Until I Break (3 page)

Chris’s blond hair is piled atop her head.
Several long curls are hanging loose to brush her shoulders. She’s
wearing a royal blue sundress a few shades darker than her eyes and
stilettoes that match. No doubt they’re her design. Her face is
made up in “going out” makeup and diamonds sparkle at her ears and
throat. This is definitely “an occasion.”

“Oh,” she says, looking down. “Ohmigod, I
forgot to tell you. I’m meeting Greg’s parents for dinner tonight,”
she explains, shaking her fingers anxiously. “I’m so nervous!”

“Why? You look beautiful, and you and Greg
are perfect together. They’re going to love you.”

Occasionally I still catch glimpses of the
insecure little girl I first met ten years ago when Social Services
dropped me off on my foster parents’ doorstep. She’s blossomed
quite a bit since then, but I’ve learned that some scars run
deep.

“I just don’t feel quite…good enough. But I
hope you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. When have you ever
known me to be wrong?”

“Oh God!” she says, rolling her eyes. “Well
at least
I
have a date for the fundraiser tomorrow
night.”

“Oh crap! I forgot all about that.”

“That’s because, unless you’re wearing a wig,
you’re a total space cadet.”

“At least I
graduated
college.”

“Yeah and went on to use, oh let’s see,
none
of what you learned. Some accountant you turned out to
be.”

“Good point.”

“You know how depressed Mom will get if she
sees you show up by yourself again.”

Over the years, our foster parents have
become as attached to us as Chris and I have become to them. We
call them Mom and Dad. It started off as a joke. Then it just
stuck.

I sigh. “I know, I know. I’ll think of
something.”

“You could always let me set you up with that
friend of Greg’s I keep telling you about.”

“I’m not dating a younger guy, Chris. We’ve
talked about this.”

“He’s not that much younger.”

“He’s your age, Chris. Four years is too
much.”

“I didn’t say you had to marry him. Just go
out with the guy. Who knows? You might have fun. Besides, it’s just
for one night.”

I growl. “Let me think about it.”

“That’s a ‘no’,” she says, shaking her head
and following me as I leave the kitchen.

“That’s not a ‘no’; that’s an ‘I’ll think
about it’.”

“Which is your version of a ‘no’. Anyway, I’m
off. Just wanted to stop in— Oh! I almost forgot. I saw you on TV
at that appearance thingy you did, whatever you call it, and
ohmigod! Sam, I saw that guy that came to the front to talk to you.
You
really
need to find him and spend some time getting
‘inspired’ for your next book. He was so hot! And he was totally
into you. I could see that all the way through the freakin’
television.”

I feel a blush creep into my cheeks. “What
guy?”

Chris stops with her hand on the door knob
and slowly turns to face me. “You’ve
got
to be kidding me!
Are you
really
going to stand there and pretend you don’t
know who I’m talking about? Like I didn’t see you get all
flustered?”

My face gets hotter. “Was it that
obvious?”

“Only to people who know you, who know the
real
you.”

I think of Ari. I wonder if he noticed.

“Well, that’s not gonna happen, so why don’t
you concentrate on WOW-ing Greg’s parents and leave me to tend to
my boring life?”

Chris’s face falls into a pout. “That’s the
whole point. I don’t want you to have a boring life, Sam. I want
you to be happy. And not just on paper. I want
you
to be
happy.”

“I am happy, Chris.”

She looks sad and bothered. “Not like you
should be.”

“You’re just a drama queen. Now, get out of
here before you start crying and mess up your makeup. I know that
look.”

She smiles, but it trembles. I know she
worries about me. She worries that the past will keep me from ever
having a normal life.

Sometimes, I worry the same thing.

CHAPTER FOUR- Alec

I breathe in the sea air. It fills my lungs
much like the anticipation of a new project fills my mind.

I needed this—this break. At this time of the
year especially. It’s full of old ghosts, ugly demons, and unwanted
memories. It’s my own personal Halloween. My own personal haunting
season.

