All the Broken Pieces: (Broken Series Book 3) (41 page)

Sure enough, after she got herself together, her head came up and she smiled. “I can’t even begin to say how much I love you, how much I love the gift you’ve given me. But you messed up.”

“How?” I frowned, wondering what I could have missed.

“Your name should be on here along with mine.”

“Are you asking me to share a house with you, gorgeous?”

She climbed in my lap and nuzzled her head against my neck. “Nope.”

“No?”

She leaned back, those sexy lips curling into a sweet smile. “I’m asking you to share a life with me, Weirdo.”

I captured the hair at her nape and pulled her forward, dropping a scorching kiss on her mouth before leaning my forehead to hers. “Now that you mention it, I was just thinking that Teach’s garden would be a great spot for a wedding.”

Lauren

It had been nearly a year since Isaac made his last attempt on my life. So much had happened since then that it felt like a dream on the rare occasion that he crossed my mind.

Brant and I were planning the
official
wedding for next spring, wanting the flowers to be in full bloom for the occasion. We’d nearly done it this year but decided a small courthouse wedding was easier, given that things were still too hectic with the build and the diner and the fallout from Isaac. The important thing wasn’t the event, it was the marriage, and we just couldn’t wait to pledge our lives to one another. We would do the garden wedding too, though. And it would be perfect, like every day with Brant had been.

Milly’s Mountain was completed in late spring and became an instant success with a huge media following and more volunteers than they knew what to do with. Ali and Talia spent as much time as possible there, helping, cooking, and leading group activities. The children got to work in the kitchen with Talia and paint beautiful pictures with Ali. Everyone loved it there and the energy was always positive, always optimistic. Just like Talia’s daughter had been.

Brant and the guys had decided to stick to jobs that kept them close to home, mostly because Spencer now flat-out refused to spend a night away from his wife and son. New crews were contracted, tasks were delegated, and they somehow made it work. Brant spent most of his time in Denson with me and only on rare occasion did he have to travel for a day or two to troubleshoot a job.

He was becoming quite domestic, which his mother thought was hilarious. I even sent her a photo of him wearing an apron and cleaning the oven at the diner, just to make her laugh. I didn’t mention that he’d later used that apron to tie me up. He wasn’t completely domesticated, after all. Life was finally good and I was finally actively living it.

Marilee and Gran had finally met when Talia and Spencer’s son was born, and we were right. They hit it off right away, laughing and cutting up. It was the most I’d seen Mar smile since my uncle died. They kept in contact afterward, and over the summer Mar moved out of Bonnie’s house and bought a small condo about fifteen miles from Gran. The two were practically inseparable and the shenanigans were at an all-time high. I couldn’t have been happier with the way things turned out. Especially since I knew how much it pissed off Bonnie, who now lived alone in her own miserable little world.

Isaac was convicted of a string of charges ranging from attempted kidnapping to assault with a deadly weapon, though his knife hadn’t been the one that had done all the cutting. He was sentenced to fifty years without the possibility of parole.

Brant was never charged with a thing, despite a few pointed questions from the district attorney about how the pattern of pellets seemed awfully broad for a supposedly up-close shot.

We both had to testify at the trial but I didn’t let it get to me the way it would have before. He had no bearing on my life anymore so once the trial was over, I washed my hands of the whole thing. I was too busy most days to give any attention to the past, to the damage that Isaac had done to me. I was too busy building my future.

And today I was doing that by shopping for a ton of Christmas presents.

I already had a lot of it wrapped and under the tree. Lots of little toys for Parker, who was nearly nine months old and into everything he could get his pudgy hands on. I had things for Brant, of course. Also for Ali and Clay, Spencer and Talia, Jennie and Will, Marilee, Gran, Kade and the rest of the band, the regulars from the diner, and my entire staff. But I’d saved the most important shopping of all for last.

My gift to Brant last year had been copies of my registration papers to the local college—local being two towns away but that was what happened when you lived in a tiny town like Denson. Either way, he’d loved the gift, especially when I told him he’d inspired my career choice.

I was studying to become a child psychologist.

Brant’s comment all those months ago about my capacity for empathy lit a fire in my mind. I remembered all of those counselors, psychiatrists, and psychologists from when I was a kid. They all looked at me like I was a bug in a jar: no connection, no empathy, not a single attempt to really engage me and try to understand who I was.

So I decided I would be the counselor I needed back then. I’d talk to the children without condescension. I’d really listen. I’d wear jeans and Converse instead of Armani suits. I’d look those kids in the eye and connect with them in a way that most counselors can’t. Because I was them, I am them, and I know what it’s like. And hopefully, at the end of the day, they’ll leave my office knowing that someone genuinely cares about who they are and how they are coping.

It wouldn’t happen overnight, and my schedule was crazy with the diner and classes, but it was worth the juggling and late nights to get my degree.

Those kids were worth it.

I was worth it.

I’d found my calling.

Brant and I walked through the department store and made a beeline for the little tree near the front with the paper angels hanging on it. I used to be on one of those paper angels. All the foster children were. If no one picked our name, we wouldn’t have gotten anything.

I leaned down and took as many as I could carry and Brant did the same, a huge smile on his face as we set off to shop. I’d always tried to do a few each year but this year I’d been extra fortunate, and I wanted to pay it forward.

When we finished with the paper angels and deposited the purchases under the tree, we joyfully returned to the aisles to shop for someone very special—that extra bit of good fortune that had made my holiday so incredible.

Our first foster child.

“Do you have the list of clothing sizes?” Brant asked, thumbing through the clothes and pursing his mouth adorably.

“I do,” I chuckled, pulling the sheet of paper from my purse and handing it to him.

