Shattered (Reflections Book 2)

by A. L. Woods

  Right would take her to the main roads that led into Eaton.

  Right would mean I had been over-reading the situation.

  Right would mean she wasn’t keeping something from me.

  Right would prevail over wrong.

  My heart sank when, without indicating, she pulled that rust-bucket of a Camry to the left, vanishing from my line of vision, confirming my worst suspicion. Lies were cheap and easy to come by. And with Raquel, they felt like a dime a dozen. I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes, rubbing my scalp with the pads of my fingers as my mind raced for an explanation for her deception.

  This wasn’t the first time she had pulled this kind of shit, and I wasn’t about to bullshit myself into believing it would be the last. This was who she was, who she had been brought up to be. Lie your way out of trouble, remain surreptitious. Reveal your hand only and if you have to. And if you don’t? Keep your mouth shut.

  How profoundly idiotic of me to think that I’d be able to disarm her with a piece of my past this morning, and when that hadn’t worked, an exchange of sexual barbs. She had been entirely impregnable—and that was why with the regret that I hadn’t called her out sooner a serrated claw on my insides—I turned and headed back indoors.

  Trina greeted me at the foyer with her arms folded over her chest. She was emanating enough nervous energy that I thought we would both drown in that shit. “How much of our conversation did you hear?” she asked in a whisper, her lips puckered with worry.

  I toed the front door shut with the tip of my boot before I kicked them off onto the floor mat. “Does it matter?” I slid by her, plodding into the kitchen to finish packing my lunch cooler.

  Trina’s footsteps stalled in front of the barstools, timidity filling the soft contours of her face. She lifted a thumb to her mouth, gnawing at the tip her nail as she watched me with an uneasy eyes. “Sean.”

  I heaved a sigh, scraping at the edges of the mayonnaise jar with a butter knife before scraping it along the innards of cut open papo-seco, the knife gliding easily over the airy bread. “When do you get the keys?” I offered, understanding what she was really asking.

  Eavesdropping hadn’t been on my agenda this morning, but apparently, I suffered from the family affliction after all. That’s how I had learned from the source directly that my kid sister was moving out. I wasn’t pissed about it. Beyond the obvious and entirely inevitable discomfort of sharing the room next to your older brother and his girlfriend, Trina was past the point of wanting to play roommate with me or anyone else in our nosey-ass family. I would know; I had been very much the same at her age.

  She cursed, her hand dropping to her side. “I was going to tell you.”

  “I know,” I murmured without looking up. “You don’t have to sound guilty.”

  “Then why do you look so…” She seemed at a loss for a description.

  I worked at the lump in my throat before murmuring some noncommittal reply. My expression had nothing to do with my sister’s news.

  “The timing seemed like it was going to work out, with Raquel moving in and all.”

  “Raquel isn’t moving in.” And I hadn’t needed a reminder that my girlfriend wasn’t quite ready to drop the L-bomb, didn’t want to move in with me, and was keeping shit from me. “No idea where you got that impression from.” I tossed the butter knife into the sink behind me without care, the bang of steel on steel making my sister’s brows lift.

  “Oh,” she faltered. The unchecked surprise in the single syllable felt like a sucker punch. I felt that marble roll a new tunnel right through my gut before she continued on. “I thought maybe that’s the direction things were heading in.”

  The strain in my jaw muscles pulled in warning as my teeth ground together. “Well, you thought incorrectly, kid.”

  Trina gave me a once-over, her nose crinkling. “Why are you suddenly so pissy?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, not missing the apathy in my voice.

  She peered at me, unconvinced. “Well, you’re being weird.”

  I rolled the tension out of my shoulders, glowering back in her direction and hoping like hell that she would acknowledge my cue and drop it for the time being.

  “Did something happen? Raquel left before I could thank her.”

  My cue had gone right over her head and out the front door, heading wherever Raquel had been going. My teeth gritted at Trina’s prattling and incessant badgering. It was getting on my last nerve, and I’d had just about enough.

  At my continued silence, her eyes tapered in my direction. “Did you get into an argument?”

  I wished we had. At least then I could understand her vow of secrecy and chronic need to keep things wrapped up tighter than a wrench on a stripped bolt.

  “Trina, my dick. Hop off it,” I snarled.

  My kid sister’s head snapped back, her expression hardening as her initial shock at my outburst dissipated. She nested her hands on the waistline of her high-waisted boyfriend jeans, a harsh breath rushing from her, cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk. “I wanna remind you that we were sharing a really nice moment five minutes ago, and you’re ruining it with whatever you’re so suddenly pissed off of about.” She kept one hand trained on her waist, the pointer finger of her free hand punching the air in my direction. “So, either tell me what the fuck I did to make you so mad or you hop off my dick.”

