and I have by talking about the good stuff.

And it
is
good. It's all good. The sex, the talking, the shared runs. I even adore her special style of cuddling, just as long as her limbs avoid my vital parts. She's everything to me.

But I don't talk about it. I can't.

“Ugh, do
not
start that brooding thing,” Kali says, taking a sip of my beer. “Do you have any idea how much you've changed since that first night you walked into my bar when you picked a fight with a bunch of drunken hotshots? Don't you
dare
go backward on us now.”

Olivia lets out an outraged groan from the dartboard, and I shake my head when I realize that despite the dedicated tutoring of Darcy “Dart” Martinez, Kali is right. Olivia's actually getting worse.

She's having fun, though. And, surprisingly, so am I.

“Much better,” Kali says, waving her finger in the direction of my smile. “You do that every time you look at her, you know. Smile.”

I push her hand away. “Stop, you're starting to sound like a bad valentine.”

Kali flops back in her chair. “It's just so romantic. The beautiful angel swooping in to save the surly dickwad who's quite possibly a murderous recluse.”

“Ugly. Don't forget ugly,” I say without heat.

“Nah,” she says, nodding in thanks as one of her employees brings her a rum and Diet Coke. “You were
way
too pretty before. It was even hard to eat with all that nauseating perfection around. Now you've got a bit of character. It looks good on you.”

“You flirting with me, Kal?”

“Not today. Although I admit I
did
have a few fantasies about you coming across me after all these years and fainting over my beauty, realizing that I was the one all along.”

“Yeah?” I ask, giving her a wary look. Kali has always had this sort of unnerving way of speaking in a really sweet, genuine voice, and you get reeled in only to realize that she was yanking your chain the whole time.

“Sort of,” she replies with a quick smile. “But let's just say I gave up on that fantasy a couple of months after your dad bought the summer home you used to rent. I kept thinking that one day you'd show up at Frenchy's or my front door. But you never did. You never even called.”

I wince. “I'm sorry.”

The words don't feel like enough. She was once a good friend, and I shut her out the way I shut everyone out. I don't know how to explain how lost I was—at this point, anything I say will merely sound like an excuse. And I don't know how to explain what changed.

I don't know how to tell someone, even a good friend like Kali, that something as simple as Olivia's touch and smile melted away what so many psychiatrist appointments had failed to do.

“I'm sorry,” I say again.

Kali puts her hand on mine briefly. “It's okay,” she says. “I'll just say it's good to see you, and leave it at that.”

I give her a smile of gratitude. Not just at her understanding, but at the way she's brought both me and Olivia into her social circle. For the first time in years, I have friends. Just a handful of guys to grab a beer with, and we're not like braiding each other's hair or anything, but they knew me back before I was an ugly bastard and don't seem to mind that I'm not as pretty anymore.

Olivia all but skips over to our table, thrilled because one dart made contact with the board. Barely.

“I think I'm getting better!” she chirps.

“No,” Kali says, taking a sip of her drink. “You've been in four times this week, and you've
literally
shown no improvement. It's incredible, actually.”

Olivia wrinkles her nose at Kali and sips her wine. “Don't make me take my patronage somewhere else where the staff is more supportive of my sports skills.”

Kali holds up a finger. “First, darts? Not a sport. Second, if you can find another bar open in the off season that serves wine as good as mine, have at it.”

“That's true,” I say, tilting my head at Kali. “Frenchman Bay's not exactly a mecca of nightlife during the winter.”

“We should all go to Portland,” Olivia says, leaning forward excitedly.

“Yes!” Kali says, at the same time I say, “No fucking way.”

Both girls turn to glare at me. “Why not?”

“First of all, have you ever been to Portland?” I ask Olivia. “It's not exactly the Village.”

Kali rolls her eyes. “Quit making it sound like a one-horse town. I'm not suggesting there will be any celebrity sightings, but there are a couple of great wine bars, and restaurants that serve something other than onion rings.”

“No.” My voice is a little sharper than I intend, and I don't miss the way the two girls exchange a
what-the-fuck
glance.

Do they not get it?
Patronizing Frenchy's is one thing. The people here know my story; they know what to expect. This place is like 99 percent regulars, which means they all got a good look at my face that first night. Except for the occasional drunk gawker, I don't get a second look when I come in anymore.

