Page 36 of Better than Famous

"Thank you." I picked up the cream-colored sweater. The fabric was incredibly soft, a blend of cotton and cashmere. "This is exactly what I needed."

"Go change," Brenna commanded, gesturing toward the short hallway. "Wash the three-in-one disaster off your face and apply the moisturizer. Then we’ll open the wine."

I gathered the clothing and the toiletries. I walked into the small bathroom, closing the door behind me. The bathroom mirror reflected a woman who had been living on borrowed time and borrowed clothes. I stripped off the oversized T-shirt and the shorts. I turned on the faucet and washed my face using the gentle cleanser Brenna provided. The scent of lavender and chamomile replaced the harsh, artificial smell of Ben’s soap.

I dried my skin and applied the moisturizer. The simple act of self-care grounded me. I pulled on the black leggings. They fit perfectly, hugging my legs without cutting off my circulation. The bra fit well enough too, a little small but God knew I’d worn smaller. I slipped the cream sweater over my head and let the fabric settle against my skin, soft and warm.

Studying myself in the mirror again, I didn’t look like a runaway. Or a hostage. I looked like a normal woman preparing for a rainy afternoon. I brushed the tangles out of my blonde hair before twisting it into a neat knot at the nape of my neck.

I opened the door and walked back into the living room.

Brenna stood in the kitchen. She had already located two wine glasses and a corkscrew. She worked the cork out of the bottle with practiced efficiency. The pop sounded loud in the quiet house.

"Much better." She nodded at me, then poured a generous measure of dark red wine into each glass. "You look human again."

"I feel human." I stepped up to the counter and accepted a glass. "The leggings are a miracle."

She clinked her glass against mine and grinned. "Never underestimate the retail power of a small tourist town. Cheers to avoiding cabin fever."

I took a sip. The wine was rich, dry, and immediately warming. "I will drink to that."

Brenna walked around the island counter and pulled out one of the wooden barstools. She sat down, crossing her legs, while I took the stool next to hers. The wind outside picked up, rattling the storm shutters covering the side windows.

"The storm is moving fast," Brenna noted, glancing toward the front door. "Let me guess. Ben’s at work?"

"Yeah. He promised he wouldn’t get stuck."

"Ben never breaks a promise." Brenna took another sip of wine. She studied the rim of her glass. "He takes his obligations very seriously. Almost too seriously."

"He mentioned he likes order. He called it a frame."

Brenna smiled, a soft, knowing expression. "The frame. Yes. That is exactly how he views his role in this family. He builds the borders so the rest of us can paint the picture."

"It sounds lonely."

"It is." Brenna turned her eyes toward me. They were the same shade as Ben’s, but where his were guarded, hers were entirely open. "He wasn’t always like this. He used to be the exact opposite of orderly. He was chaos."

"He told me he got into fights." I kept my voice neutral, not wanting to pry, but desperately hungry for the context only a sister could provide.

"He did." Brenna traced a circle on the granite countertop. "He spent his twenties making massive messes. He was angry. Our dad leaving broke all of us in different ways, but it broke Ben the loudest. He rebelled against everything. He was reckless."

She paused, choosing her words with careful precision. "Eventually he hit a wall. Hard. I won’t tell his story for him, but he recognized that his chaos was destroying not only him, but the people he loved. So he flipped a switch."

"He became the paramedic."

"He became the rock." Brenna looked directly at me. "He spent every single day of the last several years trying to clean up the messes he made. And it hasn’t been easy. This is a small town—people like to hold on to grudges and don’t like to let go of the past. Sometimes it’s hard to believe people can change.”

I smiled a bit sadly. “I understand that. I’ve changed a lot too, and not all for the better. At least Ben has been going the opposite direction.”

The wind howled outside, a low, moaning sound pushing against the walls of the cottage. The weather was turning violent. Inside, the air was perfectly still.

"He doesn’t let people in, Sutton." Brenna’s voice dropped to a quiet, intense register. "This cottage? This is the only place in the world where he doesn’t have to be the hero or the villain. He doesn’t host family dinners here, and rarely invites people over. He keeps this space for himself."

I glanced around the small living room. The neat stacks of books. The aligned coasters. The upright piano in the corner. The space was a physical manifestation of his need for control.

"But he brought you here," Brenna continued softly. "He hid you. And when I walked in and found you, he didn’t apologize. He stood between you and me."

"He was protecting a patient."