All the Broken Pieces: (Broken Series Book 3) (10 page)

Never.

“Let me tell you something, you old bitch. My uncle was a better man than you could even fathom and if you ever dare speak of him like that again, you’ll be shitting out your dentures.”

There was no fear in her expression, nothing to indicate that I’d made an impact. I was debating the merits of an actual impact when Marilee called out down the hall, clearly moving in our direction.

Bonnie’s voice dropped, snarling as she warned, “Don’t you dare upset her, either. She has enough on her shoulders as it is, she doesn’t need you making things more difficult for everyone, as usual.”

Fucking hell… one more word from her and I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions.

Rather than earning my very first assault charge, I brushed past her and met Marilee in the hall, giving her a quick hug and peck on the cheek before rushing off to my room.

My whole body shook with rage as I clicked the door shut, followed by the deadbolts—both of them. Then the slide bolts. And the others. Once I was sure the locks were in place, I slid the nearby dresser in front of the door and made sure it was absolutely secure.

My nightly ritual, my continual reminder that I would never be anything but a basket case who no one loved.

One person had, one person knew it all, had seen it all, and still loved me.

Saved me.

Shame crept over me once again as I looked at the locks on the door, cold metal proof that I was still broken.

No one could save me now.

Brant

Three days later, I was still seeing it in my mind, still catching the faint aroma of her perfume, still remembering the feel of her flesh under my fingers as I traced the cobra-shaped indentation on her back—phantom reminders that had me half-hard and completely entranced.

I should have had the decency to feel guilty, knowing the state of mind she’d been in that night. But I didn’t set out to cross any lines. My concern had been genuine and had come from a place of understanding, commiseration. I knew how it felt to be where she was, knew it well, in fact. And there was something about her that called to me, drew me to her, so I followed the instinct—despite my tendency to remain detached where women were concerned.

I didn’t take the time to consider what I was doing or the possibility that I was making a mistake; I didn’t think about me at all.

It had all been for her.

But, now that I’d had a couple days to ponder the situation, I couldn’t help feeling guilty.

Who are you to try to help her, anyway? You couldn’t help Zoey… what makes you think it will be different with Lauren?

That little voice of regret had been a near-constant companion since I was nineteen, and I was sick to fucking death of it.

Especially when it was right.

I had nothing of value to offer Lauren. Nothing to make this better for her. Sure, there was something to be said for hours of mind-blowing sex as a mood-elevator but once the afterglow faded, the pain settled back over you like a thick fog, and you were right back where you started, often with a heavy dose of regret added to the mix.

Did she regret it now?

I’d played everything over in my mind a million times since I dropped her off that night, lingering on that look, the one that said she wanted me, wanted to ward off the pain with pleasure. I’d done the same after what happened all those years ago, though not at first. At first I closed myself off from everyone, even my family. I went to classes, zoned out as the professors droned on endlessly about shit I already had a grasp on, and trudged back to the dorms with my head down and my heart bleeding.

It wasn’t until months later when I became friends with Clay and Spencer that I finally found a way to numb the pain. A fake I.D.—courtesy of Spencer—and the local college bar were all I needed to get it.

Sex.

And lots of it, thanks to my extroverted wing-men who seemed to get a kick out of finding me hook-ups.

It occurred to me that maybe some of them had walked away feeling how I was feeling after my night with Lauren. Like we’d somehow managed to have sex without ever actually touching, not really.

Three days after the fact, I still couldn’t shake the thought that I’d touched every inch of Lauren’s body but hadn’t made contact once.

Except when I traced that cobra.

Her back had been to me then, no chance of her wrangling control away as I pressed my fingers, lips, and tongue onto her smooth skin, reveling in the way the moonlight played over her bare flesh. It was the only real touch that passed between us from the time we first kissed to the time I dropped her at home.

Not that I didn’t understand why it had been that way. It wasn’t about the sex, not for her. It was about feeling alive and having some semblance of control amid the chaos; being numb to the pain for a while. If there was anyone on earth who could relate to that, it was me.