In the beginning, my coping mechanisms were
acceptable, I’m sure. But then, somewhere along the way, things
went sideways. I got lost in the healing process. Suddenly, it
wasn’t healing anymore. It was obsession. And immersion. And
control. I chose a path that led me in a circle, constantly
returning to the pain of the past. I’m still fighting it to this
very day.

Except, of course, when it gets the better of
me and I just give in.

CHAPTER FIVE- Samantha

Chris and I wait to place our coffee
order.

“Why did I agree to this?”

“Because every other morning we go where you
want to go. And because I have to get some work done today. And
because you love me. And because
I love
this place. Is that
enough? Or do you want me to keep going?”

Chris rolls her eyes and sighs like I’ve just
asked her for a kidney. “You’re lucky all of those things are true
or we’d be outta here.” She leans to the side and looks around at
the guy in front of us. “What’s taking so long?”

“Shhh,” I say, looking around to make sure no
one is listening to her gripe. It appears no one is. Everyone is
either messing with their phone or their iPod or flipping through
the paper as they wait. “I happen to like this place and would
rather not be forever shunned because I brought a whiner in with
me. In-line harassment is not on the menu.”

“I think they’d be doing you a favor if they
shunned you,” she whispers loudly.

Ignoring her, I glance ahead at the familiar
face behind the counter. His name is Sean and he’s a barista.

Or baristo. Or whatever the masculine
version of a barista is. If there is one. Let’s just say he’s the
guy who makes and serves me coffee on a fairly regular basis.

This shop is one of my favorite places to
come when I need to get some work done and don’t want to sit at the
house.

When we finally make it to the counter, Sean
greets me enthusiastically. “Hey, chica! What’s it going to be
today?”

“Hi, Sean. Um, I hate to admit it, but I’m
going to be predictable today. This is like comfort food to
me.”

“Predictable? So you want the usual? A grande
nonfat cinnamon dulce with extra whip?”

I smile. “You got it!” I look to Chris. “What
do you want?”

“Umm, I think I’ll have the same,” she says,
suddenly agreeable as she turns on a bright smile for Sean.

I have to work to hold back my snicker. Chris
is happy with Greg, but she’s an incorrigible flirt. What I’ll have
to tell her later is that she is
soooo
barking up the wrong
tree.

“Go sit,” he says. “I’ll bring them out.”

I pucker my lips at him and he mimics the
action. We both smile and I turn to get napkins, and find me and
Chris a table.

Sean is very handsome. His hair is dark and
his skin is golden, and he has a delicious accent. He’s discernibly
Latin. Some might think he’s flirting with me. I happen to know he
prefers blonds instead of red heads. Blond
men,
that is.
That doesn’t bother me at all, though. It’s our camaraderie that I
love.

The only empty table is situated near the
door. I put my bag in one wooden chair and I slide into the other.
As Chris takes the seat across from me, I pull out my notebook and
glance around the small cafe.

People are scattered throughout the
room—sitting, standing, leaning—chatting casually over steaming
cups of their favorite coffee. The smell of dark beans and rich
sweeteners fills the air. I inhale deeply, letting the aroma soothe
me. This is one of my most beloved places on the planet.

I hear the bell over the door jingle as it
opens. I don’t think anything of it until I hear Chris’s
exclamation.

“Holy shit! It’s him!”

I turn around to see who’s got her so
excited. My reaction, although not audible, is much more profound
than hers.

My heart flutters. My lungs freeze. My
stomach contracts.

It’s Mason.

I mean Alec. Alec Brand.

I think I’d recognize him anywhere, from any
angle. He’s as familiar to me as the characters I live with every
minute of every day. He’s the embodiment of my hopes as well as my
fears, my dreams as well as my nightmares.

I thought of him no less than a dozen times
last night. Then, after finally getting him out of my mind long
enough to doze off to sleep, I dreamed of him, of the real-life
Mason Strait.

I woke thinking of him, too. But since then,
I’d
just about
managed to convince myself it was a trick of
the light. I
just knew
there was no way I was remembering
him correctly, that there was no way he looked that much like
Mason.

