Breaking Stone: Bad Boy Romance Novel (20 page)

I was hooked. A maturity had come to his writing that wasn’t evident in his earlier books, as if he really did care about these characters. It could have been because Steele had started to shift away from his manwhore ways. Faux-Lily had merely been the prologue, the setup to the real story. Steele’s heart had become involved, and Mary, the new character, was not like any of the girls he’d written about before.

She was conservative and self-effacing, starting out a bit of a doormat, though as the story progressed, she found her courage to speak up.

“Fuck me, Mary, you’ve finally grown some balls.”
Steele mentions after an outburst where she tears a strip off him.

I snorted. It was the sort of thing Stone would say, and like me, Mary (because she was being feisty at this point in the story) blew the whole thing off with the classic Betty White quote. Mary didn’t need balls because she had a vagina, and that thing could take a pounding.

Of course, Mary blushed, and I felt my cheeks go hot in sympathy.

I read to the end in one sitting, not even topping up my wine after the first glass because I became so deeply engrossed in the story. My feelings were bittersweet. It could just as easily have been about Stone and me, except Stone had never fallen in love, and I was in a dangerous, tired and emotional state where I’d probably projected myself into the book through a sense of deep longing and the massive crush that threatened to resurface if I let my thoughts run wild.

My eyes felt gritty, my teeth desperate for a brush, and just before dawn, I dragged myself to bed. In the morning, I’d send the manuscript to Sarah. I was certain she’d be pleased because in my gut, this book felt like a winner.

With that, my time in Springston was over. All I had to do was return the house keys to Stone and make my final trip to the railway station.

My time as Poppins had come to an end.

K
atrina had taken the note
, and I hoped it had given her some sort of solace. It haunted me daily, knowing she was down the road with Mason and June, but even more, it drove me to work. I wrote through the demarcation of day and night, night and day, only breaking to work out in the gym, walk and play with Buster, and take an hour or two to sleep when I was truly exhausted. Then I’d wake and go at it again. When I asked about Katrina’s future, Sarah warned me it depended on my getting them the book.

She suspected something had gone down between Katrina and me, and it was a typical bitch move to dangle her future prospects in front of me as a carrot. Or was it the stick? Whatever, I’d made up my mind to write the fucking book because I owed it to Katrina not to fuck up her life any more than I had.

Part of me wanted to sabotage that. Did Katrina honestly want to work at CJM? Sarah was an excellent agent, the exact person you wanted on your side when it came to negotiations, and I never regretted a single dollar of the percentage she took, but she’d eat Katrina alive.

Katrina deserved better than that.

I emailed her the completed manuscript. Asking her not to read it was like suggesting somebody not think of a purple elephant. The minute you say it, you know the big creature’s there, ridiculously colored and dominating their mind.

In the fridge was a bottle of Cristal I’d intended to crack with Katrina when my work was finished. I poured myself a whiskey instead, downed it, then called Buster. I could walk for the first time in weeks without having to take two characters out with me, listen to their conversations, and examine their feelings or slap them around the head when they were behaving like dicks.

I shoved two tennis balls in my pockets, and Buster and I headed for the river. Half an hour later, we’d worked our way slowly along the bank until I stood where I could see Katrina’s cottage. For a moment, she moved in front of the window, and I willed her to look my way. I don’t know how long I stood there, but I never saw her again.

With the delivery of the manuscript, I presumed she’d head back to NYC and I’d get control of my social media. In a few months, I’d have the book edits back and the flurry would begin again—leaked snippets, teasers, the cover reveal—hopefully, this time, without anything contentious taking place.

I walked Buster back to the house and went online to book a holiday. I needed a tropical island and the company of others drifting in a similar holiday mindset, there to forget about their normal lives and have a good time.

Fiji looked good. So did Samoa and Rarotonga. Places I’d never been, and hopefully, populated with people who’d never heard of Stone Logan.

The next morning kicked off with a professional and impersonal email from Katrina. She congratulated me on finishing the book and said she’d forwarded it on to Sarah. There was no mention of her having read it, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. She also said she was returning home and that she had some things to drop off, which she’d do around four on her way to the station, if that suited me.

I closed the email, experiencing a rush I hadn’t felt for some time. Finishing the book had left me unexpectedly flat, but the idea of seeing Katrina one more time felt dangerous.

I paced, thinking about letting Katrina in the house, offering her a glass of champagne, and fucking her bent over the kitchen counter. Not cool. I thought about Fiji, reimagining the isolated tropical beach I’d seen on the travel booking website so that it was covered in naked, well-tanned beauties. That didn’t work. I emptied the beach and left just Katrina there, lying on a lounger and wearing a tiny bikini.

Wham
, instant arousal.

