Page 8 of Dirty Like Brody
We made a sharp turn into the small parking area in front of the Flying Beaver, a little restaurant and bar on the water where the floatplanes docked, and panic started to rise. This whole thing was spinning way, way out of control. Because apparently I was about to be trapped in a very small plane with a very pissed off Brody for the next couple of hours, andhedidn’t even want tobehere.
“I told Jesse I’d take the ferry to the island. He was going to have a carmeetme—”
“Yeah, well, you’relate.” He parked us at the curb and cut the engine, popping off hisseatbelt.
“I was at a shoot, Brody. It ran late. I couldn’t just bail in themiddleof—”
“Do not saymyname.”
I blinkedathim.
What?
“Go ahead and say and do whatever the fuck you’re gonna do,” he said, “but you do not get to say my name.” When I just gaped at him, he turned to me and leaned in, so close I could see the silvery-gray flecks around his pupils, and said in a low voice, “You wanted it, I’m giving it to you. Exactly what you’ve been asking for the lastsix-and-a-halfyears with a whole fuckload of silence.Consider me deadtoyou.”
I stared at him, speechless. At the lines of repressed rage on his handsome face; the coldness in those darkblueeyes.
“You’re… you’re angry with me,” Istammered.
He grunted derisively. “We can’t just go from being strangers to best friends, princess. Doesn’t fucking workthatway.”
Princess.
He used to call me that, when we were young. It wasn’t a derogatory term, the way he saiditnow.
I looked out the window and sniffled a bit. It was the rain making me sniffly. It wasn’t his words that were making my eyes itch and blink, my stomach twist itself inknots.
When had Brody become such anasshole?
Right… Probably around the time I “disappeared.”
I knew that. I knew this was my fault. That I’d treated himbadly.
No, not badly. Badly was when you forgot to tip a really decent waiter. Badly was cutting someone off intraffic.
I’d treated Brodyhorribly.
Horrendously.
I took a breath and looked at him again, watching him pocket his keys and generallyignoreme.
“We are not strangers,” I said softly. “We neverhavebeen.”
He looked at me briefly. “I don’t know you,” he said, and my heart crushed in onitself.
“If you don’t know me now,” I told him, trying to keep my voice from wavering, “youneverdid.”
“You’re right. I didn’t.” He started to openhisdoor.
I reached to stop him, catching his leather sleeve, and he stiffened like I had the fucking plague. Those ice-cold eyes lockedonmine.
I shrank back in my seat, letting him go. “You don’t need to do this, you know. I can just take a cab to theferry.”
He slammed the door shut and swore under his breath, an angry muscle ticking inhisjaw.
“Let me tell you what I know,” he said, turning to me, his elbow on the steering wheel so his broad shoulders seemed to take up all the space in the cab. “What I know is exactly how fast and how far you can run. What I know for fucking sure is exactly what it does to the people you leave behind when you do, and I am not spending this weekend scraping together a trail of shit when you ruin Jesse’s wedding. So if you wanna hate me for it go ahead and hate me, but if you think you’re going to the ferry, you’ve got another fucking thing coming. You’re doing this my way and that’s all the fuck there istoit.”
Holyshit.