But today shows it wasn’t the lighting. Or my
imagination. Or my faulty memory. He’s as breathtaking as I
remember him being, as breathtaking as I’ve always imagined him to
be. As Mason, that is. When he walks toward the line of people
waiting to order, I see that he even
swaggers
like Mason.
It’s insane!

He stops at the end of the line, behind the
last person, and shifts his weight to one foot. The tips of his
fingers are stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. He’s wearing boots
again, and a dark blue t-shirt. A brown leather messenger bag is
slung over one shoulder. From the corner of my eye, I see several
heads turn toward him. I’m sure he’s drawing nearly every eye in
the small shop. And why not? He’s masculine and gorgeous and
charismatic as hell.

His head begins to turn in my direction. My
heart leaps with excitement and pumps copious amounts of blood into
my cheeks. I whirl around in my seat, hoping he doesn’t see me
or
my reaction.

I blush easily, making me particularly
thankful for the harsh overhead lights. They tend to wash out any
extra rosy hue, obscuring any physical reactions like this one.

“That’s him, right? The guy from
yesterday?”

I nod.

“What the hell are you waiting for? Go talk
to him!”

“Shhh,” I hiss at her, peeking
surreptitiously over my shoulder to make sure she’s not getting his
attention. “First of all, please don’t embarrass me. Secondly, he
has no clue who I am, remember?”

Chris turns her confused eyes to me. I watch
her puzzle over my question for a minute before understanding
dawns. “Right. Damn. Where’s that wig when you need it?”

“At home. Right where it should be. Where
it’s far away from you.”

Her eyes light up. “Ooo, you could have twice
the fun! Just think of it. He’d have no idea—”

“Stop right there. I go to too much trouble
to keep up this ruse. There’s no way I could pull off something
like that. So, no. Don’t even think about it.”

Chris pushes out her lower lip in a pout.

“Promise me, Chris,” I demand warningly. I
can see that she’s plotting. And I know her far too well to think
she’ll drop it unless I make her promise. I learned that shortly
after being notified of an unexplained appointment with a
therapist.

“Fine.”

“Promise?”

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Fine. I
promise.”

I smile, feeling better already. “Good. Now,
can we just enjoy our coffee?”

“That would be great if we
had
coffee.”

I glance at the table that’s empty but for my
notebook. “Oh.”

I look up at Chris and we both start
laughing.

“Wow, maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s best to
leave this one alone. He’s already making you an idiot.”

“Your confidence in me is touching,” I say
dryly.

Before I can even think twice, I’m glancing
over my shoulder again. I’m trying to pull my eyes away just as he
pivots in my direction.

I know I should look away. But I can’t. It’s
as though some part of me is so compelled to see those eyes again,
those haunting pale green eyes, that I physically can’t turn my
head away.

When his gaze meets mine and stops, the
bottom drops out of my stomach. He stares, unabashedly, his
expression curiously blank.

For a few seconds, I’m lost in those eyes.
They’re so familiar, they evoke so many emotions, both wanted and
unwanted, that I find myself waiting breathlessly for him to do or
say something that only Mason would do.

It’s the rise of one raven brow that breaks
the spell. More blood rushes into my cheeks and my eyes widen in
shock before I spin away.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I whisper, closing
my eyes.

“What?” Chris says, a smile in her voice.
“What the hell is wrong with you? That was a serious moment you two
just had. Let’s go buy you some silk panties for your first
date.”

I know she’s teasing, but I’m in no mood to
appreciate it.

“What if he recognized me?” I whisper,
keeping my head down.

“How? Even
I
barely recognize you in
your LD garb. There’s no way a perfect stranger would put that
together after two minutes of looking at you.”

I glance up at Chris. I know she’s right. The
chances are extremely slim. But still… It’s enough to make me feel
a little panicked.

A shadow falls over our table from behind my
shoulder. I hold my breath, afraid to look back. My heart is
pounding.

A familiar voice cuts into my anxiety.

“Two grande nonfat cinnamon dulces with extra
whip.”

I look up. It’s Sean. I smile and sigh in
relief, taking one of the collared cups from his outstretched
hand.