This wasn’t working. My ideas were entirely self-centered. My cock told me to get her into the house, talk her out of her clothes, have crazy goodbye-sex and deliver her to the next train back to NYC. I wasn’t that asshole anymore. If Katrina had any sense, she’d slap me down for even suggesting it. If she went with the idea, I’d have led her on to expect a future together.

I had to make myself as unappealing to her as possible, but I had to do that without hurting her any more than I had, so arranging to have some half-clothed girl here when she arrived didn’t cut it for a solution.

Immersing myself in work meant I’d been able to block out everything but the story, but now my time was free, and Katrina constantly invaded my thoughts. I wanted to be selfish and have her until I’d worked her out of my system, but I cared for her. I didn’t want to hurt her more in a month or two when I finally ended it, when the way she blushed, the way she did cute stuff with Buster, hell, the way she simply existed, no longer gave me that surge.

I needed the surge. I lived for the surge, and I’d wither up and die without it. Or I’d become a nasty fuck, worse than my parents, if I got stuck in a situation that bored me. Then I’d turn deliberately antagonistic to get the different surge, the baiting and fighting, just so that I could feel.

I opened the fridge, eyed the Cristal, and pulled out a beer. Katrina would be here in three hours. Probably in exactly three hours because she was reliable like that.

It should have bored me, that routine she stuck to, but instead, it had settled me, brought about some calm so that my needs for a buzz weren’t so insistent. I hadn’t finished the book because of some strict routine I’d stuck to. I’d merely written until I was ready to drop, in which case, I slept for a couple of hours, or until Buster needed a walk, or until my ass was so numb I needed to hit the gym to get my blood circulating again.

That wasn’t dedication to a routine. That was madness.

I finished a second beer, checked the clock, and poured myself a whiskey. What the hell, I had a reason to celebrate. I could hit the bottle for a day, then make a decision between Fiji and Rarotonga.

I pulled all the shot glasses from the cupboard, lining them up along the counter. Five glasses. I stood in front of the liquor cabinet for a while, twirling bottles around, checking labels, and recalling the events responsible for lowering the contents. Fuck, I’d done some crazy shit. I pulled a bunch of them from the cabinet and went back to the line of glasses, waiting like parade soldiers ready to do battle with me.

Tequila, a very special Gin with a skull and crossbones etched into the squat bottle, and a Pappy Van Winkle’s Family Reserve Whiskey that someone had jokingly given me to ‘toast the new baby’ when I was going through a drama with a girl who claimed I’d gotten her pregnant.

I hadn’t.

From the freezer, I grabbed the Grey Goose vodka, which was always a favorite. Then I had one more choice. I went for the Dragon’s Breath, a chili schnapps that should top off the first round of shots with some eye-watering zing.

I poured the shots, at the last minute switching the order of the Grey Goose with the Dragon’s Breath, deciding the icy vodka after the fiery schnapps would be the bar-room equivalent of a polar plunge after a sauna. Something to slam into my heart.

“Watch carefully, Buster, as the master has his fun.”

Buster whacked me on the knee with the tug toy he was optimistically following me about with.

The tequila, quite frankly, made me shudder. It was some cheap stuff left behind after a party. The gin was top shelf, and I was sober enough to enjoy the aromatics that lingered once I swallowed.

Pappy Van Winkle’s was almost worth having a baby for. Pappy was a whiskey craftsman.

Then came the schnapps. Holy shit, that stuff burned on the way down and left me gasping long after I’d swallowed. The vodka was relief for the short time it stayed in my mouth, then the burn roared back like an inferno.

“Stick to beer, and stay away from women,” I told Buster as I wiped the tears from my eyes. My lips had gone numb, but the start of a buzz in my brain felt good.

“You win, Pappy,” I said, lifting the bottle, where Van Winkle grinned back at me from the label. I took the bottle back to the liquor cabinet, found a deserving whiskey glass, and half-filled the tumbler. Or was it half-empty?

I spun the bottle around so that Pappy would stop watching me. The guy unnerved me now, making me think about toasting a baby. Just like back in Newport, I couldn’t get the image of Katrina, swollen with my baby, out of my head.

I wished Poppins was here, getting drunk with me late in the afternoon. No, I didn’t. If she were here, I wouldn’t be behaving like this. I finished the whiskey, ticking off all the reasons asking Katrina to stay would be a bad idea.

We’d turn out like Mom and Dad. Except we wouldn’t, because Katrina would be incapable of behaving the way my mother did. So, I guess we’d be half like that.

But, what if we weren’t? What if Katrina found something in me I’d been too afraid to nurture, instead putting up this barrier of being a loathsome jerk just to put the women off expecting anything more from me than my cock?

And what if that goodness truly wasn’t there, and I simply used Katrina to prove what I’d always feared? But what if I was wrong? Or right? I laughed because I was half-pissed and I couldn’t even assemble my thoughts properly.

