Pieces of My Heart (13 page)

“Umm . . .”

Caulder’s frown lines deepened and he shook his head. “That’s what I thought.”

He seemed to move so fast it made my head spin and I had to press my eyes closed to avoid another dizzy spell. I didn’t reopen them until I felt him beside me again.

“Eat this.” Something scraped over the table in front of me and I looked down to find two pieces of toast, smeared with grape jelly, lying on a plate.

My hand shook as I lifted the first piece to my mouth and there was nothing I could do to hide it. Caulder stood, watching me like a hawk, waiting until the entire first slice was devoured before reclaiming his seat at my side.

“Jade?” He waited until I was looking at him—still chewing a bite of toast—before continuing. “I need you to be perfectly honest with me right now. I know you don’t like to ask for help. You don’t even like accepting help when it’s offered. But this is important.”

His gaze bored into mine, pinning me to my seat when all I really wanted to do was run for the hills because I knew what was coming out of his mouth next.

“Is there food in your apartment?” And there it was.

I opened my mouth to spew some well-rehearsed bullshit response I’d given a hundred times throughout the years, but he lifted a hand, cutting me off.

“Before you answer that, please think. I’m not offering to give you money. I don’t want to buy you some nonsense gift or something outrageous. This is
food
we’re talking about. Okay? Something essential to your health. Your
life.
Your
mother’s
life.” He really went there. The sneaky little bastard wasn’t playing fair and he knew it. “There are things I can’t protect you from because you won’t let me. You have no idea how infuriating that can be. But I let it go because that’s what you need. This is something
I
need. You can’t expect me to sit back and watch you slowly waste away before my eyes. That would be cruel. You can’t refuse my help on this one.”

“Cal . . .”

He’ll start seeing you for what you really are.
Leech. Bottom-feeder. Para—

“Angel.”

I nodded, dropping my gaze to the half-eaten slice of toast left on my plate. I’d suddenly lost my appetite.

“Hey.” A forefinger and thumb lightly gripped my chin, tilting my head up until I caught Caulder’s eye. “Everyone needs help sometimes. There’s no shame in that. But there’s a hell of a lot of courage in having the strength to ask for it.”

My chest felt sore. Swollen.

“Okay.” I didn’t know why I was whispering, except that he was so close. And whatever this feeling was building between us . . . it felt like a secret.

A cautious smile made Caulder’s scruffy cheek twitch. “Good. Now keep all of that in mind when I show you what I brought you here for.”

“What—?”

“Come with me.”

Anxiety mounted with every step as I followed him along the hall to a side door, which I knew led to a garage, though I’d never actually seen any of them use it. When he pushed it open, I saw why. More than car storage, it looked like a workspace. Tool boxes lined the rear wall. More tools I couldn’t identify—which pretty much amounted to a hammer or a screwdriver—sat scattered around the floor. One of those rolley things you lie on to get under a car was parked in the corner and beside it . . .

I was taken off guard by one of those overwhelming, heart-stopping, breathtaking moments. The sleek black and silver machine sat parked in the far spot and with just the sight of it, everything came rushing back. The tug of the wind in my hair. The vibrations carrying through my body. The heat of my chest pressed up against Kiernan’s back. The feel of his cut abs beneath my hands.

I swallowed the tears creeping their way up my throat and took a deep breath through my nose.

“What are we doing in here, Cal?”

“You’re in need of a vehicle that won’t get you killed.”

My gaze slid toward him, but caught on something else in the process. “Oh, no.”

“You said you'd let me fix your car problem.”

“I said I'd let you fix my
car
.”

“Yeah, well, that hunk of junk was beyond saving. So you're getting this, instead.”

“Are you insane? I can't drive
that
!” My knowledge of cars wasn’t enough to fill a picture book, but I could take a fairly reasonable guess that Kiernan’s car was worth more money than I’d ever even
seen
in my life.

“You can. It's a good car, Angel. Safe. Reliable. And it's just sitting here, collecting dust.” Then he pulled out the big guns. “You know as well as I do that he'd want you to have it.”