He grinned down at it and set off into the racks, more excited than I’d ever seen him. He was loving it—the preparation, the possibilities. He was going to be a great father to this sweet child.

We were expecting him any day, and I’d never been so excited and scared in all my life. He came from a horribly abusive home where he was found near death from starvation. He was fifteen years old and weighed less than forty pounds when he was discovered by police. We got the call from his caseworker just a week after he was brought in. He’d remained in the hospital since being rescued and was almost well enough to leave.

His name was Alex and, this year, having him home with us in time for Christmas was our greatest wish.

I’d approached Brant about becoming foster parents a few months after I started school. I wanted to do more than be the counselor I’d needed. I wanted to be the mom I’d needed as well. He’d adored the idea from the start and we began classes to get our certification shortly thereafter. When we got the file on Alex, one much like the one I’d carried all those years, it had gutted us both. One look at his sweet, sunken face and we knew. This was to be our child.

We visited him in the hospital two days later, and every day since. He’d been quiet and skittish at first, but he eventually came around and now his beautiful face lit up whenever we entered the room, especially at the sight of Brant, which made my heart melt.

“Do you think he’d like these?” Brant held up several shirts in one hand, and had a ton of designer jeans in the other. “Should we get more than one size, you know, since he still needs to gain some more weight?” He didn’t even wait for my reply, throwing it all into the cart and darting back to gather more. It was like watching a squirrel wildly gathering nuts.

“Shoes! He needs shoes!” His voice was distant and clearly on the move. “Boots? Sneakers? Lauren, where are you? I think we need another cart.”

I navigated the nearly-full cart between the racks and tried to hone in on his voice. “Babe, we don’t have to get his whole wardrobe today. We can get basics and let him pick out the rest when we bring him home.”

“Shit,” his voice was fainter now, a muffled sigh of sorts.

I nearly ran him over when I took a quick left and found him sitting on the floor surrounded by shoe boxes. There was an odd expression on his face as I crouched down to check on him. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

The corners of his mouth turned up as he lifted his head to meet my eye. “Say that again.”

“Say what again?”

“Home. You said ‘when we bring him home’.” His voice was thick, raspy.

“That’s right, Weirdo. Home. The place where our family lives. You, and me, and Alex.”

There were tears in his eyes when he pulled me down to the floor to sit beside him, hugging me against him and kissing my cheek. “Home is more than a place, gorgeous. You are my home, you and Alex. This life we’re building? It’s so much better than I could have ever imagined. I’m truly the luckiest man alive.”

“And I’m the luckiest woman. Together, you and I will make Alex feel like the luckiest kid. He deserves that. We all do.”

“I can’t think of a single thing I’d love more.”

Brant and I were in love with Alex from the first time we set eyes on him. The state had severed parental rights, and we were already looking into adoption somewhere down the line, should Alex decide he was okay with that. He’d suffered more than most people could even fathom, but we would help him. Together. Our unwavering love and support would mend all those broken pieces, the same way Brant’s love mended mine.

We would be his protectors, his caregivers, his family… now and forever.

The End

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First and foremost, I would like to thank my husband for his unwavering support and faith in my abilities. He has
always
believed in me, even when I didn’t. That’s not something most people are fortunate enough to find and I am grateful for him every day of my life.

Trenda—my content editor and long lost sister—in the short time we have known each other, I think you may have said the words ‘I’m so proud of you’ to me more than anyone else in my entire life. Your encouragement and support are absolutely priceless. You really are stuck with me. I don’t think I would even know how to write a book without your input. I love you to pieces.

Kiezha—my editor and dear friend—you have no idea how incredibly thankful I am to have found you. You are stuck with me, too. There’s no getting rid of me now. I’m so proud to call you my friend and I know without a doubt that we are going to make a lot of wonderful stories together, both on the page and off.

My beta team—Jennie, Monique, Lesley, Shasta, Heidi, Saleena, Jacinda, and Sandy—you ladies are irreplaceable. There’s no way I could do what you do. Your eagle eyes and attention to detail have saved me more times than I can count. Thank you all for taking the time to help with my stories. Your help makes all the difference
.

Cassy Roop—the best damn designer ever—thank you for sharing your talent with me on this beautiful cover. Your instincts are infallible and everything you’ve done for this release has completely blown me away. I can’t wait to see what we come up with for the next one.

Ella James, I’m kind of in awe that someone so accomplished befriended a newbie like me. I still shift into fangirl mode sometimes when we chat. You are the epitome of class and selflessness. I absolutely adore you and am so very thankful for your support and encouragement.

AF Crowell, Alex Grayson, Allison Wilson, CP Smith, Allison Michaels, HS Strickland, Jacquelyn Ayres, Kirstin Cope, and the countless other authors who have stood by me, helped troubleshoot issues, pimped my releases, and otherwise shown me exactly how amazing our little community can be… thank you all so much. Like I’ve been saying for years, book friends are the best friends.

To every single blogger who has signed up, given shout outs, shared, pimped, and posted on my behalf… thank you all from the bottom of my heart. You are what make this community great.

To Martha, Monique, and Danielle… thank you all for being such amazing, supportive friends. If traveling hundreds of miles just to watch me sign books isn’t friendship, I don’t know what is. I’ll never forget that as long as I live. I love you all.

Finally, to the readers… I never imagined I would find an audience for my writing. I figured a few people (probably all related to me) would skim through the pages and that would be it. I never thought I would get messages and emails and posts to my social media from people who read and loved my books, complete strangers who took a chance on me and were happy to have done so. Thank you all so much for embracing these stories. I will do my best to never let you down.