But leaving Bar Harbor? I'd be all but begging for people to point and stare. I'd be openly inviting questions and pity and disgust.

Worse than that, people will wonder what the hell someone like Olivia is doing with someone like me. She's gorgeous and dazzling. I'm disfigured at best, monstrous at worst. Just because
I'm
finally at peace with myself doesn't mean that everyone else will be.

The last thing I need right now is Olivia getting a dose of what real life would be like with someone like me. Things are going too well right now.

I can't risk it. I won't.

And deep down, I know that once she figures out that the rest of the world won't be quite so accepting of her pet Frankenstein's monster, she'll want more. She thinks she cares about me, and I know that she does. But eventually she'll care about a normal life more. She'll want spontaneous trips to Vegas, winter cruises, and anniversary dinners. I can't give her any of that.

Olivia's future is glamorous Hamptons parties and pretty boys in suits. Mine is solitude and hole-in-the-wall bars like Frenchy's.

Kali distracts me from my ruminations with an annoyed yelp and goes dashing back to the bar, where her newbie bartender in training is sloppily mopping up beer that's all over the place.

Olivia turns toward me, her smile easy and adoring, the way it's been every day this week. She pulls me in for a playful kiss, and I let her. And then I deepen the kiss, a little bit out of want and a lot out of desperation. I know she'll leave eventually, and I'll do anything in my power to slow down that process.

Because once she's gone I'll be worse off than before.

I won't just be damaged.

I'll be hollow.

You know that point in every relationship where things are going really,
really
well, and you start to have the dangerous thought that nothing could ever go wrong, which pretty much guarantees that something
will
go horribly wrong, very, very soon? Yeah. That.

Anyway…

I have shin splits. I didn't even know that was a freaking thing, but let's just say the light one-to-three-mile jogs I've been doing over the past few months are Paul's idea of a
warm-up.
His leg's not all the way better yet. It still bothers him when he lands wrong, and then we have to take a walk break (oh, damn!), but for the most part the dude is a freaking running machine. We've run together almost every day since that first morning when I learned that he
could
run, and while I love every second of it, no longer am I matching my stride to his injured one. It's a whole new ball game, one in which the newbie runner struggles to keep up with the star quarterback and boot-camp legend Paul Langdon, who calls five miles a “quick run.” To say that he's got his mojo back is an understatement.

“Hurry up, Middleton!” he hollers from where he stands in front of the house, hands on hips, watching me limp up to him.

“I think someone broke my shins,” I say, panting.

He has the decency to look sympathetic. “Shin splits. The worst. We'll get you iced and take a day or two off.”

I gape at him. “By day or two, I'm assuming you mean a minimum of a week. It feels like my legs are shattered.”

He pats my butt as I go through the door in front of him. “Take it from someone whose leg practically
was
shattered. You're fine.”

“You get to play that card for a long time, huh?” I say.

“Um, yeah. Pretty much forever,” he says with an unrepentant grin.

Three months ago, I'd have bet my favorite Chanel purse that there was no way Paul Langdon would ever be able to joke about his injuries.

Not that it's a joking matter. At all. What he went through, what all soldiers go through, has nothing but my respect.

But maybe him joking about it means that he'll one day be able to lose that haunted look that still crosses his face from time to time.

“Do you want to see a movie today?” I ask, settling myself at the kitchen counter as he pulls two packages of frozen peas out of the freezer and plops them unceremoniously on my shins. “Is there even a movie theater around here?”

“Sure, it's right between the three-star Michelin-rated restaurant and the high-end couture mall. You haven't seen it?”

I make a face. “So that's a no.”

He peels a banana and hands me half. “Actually, I think there is a small theater in town. At least there used to be.”

“Ooh, yay! So you want to go?”

He nips the banana between perfect white teeth. “Nope.”

I frown, even though I've been expecting it. He never wants to go
anywhere
except Frenchy's, and as much as I tell myself that it's no big deal, that it's just because Bar Harbor doesn't exactly have a lot going on, somewhere in the back of my mind I'm terrified that it's so much bigger than that.