Unfortunately, I’d be fooling myself if I tried to play it off like that one brief moment between us hadn’t left an impression.

I mean, there I was days later, kicking myself for not getting her number so I could check on her, make sure she was okay.

But that was strictly out of concern for my friend who was having a rough time, nothing more.

Wasn’t it?

Or maybe it was because of that little glimpse I’d gotten of her when she spoke of her friendship with Teach. She’d seemed so fragile in that moment, so small and afraid knowing her uncle was gone. But there was something else, something worrisome in the set of her jaw as she lay there beside me staring up at the stars.

I’d seen that look on someone before and been too naive to recognize it for what it was.

Not this time, though.

I’d be damned if I’d let it happen again.

Lauren would
not
give up like Zoey had.

She would keep treading water, even if I had to hold her up myself.

•••

The easiest way to get my hands on Lauren’s number would have been to call Ali and ask for it.

But I’d never been one to take the easy way out.

So, that’s how I ended up on Lauren’s doorstep the next afternoon, fidgeting awkwardly while I waited for someone to answer the bell. Lauren’s Mustang was in the driveway, along with Marilee’s car and a huge granny-mobile I assumed belonged to Bonnie.

The door popped open just as I was turning back from my perusal of the vehicles.

Bonnie’s pursed face held no signs of welcome. “What do you want?”

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am. I was hoping to speak to Lauren.” I barely kept my tone civil.

She shoved the door all the way open and backed up, mouth twisting into an unfortunate looking scowl as she grudgingly motioned for me to come in. If she ever made that face in front of a mirror, she might be inclined to stop. It was
that
disturbing. “Last I saw of her, she was doing laundry. Marilee is resting, so keep your voices down.”

I nodded as I stepped past, anxious to be away from the woman as soon as possible.

“Nice cologne you’re wearing.” She muttered behind me.

I turned, not bothering to hide my surprise that she’d doled out a compliment when just moments before she was looking at me like I was something she’d scraped off her orthopedic shoe.

“It isn’t nearly as fetching on Lauren, I’m afraid. She came in reeking of it the other night.”

Ah, there it was. I knew there was a catch.

“Though, I suppose it’s an improvement that she only smelled like
one
man this time. From what I hear, she’s quite the popular attraction.”

Jesus. This woman really was Satan in support hose.

I leaned in her direction, still a good ten feet away and grinned for all I was worth. “Don’t worry. From now on, we’ll try to finish the night with a long slow screw in the shower. That should solve the cologne problem.” I gave her a slow, deliberate wink as I straightened.

She wasn’t quite able to mask her shock, giving me a glimpse of widened eyes and a flush in her papery-skinned cheeks. It wasn’t a total annihilation but it had sure as hell been a direct hit.

I walked away before she could formulate a reply.

Peering through the dining room and kitchen on the way past, it occurred to me that I had no idea where the laundry room was. I didn’t recall there being a utility room off of the kitchen, but I hadn’t really been paying attention. Oh, well. I wasn’t about to go back and ask Bonnie a damn thing. Instead, I trudged down the long hall, taking in the line of framed photos on the walls and trying to get my bearings.

I stopped at one particular photo, my attention drawn to a pair of startlingly clear blue eyes. In the picture, a younger, darker-haired Teach stood beside a raven-haired girl in her early teens. His arm was draped around Lauren’s slender shoulders and she had one arm wrapped around his waist, clearly gripping the hem of his shirt on the other side because her arm wasn’t quite long enough to reach too far around. There was a soft, genuine smile on her face that reached all the way to her eyes.

It was beatific.

I couldn’t help smiling.

“That picture was his favorite.”

Startled, I turned toward Marilee’s tired voice. She was in a thick wool robe and slippers, looking as care-worn as I’d ever seen. I wanted to reach out for her, grip her hand, hug her; something. But before I could decide which, she lifted her hand toward the photo.