And I was defenseless. “Cal, please.”

Big fingers pressed softly into my shoulder, turning me until I was staring at the hard planes of Caulder’s chest, visible through the tight V-neck tee clinging to his well-muscled frame.

“I get it, okay? I know you think I don’t. Think I
can’t
because I have money. Because I have all of this.” He waved his hand idly indicating the cars, the house, and everything in it as though it were a mere afterthought. “But I do. I know what it’s like to feel . . . less than.”

He didn’t, though. He didn’t get it at all. This wasn’t about me.

You start accepting things like this. His gifts. His money . . . See how far he runs.

“Angel . . .” Cal released me, running his hand through his tousled hair. “I never want to make you feel that way.
Never
. But, please . . . This is one of those things I’m going to beg you to give me. The car and the food, and I swear I’ll leave you alone. I won’t ask you to accept anything else from me. I just want to help you, Jade. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” His eyes connected with mine and I saw in them the vulnerability I knew without a doubt he never allowed anyone but me to witness. The fact that he was willing to share that with me meant everything. Even if he was using it against me at the moment. “Let me.”

He was standing right there. Right in front of me. Close enough to touch. Close enough to breathe in his scent. He didn’t look ready to run. In fact, quite the opposite. He was digging his heels in in a way that made it clear there was no point arguing with him.

And maybe there wasn’t.

***

When I left, it was behind the wheel of a midnight blue Bentley with bags of groceries crowding the backseat. All of which Caulder had amassed from his cabinets, fridge, and pantry, promising to restock his mother’s shelves first thing in the morning.

Mom and Michael had already retired to the bedroom by the time I arrived home, struggling under the weight of more food than our apartment had ever contained. I snapped off the television and shuffled into the kitchen to empty the bags. I smiled as shelf after shelf filled to capacity, to the point that I had to store a few bottles of soda and juice on the floor beneath the table because they wouldn’t fit in the fridge. Maybe accepting help wasn’t such a terrible thing.

Reaching into the bottom of the last bag, I burst out laughing so hard tears streamed down my face. I cried out my relief over having one less thing to worry about. My joy over having someone so wonderful in my life that he would take away that fear for me. That someone cared enough about me to want to. And because I knew my high had reached its pinnacle and there was nowhere left to go but down.

Without thought or reason, I collapsed to the floor, sobbing as I cradled that box of Raisinets to my chest.

Thirteen

Drip.

Drip. Drip.

Drip.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I swatted, blindly, at the splash of cold water on my arm. What the hell? Rolling onto my back, I stared at the ceiling through the early evening gloom and tried to let my brain catch up. I’d fallen asleep, that much was obvious. And now I was . . . wet?

My blanket, shirt, and sheets were all soaked.

Another drip splattered against my cold skin, sending a shiver through me. Rain continued to pelt against my window and the stain on my ceiling had grown darker.
Damper
. Hundreds of tiny droplets dangled from the cracked plaster, sliding along predetermined lines like threads of a spider web toward one central spot where they coalesced and then plummeted . . . straight into my bed.

Crap
. Throwing back the blanket, I jumped out of the soggy mess I was lying in and shook out my shirt. Gross. A pale brownish stain covered everything. My blanket landed in a heap near the door and I tugged the bedframe away from the invading leak. Looked like my bedroom would come equipped with its own water feature for the foreseeable future. It took them months to replace a light bulb. God only knew how long it would be before they got around to fixing the roof. At least it hadn’t collapsed on me. Yet.

Stripping the bed, I tossed the sheets on top of my blanket to be taken to the laundry room, and flipped the mattress. Now, if I could just find a bucket. Something big enough that I wouldn’t have to get up every twenty minutes to dump it.

Mom sat on the couch, staring blankly at an infomercial for some sort of magical cooking device blaring on the television at an ear-piercing volume. Michael reclined in the chair, picking his teeth with the prongs of a fork. Stacks of dirty dishes and empty cans and bottles littered the coffee table and surrounding floor.

