Beautiful Broken Read Online Free PDF Page A

when I don't push.
    I nod. "Probably a good idea. Something temporary—you don't need anything serious if you’re going back to school in a few months."
    She looks away, and I feel my stomach drop. "Scout?"
    "What?" she snaps, and I drop down next to her.
    "Tell me what happened."
    She goes still—it's what I asked for, all those years ago. And though I know she won't, a tiny part of me wishes she would trust me enough to tell me now. Frankly, I’ll take anything—what upset her today, why she was with Kevin, anything.
    "I went for a run. Stopped by that new coffee shop."
    I can see where this story is going. "Hill of Beans. And what, Avery was there with someone?"
    "You know ? And haven’t told Atti?"
    "Told him what? That his girlfriend is a tutor? He knows that, Scout."
    She stares at me, her eyes wide, and then slowly narrowing. "So she isn't cheating?"
    Ah. This is what it really is. "Avery isn't a repeat of Nik. Whatever else she is, she isn't that," I say softly. Scout sighs and leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder.
    Every nerve ending in my body fires, sharp with longing, and I take a deep breath before sliding an arm around her, pulling her closer.
    She's Scout. My best friend, the girl I couldn't protect. "Do you like her?" she asks, the words brushing against the skin of my throat.
    I shrug. "I think, despite the upheaval she's caused, she's good for Atticus. And I think we had better learn to like her, because he won't let her go."
    I kiss her hair and force myself to push her away. "I'm hungry. Is chicken scampi okay with you?"
    Scout grins, reclining on the couch. "Sounds perfect. I could probably get used to this."
    My breath catches, and I force it to go normal, cocking an eyebrow. "Get used to what?"
    "This." She gestures. "You cooking while I paint my nails. No school, no expectations—just being."
    I smirk, a deliberately panty-dropping expression, as she would call it. "Well. There is the expectation that you clean your mess up."
    She flips me off, and I laugh as I retreat to the kitchen, taking the chicken and bell peppers from the bag I'd carried in.
    "Did you get dessert?"
    I grunt an assent—would I dream of coming back without some form of chocolate?
    "Good. Dessert should always be eaten before dinner," she says, hoping off the couch and bouncing over to me. Her scraggly hair is pulled away from her face, exposing the soft planes and warm angles.
    I toss her the box of brownie mix and laugh as she cusses at me.
     
     
    Scout
    Watching Dane cook is a turn on. Watching Dane do much of anything is, if I'm honest. We work quietly in the kitchen, music pumping from my phone on the bar, and something in me relaxes. He isn't pushing, isn't demanding I talk—he's just letting us be. And I need that.
    Dane is good at knowing what I need. And even though he has to be wondering, he isn’t asking about Kevin.
    When the brownies are in the oven, and he's sautéing chicken and onions in a creamy garlic sauce, I pull out some vegetables and start chopping them into two salads.
    "I could probably make dinner," I say, breaking the silence. Dane glances up. "You know, before you get home from work. Make myself somewhat useful around here."
    His eyebrows go up,. "I thought you wanted to find a job."
    I do. I decided that on the way home—sitting around will give me nothing but time to stew in my own thoughts. I need to keep busy if I want to avoid a relapse—maybe Kevin will leave me alone if I look busy. Should I tell him that?
    If anyone would understand, it's Dane.
    "How did you stay clean?" I ask, the question slipping out before I can talk myself out of it.
    Dane goes still, the hand stirring dinner frozen above the hot stove. Then he blinks, and his gaze finds mine—wary and tired and resigned. "Do you really want to do this?"
    I nod, biting my lip.
    "Let's get dinner on the table."
    I help him carry the plates of salad and pasta to the cluttered dining room table. He shifts a few law books