Katrina would be here soon. I couldn’t let her see me like this, but I could see her...if I climbed onto the roof. I’d be able to watch her come down the road. I took Pappy with me, but I left the glass behind.

“Stay here and guard the house, Buster, and whatever you do, don’t let that gorgeous girl inside. It’ll just make both of us sad when she leaves.”

I went to the tower, out the window, and climbed along the peak of the roof, settling in against the chimney. In minutes, Katrina came out of the Myers’ house and made her way along the road, towing her wheelie bag. She looked like a sad kid running away from home, dragging her favorite toy behind her.

My heart surged, and happy hormones flooded my system. All of me wanted her and none of me could have her. She faltered at the edge of my driveway, glancing around. My heart galloped faster with every step she took along the drive until she disappeared beneath me, onto the porch.

I wanted to slide down the roof and drop to the ground beside her. Instead, I took another swig of whiskey. I guessed she was returning the keys and whatever else she might have, and pretty soon, she’d realize she’d have to leave them on the porch and be on her way.

Her front door key wouldn’t work. I’d changed the locks.

Right now, I regretted that decision to the depth of my soul. I wanted to be in the house with her in my arms. Instead, I was half-drunk on the roof, hiding like some fucking schoolboy.

I closed my eyes and leaned against the chimney. Buster was going off his head because his precious Katrina,
our
precious Katrina, stood outside the door and we couldn’t have her.

Soon, Buster. Soon, all the temptation will be gone.

I
t didn’t hit
me until I’d had some sleep. I was book-weary and exhausted after Steele and Mary’s emotional ride. It had been a satisfying read, but draining.

I woke around ten after only a few hours’ sleep. As I showered, I came to understand what I hadn’t seen before bed.

Mary.

Mary Poppins.

That was me in the story, and Steele
was
Stone.

For two weeks, Stone had poured his heart onto the page, and what had I done? Nothing. I hadn’t been brave enough to reach out to him, acknowledge his note, or see if he needed any help. Instead, I’d shut down the things I’d felt and tried to move on. Sure, I hadn’t been successful, but I’d started that journey and put in some distance.

Stone had written the book he didn’t want to write so that I could have the chance to secure a job at CJM, and I hadn’t even thanked him.

Mason offered to drive me to the station, but I said I needed to drop something off to Stone and that the walk would do me good. He said we could stop at Stone’s on the way, but June growled at him.

When he frowned, she rolled her eyes.

“If Katrina needs a ride to the station from Stone’s house, she’ll call.”

I thanked them profusely, told them what a sanctuary the cottage had been for me, and hugged them both goodbye. I left with their offer of using the cottage any time I wanted.

“Hopefully, that won’t be necessary,” June said, giving me a wink.

The fact that Stone had felt driven to change the locks almost stopped me, but the thought of Mary and Steele fortified me. I could hear Buster in the house, barking and scratching frantically at the door, and it gave me an awful feeling that something was wrong. I went around the back and discovered the patio door was unlocked. With a thumping heart I entered the house.

Buster hurled himself at me, licking my hands and clawing his way up my legs. Then he ran off, barking again. He bounded halfway up the stairs to the tower, then back down, his barking and whining relentless.

I followed him, and this time, he shot up the stairs with me on his heels. One of the tower windows was completely off the latch, banging against the side of the house.

Oh, God.

Surely, Stone hadn’t...I couldn’t even finish the thought as I treaded carefully to the open window and peered out.

The height was dizzying, and there was no sign of him, so I stepped back. But Buster rushed to the window and continued to whine. I pushed the chair closer, climbed up, and looked along the roofline. There was Stone, sitting with his back against the chimney.

“Are you insane?” I called out.

“Poppins, you came.”

My chest tightened as he wobbled to his feet, a bottle of whiskey in one hand. He weaved dangerously, a leg out one side, his arm in a drunken counterbalance in the opposite direction.

“Sit down. You’re going to fall.”

“Come and have a dance with me, Poppins. Bring your umbrella, and we’ll float off on the wind.” He launched into a song about being a chimney sweep.

“Please, Stone. Please, come back into the house.”

“Come out here with me. Have a drink. The view’s quite amazing. Not as pretty as you, but still, it’s a fine view.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m scared,” I told him truthfully.

“I’m scared too, Poppins. Tell me what you’re scared of, and I’ll tell you what I’m scared of, then all our worries will go away. Or something like that.”

“I’m scared of heights. You know that.”

“Ah, now that’s just not true. I recall you going hot air ballooning.”

“And I was scared.” He was weaving again. “Stone, sit down.”

“Not until you come out here and sit with me.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“I knew you cared.”

“Stone—”

“Come on, Poppins, show me you’re not scared. Prove to me you can do this. I’ll keep you safe. Come on out here. Be with me.”