Disgusted, I took a step toward the kitchen,
muffling the string of curses fighting to break out of my mouth when
pain
lanced through my big toe and an empty vodka bottle skidded across the floor.

Goddammit
. I was so sick of it. Sick of my home smelling like a bar and looking like a dump. Sick of hiding out of sight to help my mother pretend I didn’t exist. Sick of living this way. Sick of
feeling
this way.

Hobbling over to the coffee table, I dug around for the remote and hit the mute button, plunging the room into a near deafening silence.

“If you don’t turn it down, the neighbors are going to call the cops.”

Michael huffed and tossed the fork he’d been using toward the overcrowded table where it bounced off an empty can, sending both to the floor.

“Do you even know what a sink is?” My tongue lashed out along with my hand, snapping up a precariously piled stack of plates with green fuzz beginning to grow on them.

“Not a clue.” Michael kicked up his feet, blocking my path, and folded his hands behind his head as a gruesome smile bared his brownish, gaping teeth. It was a sickening sight. “But while you’re at it, why don’t you grab me a cold one?”

“I’m not your damn waitress.” My fingers clenched around the plates and I regretted picking them up. “Or your friggin’ maid.”

Tossing the cherry on top of my hissy-fit sundae, I dropped the dishes back onto the table and heard one crack. My mother’s eyes grew dark and I knew I was digging myself a hole I couldn’t get out of, but I couldn’t make myself stop. Almost a week without a word from Caulder was rubbing my nerves raw.

I gave him what he wanted. I took the food, the car. Exposed my inner parasite. And what? Nothing. I was such a fool. Nothing was worth this.

The last five days, I’d floated through my life, existing to no one as anything more than a doormat. A barmaid. A scapegoat. The Parks were the only ones who ever treated me like a person. Without them, I was . . .
this
. And that pissed me off.

“Get your own damn beer. And turn the TV down.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and fisted them to hide how hard they were shaking.

My head screamed for me to retreat. To run to my room and hide. After all, that’s what I was good at. But my broken, masochistic heart wasn’t finished. I was letting down my shields. Stowing my defenses. Let them do their worst. Maybe if I could feel all the pain at once, I could overcome it quicker. Or maybe it would just break me once and for all and I could be done with it. Either alternative was preferable than the way I felt now.

“If you’re going to be a party pooper why don't you just get the hell out?” Michael punctuated his point by throwing an empty beer can at my head.

I don't know why I was surprised when all my mother did was laugh. It wasn't too long ago that that was exactly what I'd expect her to do. “God she's no fun at all. It's hard to believe she has any of us in her.”

I chose to take that as a compliment. “Mom—”

“Listen to your father. Either shut the hell up or get the hell out. I wasted enough years on you. I’m not letting you steal anymore, you greedy parasite.”

“It's freezing out there.”

“Not my problem. I'm so sick of your ungrateful, whiny ass. You always have to ruin everything. You ruined my entire life. Get out!”

“Mom . . .” I had nowhere else to go.

“Get. Out!”             

This time the flying alcohol container was made of glass and I heard it smash on the wall behind me as I ducked out of its sloppy trajectory.

Snapping up my coat, I stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door loud enough behind me to rattle the old frame. Their dismissal wasn’t what I craved. I needed their vicious words, their hurtful truths. I needed them to tear me up until nothing mattered anymore. But I couldn’t even get that much from them. Instead, all I got was indifference. And somehow that was worse.

Where was I supposed to go? It's not like I had any money, or my phone, or the car keys. I was stuck. At least the spare key to the apartment was under the mat. I just needed to wait until they fell asleep—or passed out—then I could let myself back in. However long that might take.

Traipsing down the stairs, I let anger cloud my better judgment. Not a smart move when traversing dangerous territory. I stepped without looking, using more force than necessary to make a point—to who? me?—and felt the stair give way.

It was too late. There was nothing I could do. With my hands stuffed deep in my pockets, I couldn’t even break my fall as I pitched forward and tumbled down the rest of the flight. Head over heels until I slammed into the hard tiled floor at the bottom.