“What's the deal, Langdon? I can maybe understand why you weren't all gung-ho about going to Portland, but you refuse to try any other restaurant, you won't go over to Kali's when her new boyfriend is there, you won't go home with me for Thanksgiving, you won't go for a run in the middle of the day because there are too many people, and now you won't even humor me by going to a movie?”

He ignores me.

I knew he would, but I'm starting to get a constant knot in my stomach about the direction we're headed. The sex is great. The conversation is wonderful.

But there's just the two of us. All the time. With no plan of leaving
ever.
I get why he doesn't want to go to New York with me for Thanksgiving—it was a stretch to even ask. But this is getting ridiculous.

“How about a bookstore?” I challenge.

“You can buy books online. Free two-day shipping.”

“I need more running shorts,” I shoot back.

“Online.”

“I need my hair cut,” I say, a little desperately. “Can't do that online.”

He shrugs. “So go get your haircut.”

“Will you come with me?”

“Why would I come with you? My hair is like a centimeter long, and I can keep it that way myself with a buzzer.”

“But—”

“Drop it, Olivia.” His voice is sharp.

My mouth snaps shut and I look down quickly at the counter. And then, because there's also anger simmering beneath the pain, I toss the bags of frozen peas none too gently on the counter and stand. “I'm going to go shower.”

“ 'Kay.” He's fiddling with his cellphone and not even looking at me.

I bite back a sharp retort and mentally count to three, giving him a chance to pick up on the fact that he's being an ass.

One, two, three…

“Hey,” he says, still not looking at me. “I ordered the DVD set of
The Bourne Identity
series and it came yesterday. Want to have a marathon after we've showered?”

I wait. He still doesn't look up.

Okay. That's it.

I snatch the cellphone out of his hand so that he's forced to look at me. Instead of looking apologetic, he looks puzzled, and that is so much worse.

“No, I don't want to have yet another endless movie marathon, Paul. Nor do I want to spend all freaking day reading, or take another long walk that's just the two of us. I don't want to continue my chess-playing lesson, I don't want to try out the new audiobook subscription you got, I don't want to try my hand at video games, and I don't want to go to the gym again.”

“You said you liked chess,” he mutters.

“This isn't about chess! Or spy movies! It's not about whether or not I enjoy reading by the fire with you, which I do. It's that this isn't
healthy
! We can't just stay locked up in here forever.”

His eyes darken, and the wary confusion is replaced by defensive anger and stubbornness.

I start to panic a little, although there's definitely still mad in there too. With narrowed eyes I say, “Do you
ever
plan to take me to dinner, Paul? Are we ever going to go on a vacation, even a simple weekend getaway?”

His jaw tightens. “Olivia—”

“No, wait,” I say, holding up a hand. “Let me ask the question in a different way.
Are we ever going to leave this house?
”

He says nothing, but his blue eyes stay locked on mine, steady and completely unrepentant.

“Oh my God,” I say, taking a step back, feeling a little stunned despite the fact that the writing's been on the wall since day one. “You have no intention of leaving this house.”

He looks away.

“Ever?” My voice cracks.

“Look, why don't we go to the Cape? My dad has a house there, and—”

“Let me guess,” I interrupt. “It's completely secluded.”

“It's private,” he amends.

“I can't live like this!” I explode. “I can't spend my twenties holed up in the middle of nowhere.”

Paul stands, glowering down at me. “Since when? You knew exactly what you were getting into when you came here. Hell, it's
why
you came here, isn't it? To escape the world? To escape your guilt? And now that you've forgiven yourself and seen that your ex-boyfriend is just fine without you, you're changing the rules?”

“Yes! That's how it works, Paul. You deal with shit however you need to, and then you get over it. You move on.”

“I have moved on.” His arms fold over his chest.

“Bullshit.” I jab a finger at him. “I
thought
you'd healed, but really you've just added one more item to your recluse's collection.
Me.
”

He doesn't answer, and I let out a crazed little laugh. “You know, I was actually naive enough to think that I'd helped you. I let myself think that I'd successfully pulled you out of your little pit of despair. But it's the other way around, isn't it? You've merely pulled me into your vortex of fear and isolation.”

He reaches for my arms, but I pull back, and he rubs a hand across his eyes. “You
have
helped me, Olivia. Immensely. But that doesn't mean I'm ready to go face the world and deal with the pointing and the staring and the pity.”