His words struck something inside me. They’d been written in the story when Mary hadn’t been able to allow herself to trust Steele. She’d pushed for him to believe in himself, but when the crunch came, she feared that making a commitment to him would mean she’d have her heart broken. She resisted for a while, then she took that leap of faith.

I tried not to look down, my sweating palms slipping against the window frame as I pulled myself up to stand on the sill. “Stone, my legs have gone numb.”

“Wait there. I’ll come and get you.”

This was foolish. He was drunk, his balance wavering, and my legs refused to cooperate. Gingerly, I lowered myself so that I was sitting on the sill, my legs dangling outside. That felt daring enough for me.

Stone made his last few steps at a run and sat beside me. He sighed, then nudged me. “I missed you, Poppins.”

“I missed Buster,” I teased. I think it was the relief at not having to walk out onto the roof.

“He missed you, too. I could see it in his eyes. He wanted to cry, except, you know, dogs don’t do that...not tears. But his heart was crying.”

“You really are attributing a lot of human emotions to that dog.”

“Are you still scared?”

I nodded. “I’m scared of how much this hurts, and that tomorrow, I’m going to wake up in my apartment and want to be back here with you. I didn’t mean to fall so hard for you, Stone. I’m not very experienced at this sort of thing, but I wanted you to know that you mean a lot to me.”

“Did you read the book?”

“I did. I think deep down, you wanted me to do that. Otherwise, you’d have sent it directly to Sarah.”

He stared off into the distance for a long time. “When’s your train?” He finally asked.

Right there, the hope that he’d ask me to stay was dashed. Was he going to tell me I needed to be on my way? I checked my watch. “Twenty minutes. I’ll call Mason and ask him to give me a ride to the station.”

“Don’t go.”

“What?”

“Don’t go, Poppins. You scare the shit out of me, and I care for you so much. I didn’t want to break you, so I did stupid shit like changing the locks so I wouldn’t have to see you...because if I saw you again, I wouldn’t be able to let you go. But I’m fucking terrified that if we’re together, we’ll end up like my parents, and you’re too good for that. You deserve better. Then I finished that book, and I’m not going to lie, you were in it from the start. I thought it would be fun to write a character like you...a real person, not some pumped-up club bimbo.

“Then in these last two weeks, as I gave you your happily ever after, I wanted to be Steele. I dug deep in that story because Steele was such an ass. But the deeper I went with Steele, in order to make him worthy of Mary, the deeper I had to go inside myself. If I were capable of creating my own misery, then surely I was capable of creating my own happiness, too. I realized I don’t have to follow the blueprint my parents set out for me. I can simply say that within me is the ability to be someone different, and I believe I can do that with you at my side. For you. Because I don’t want to go through another day feeling the way I felt for the past two weeks. You make me whole, Poppins. I looked inside and found the real me, and that person is capable of loving you and promises to do that until...forever. I love you, Poppins. Please stay.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My heart swelled, and my eyes burned with tears at Stone’s honest, if not slightly drunken, declaration.

“I wanted to say...” I stopped, digging for a tissue in my pocket. I took a deep breath. “Okay. I wanted to say sorry for not checking up on you. I really wanted to, but I’m also glad we had this time apart because I went out and did things I wanted to do instead of just wishing. You taught me how to live, Stone. And I enjoyed doing that, although it would have been much better to do with you by my side.”

I turned to face him, and he brushed my tears away and licked his thumb. “Everything about you is delicious. Even your tears, because right now, I’m telling myself these are happy tears. And if you ever have sad tears, I’ll kiss those away and make it all better.”

I laughed. “You’re crazy, you know that? Don’t ever change your craziness because it makes me brave.”

“Didn’t make you brave enough to come out onto the roof with me. Let’s do that now.”

“You’re drunk, Stone. I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go downstairs and get you a lot of water. Then let’s take Buster for a walk, because he’s kind of missing out here, and once you’re sober, we’ll have this conversation properly.”

“Just tell me you’re staying.”

My heart was in danger of cracking my ribs. “I’m staying.”

“And tell me the other thing that you feel in here.”

He placed his hand over my thundering heart. I looked into his gray eyes and saw something bright and new. I covered his hand with mine. “In here, Stone Logan, all I feel is love for you.”

“I feel it too,” he said quietly.

Stone attempted to swing his legs through the window, but he finished up on the floor with Buster leaping all over him and licking his face. He grabbed the dog by the shoulders, holding him off. “I’d rather this were you licking my face, not the dog.”

I eased myself from the window frame and offered a hand to Stone. He tugged me down on top of him, then rolled us until I was on my back.

“You do feel good, trapped beneath me.”

“Feels good to be here,” I whispered.

Stone lowered his mouth to mine. His kiss was tinged with whiskey, long and gentle.

“That was number thirty-six, Poppins. The list I’ve made goes on for pages, and I’ll keep adding to it, even when we’re old and decrepit in our dual wheelchair in the nursing home.”