I cried out as a sharp pain sliced through my ankle, radiating throughout my entire left leg. Rolling onto my back, I folded my knee up to my chest and gingerly grabbed at it.
Perfect
. It was already beginning to swell.

Dammit
. Why did I always have to take a bad situation and make it ten times worse?
Stupid, stupid, stupid
.

Gritting my teeth against the throbbing pain, I drew in a few deep breaths. It wasn’t broken. It couldn’t be broken.

When the initial shock wore off, I readjusted to a sitting position and thought for about half a second that I could hobble my way back upstairs. That thought was buried deep the moment I tried putting the slightest weight on my foot. I wasn’t going anywhere. Not without some help. And I was out of options as to where to find that.

Blaming the tears in my eyes on the pain, I shuffled on hands and knees onto the narrow ledge running under the mailboxes across the wall. Anything to get off the cold, sticky floor. Bitter wind seeped in through the glass lobby door and wafted over me as I tucked my knees up to my chest, wrapping as much of them as I could cover with my coat.

The pain lessened as numbness crept over my extremities. My wet shirt grew stiff and frigid. After a while, shivers started wracking my body, but it was when they stopped that I knew I was really in trouble. I just didn't care. All I wanted was to curl up and go to sleep. When I woke, this would all be a nightmare. My ankle would feel better and it would be safe to go home again.

Maybe I never would have met those Parks boys, at all.

***

“Jade? Christ, Jade, what are you doing down here?” Rough hands shook me awake, jostling my sore ankle until I groaned in pain.

“Jade! Wake up! Look at me.”

I didn’t want to wake up. It didn’t feel like a dream yet.

“Dammit, your lips are blue. How long have you been sitting here?”

But then again, maybe it did. Because when I forced my eyes open a slit it was Caulder’s face staring down at me.

“C-Cal? What are you d-doing here?” Damn, I was cold.

“You didn’t answer your phone.”

“It’s u-upstairs.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“I-I . . .” It was hard to piece everything together. The fight, the fall, the stairs. I’d never gone back upstairs. I was supposed to go back upstairs. “They . . . k-kicked me out. I f-fell as-sleep.”

“Okay.” His Adam’s apple bobbed before my eyes. “Alright. I got you. Come on.”

His arms went around me, scooping me from the platform and I clenched my jaw against the pained cry threatening to break loose as my injured ankle swung freely in the air.

“Arms around me, Angel.”

I tried. I swear I tried, but I couldn’t. They felt like a couple of dead weights dangling from my body. “I c-can’t.”

“Okay. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.” He shifted my weight and picked up his pace until we were jogging toward his car. After buckling me in, his fingers rested on my hands. “Your finger tips are blue, too. You're practically frozen.”

The reality of the situation hit me hard and fast. “It wasn’t sup-posed to be that l-l-long. I f-fell asleep.”

“That’s because of the cold. It drains the energy right out of you. Makes you tired.”

All but hood-sliding his way to the driver’s side, he dropped behind the wheel and snapped every heat vent in my direction.

“I’m exha-hausted.”

“Well, don’t fall asleep on me.” He cast another worried look in my direction and pressed the gas a little harder. “Just hang on ’til we get to the hospital.”

“No!” Sudden fear clogged my throat making my difficult breathing nearly impossible. “No, no . . . no ho-hospital.”

“Jade . . . You need to see a doctor. You could be—”

“No . . . hospital . . . Cal.” I took the time to make sure the words came out perfectly clear.

His hands shifted around the wheel, but he eased off the accelerator. “Angel . . .”

“Please, C-Cal. I don’t ha-have insu-surance. I can’t afford i-it.”

“If money’s the issue—”

I stopped him before he could even go there. “Please, Cal. You p-promised.”

His jaw hardened as he braked for a stop light and we sat there staring at each other long after it turned green.

“Dammit, Angel. You’re killing me here.” Throwing on his blinker, he turned left toward his house and I breathed a sigh of relief.