“That is the only picture of her we’ve ever seen where her smile looked real.” She pressed her thin lips together thoughtfully. “He said none of the social workers or foster parents could believe the difference in her when he came to visit. They likened it to the sun breaking through thick clouds. She adored him, and he her.” Her lips tipped into a frown as she traced the smooth glass over her husband’s likeness. “He wanted custody, you know. Fought like hell to get it, too. But after all she’d gone through, they thought it best not to put her in the care of a single man. He and I hadn’t yet met one another then, you see.”

I stood there with a soft smile on my face, trying to act as though nothing she was saying was new information for me while my mind processed her statement bit by bit.

Lauren had been a ward of the state. She’d been in multiple foster homes from the sound of it. Teach tried to help, tried to take her in but wasn’t able to. Most disturbing of all was the phrase ‘after all she’d gone through’.

“Aunt Mar, what are you doing up? I thought you were resting.” Lauren stepped into the hall from the kitchen carrying a large basket of folded laundry. She wore no makeup but her crystal blue eyes popped just the same and her hair was pulled into a messy knot atop her head, revealing her slender neck. She was in colorful leggings under a long t-shirt, and bright pink socks. Somehow, the casual way she was dressed made her even more appealing. She didn’t look at me, keeping her focus on her aunt and looking concerned.

Shit. Had she heard everything? Would she think I was pumping the poor, grieving woman for information?

“I’m just stretching my legs a little, honey.” Marilee told her with a fond smile. “And talking to your handsome visitor for a minute before I head back to bed.” She clucked her tongue and patted my arm, looking at Lauren as she spoke. “Now, stop your worrying and offer this nice young man something to drink. Myrtle from down the street brought by a jug of her vanilla tea and a big tray of lemon squares this morning.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lauren told her, dropping the basket to the floor and stepping in for a hug. “Would you like me to bring you something?”

The older woman shook her head, running a hand over Lauren’s hair as she stepped out of the embrace. “No, dumplin’. I have a pitcher of ice water by my bed. Haven’t had much of an appetite lately but I sure get thirsty. I think it’s those pills the doctor gave me to keep me calm.” She yawned into her palm. “They make me sleepy, too. I think maybe it’s time to go lie down.”

“It was nice to see you again, Mrs. Jameson.” I smiled down at her.

She gave me a smile and a wave as she turned back toward the open door of her bedroom. “Call me Marilee, honey. And thank you for stopping by. I’m glad Lauren has someone to keep her company.”

As I watched her return to her room—Lauren guiding her all the way—I wondered how in the world such a sweet woman was related to that she-devil in the living room. It didn’t make sense.

A moment later, Lauren emerged from the room, quietly pulling the door closed behind her. She looked up at me with a tentative smile and started toward the laundry basket.

I reached down and scooped it up before she could get to it, then motioned for her to lead the way. She hesitated a moment before nodding and heading off in the other direction. Not a word had been spoken between us.

I followed her to the end of the hall and into the open door to the left, barely making it two steps inside before she was turning to relieve me of the laundry basket.

She sat the basket on the bed, its flawlessly smooth floral comforter crinkling under the weight. The room didn’t suit her personality in the slightest, and I’d bet good money that it was already decorated when she moved in. The antique furniture, stiff wingback chair in the far corner, and dated artwork on the walls suggested the tastes of someone much older, more traditional. Watching her stand there shifting from foot to foot, her blood-red hair a stark contrast to the pastels and faded floral tones in the room… she couldn’t have looked more out of place if she tried.

After a long silence, she cleared her throat and offered a tentative smile. “Hi.”

Funny how a single syllable could convey so much.

“Hi, yourself,” I replied with a nod, watching the myriad of emotions play across her face.

“So, what brings you by?” Her gaze shifted around the room, probably trying to see it as I did. A flash of embarrassment played across her features before she schooled her expression.

Still standing near the doorway, I propped my elbow on the tall dresser that sat against the wall just to the left of the door frame. “I came to get your phone number.”