“The only one doing any pitying is you. News flash, Paul: The rest of the world won't care what you look like if you don't care.”

“That's naive.”

“Okay, so some people will look twice. Some might whisper. But none of that matters.”

“Says the girl with the perfect, gorgeous face.”

“Fine,” I say, throwing up my hands. “Go ahead and hold that against me. That's a good one to hold in your back pocket to fuel your hate fire. Whenever you get close to living a normal life, you can just remind yourself that
you
have scars and nobody else understands. Is that the plan?”

“You don't get it!” he shouts. “Don't pretend like you understand!”

“I'm never going to understand what you've been through, Paul, or how you feel, but I do understand that the only person in control of it is
you.
And you're choosing the wrong path.”

He sneers a little. “So what was
your
big plan, that we'd move to New York together and walk hand in hand down Fifth Avenue, looking at the Christmas lights?”

I suck in a little breath, because actually that is a daydream of mine. It doesn't have to be Fifth Avenue, but yeah.
Sue me.
I picture walking hand in hand with the guy I love around my hometown. Showing him where I grew up, where I had my first kiss, taking him to my favorite cupcake shop.

But I'm an idiot. He won't even go to the movie theater.

He takes a long breath, clearly trying to get hold of his temper. “I'd never hold you back, Olivia. You want to go into Portland with Kali? Go for it. You want to go to New York every other weekend? Do that. Go get your hair done, browse the bookstore, and see whatever movie you want.”

“Alone,” I clarify.

He shrugs. “Or with friends. Whatever.”

“But not with you.”

His jaw tenses and he looks at his shoes. “Not with me.”

“Ever?”

He meets my eyes then, and what I see breaks my heart.

“Got it,” I say, swallowing around the despair. “So those are my options. I can live in the light without you, or stay here in the dark with you.”

Paul opens his mouth as though to protest, but then realizes the truth of what I'm saying. He slowly nods.

I close my eyes, trying to block out the pain, trying not to hear the desperate way he whispers my name.

He reaches out again, but I step back, and I see the flash of hurt on his face before he carefully lets indifference settle over his features.

Yeah, do that,
I mentally sneer.
Go ahead and retreat.
It's like all of the progress we made never happened.

“How long have I been here?” I ask, as much to myself as to him.

He shrugs. “A little over three months.”

I nod, mentally counting how much time's passed.

Long enough for fall to head toward winter.

Long enough for Paul to abandon his cane and his limp, and long enough for him to sit facing me in full daylight without trying to hide his scars from my view.

Long enough for me to realize that what happened with Michael and Ethan doesn't make me a horrible person.

Long enough for me to fall hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Paul, even though it's becoming painfully clear that the feeling isn't mutual.

But most important to
him
…

“You've fulfilled your father's requirements,” I say with a sad little smile. “I've stuck around three months.”

His face contorts in anger. “Don't.”

“Congratulations. You get your inheritance, or your blank check, or whatever it is you were out for.”

“Stop. That's not why—”

“Then
why,
Paul? Why have you kept me around all this time? Why have you pretended like you're fully human, when clearly you're still operating as half a man?”

He blinks, his head jerking back a little at my cruel words, but I don't take them back. I want him to hurt the way that
I'm
hurting. I want to hold up the mirror and force him to face the coward that he is.

“I don't want you to go,” he says roughly, moving quickly and pulling me to him before I can put distance between us. “Is that what you want to hear? You want to hear that I want you? That I need you? Because I do, Olivia. I need you.”

I place my hands on his chest, pushing slightly even as my eyes fill with tears. “I know.” My voice cracks. “That's why I need to go. This isn't right, Paul. Not for either of us. I thought you'd gotten rid of your crutch when you got rid of that damn cane, and when you lost some of the anger, but really you just replaced the old crutch with a new one. Now I'm the crutch.”

He shakes his head, not understanding.

I go up on my toes, pressing my lips to his, needing to touch him one last time.

Then I step back.

“I love you, Paul, but I won't live for you.”

“Olivia!” His voice is desperate now, his face anguished, but I keep moving backward, even as the tears flow in earnest now down my cheeks.

“Goodbye, Paul.”

I walk away then. I've done everything I can for Paul Langdon.

The rest is up to him.