  Ignoring her, I slapped a couple of slices of turkey breast onto the roll with about as much know-how as a third grader making his lunch for the first time. I was about to reach for the Swiss cheese when Trina appeared at my side, reared her fist back and slammed it against my bicep with all of her upper body strength.

  I barked with surprise, my hand instinctually reaching for the spot she’d whacked. “What the fuck was that for?”

  “You’re being a dick,” she scolded, venom lacing her words. “You need to stop.”

  My hands went to the edge of the counter, my body bending at the waist as I braced myself there. None of this was my sister’s fault. She didn’t deserve my frustration toward Raquel’s restrained and clandestine nature, not after what she had just confessed to her in her bedroom twenty minutes ago. I was conflating, and that made me no better than our ma.

  She didn’t need my attitude, my bullshit. They were my problems, not hers.

  “You’re right, kid,” I agreed, glancing to my left, meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t miss her mystified expression. Her lips parted, but it took three swallows and a garbled sound before she managed to speak. “What did you say?”

  I straightened, collecting myself. “I said you’re right and that I’m sorry.”

  Trina glanced at her still closed fist. “Did I hit your head?”

  “Smart ass,” I chuckled, lunging at her and pulling her into another bear hug.

  She shrieked, squirming in my embrace. “You’re messing up my hair,” she groused, pushing up on my biceps. “Enough hugging.”

  “Shh, shh.” Laughter vibrated in my chest while she struggled to wrestle out of my hold. “Just let it happen.”

  “You need to be committed.”

  I released her, observing as she lurched away from me looking utterly frazzled. Trina watched me through hooded eyes, her fingers working to smooth out her pink tresses.

  “I probably do,” I said, tossing her a perfunctory look.

  “You going to tell me why you’re having more mood swings than I do when Aunt Flow is visiting?”

  I closed the sandwich roll, my hands working at the cling wrap. “No, but thank you for that unfortunate visual.”

  Her eyes lit up with a wickedness that told me I’d inadvertently opened up a can of worms. “Thanks for the nightly soundtrack.”

  A wry smile pulled at my lips, “Guess we’re even, then.”

  Trina simply shrugged. “Guess so.” She nibbled at her bottom lip. “So, seriously…you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

  I placed the sandwich into the lunc
h cooler before turning toward the fridge to retrieve an apple and an orange. “Still no.”

  “Maybe I could help.”

  “Doubtful.” I placed the fruit into cooler alongside the sandwich and closed the lid. Pulling it from the counter, I bypassed her and left our lunches on the hallway tree by the front door. My sister was as persistent as an ant on a piece of fruit. I’m sure she recognized that she might be flicked off, but went for it anyway.

  “I am a girl, y’know.”

  “I never said otherwise.” I pulled my jacket from its hook, shrugging into it. “And you didn’t say when you get the keys to your apartment.”

  Her arms folded across her chest, her expression growing rankled. She studied me for a minute longer, the cogs of her mind likely working through a process of risk elimination.

  If she pushed the issue again, there was a chance I was going to bark again.

  If she dropped it, there was a better likelihood that I would tell her when I was ready to properly pry the stick from my ass.

  She appeared to recognize the latter, for her arms dropped to her sides, a sign of her surrender. “Tomorrow.” She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

  “Isn’t it going to be weird, living with Lainey and a kid?” I removed my keys from the hook where they hung. Aidan was a great kid, but trouble always seemed to be lurking wherever Lainey went. Something hadn’t been quite right about her the last couple of years, but anytime I pointed that out to Trina, she deflected.

  She slipped into a black hooded trench coat that hit her at the knees. “Not any weirder than living in your love nest.” She appraised herself in the hallway mirror, checking her makeup.

  “Seriously, Trina. Aidan’s a kid, and kids are messy. Never mind Lainey’s penchant for finding trouble.”

  She pushed up on her eyelashes with the pads of her fingers. “You like Aidan.”

  I twirled the keys on my pointer finger, “Yeah, and I like Livy too, but I wouldn’t want to live with her again.”

  She stared at me in the mirror, her mouth splitting into a grin. “I cannot wait to tell her you said that.”

  “Go for it.” I laughed, shoving my hands into my coat pocket. “I’ll be sure to let her know that you not only stole her hoodie, but you accidentally bleached it.”

  Trina considered her options for a beat, her expression growing smug. “Well played, big brother.” It wasn’t my first time at the rodeo, either. Her disappointed sigh escaped her like a strangle as she continued to study herself in the mirror.

  “What is with the over-the-top primping lately? We’re going to an active construction site, not walking a runway.”

  Ever since we had started work on the house in Heritage Park, Trina had gone from not giving a shit if she ran a brush through her hair to suddenly being very aware of every single damn eyelash. I couldn’t understand the sudden one-eighty in her behavior, how she had gone from looking like a kid in one of her many oversized band tees to dressing like she had been studying diligently under Penelope’s tutelage.

  She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a tube of cherry-flavored ChapStick. Uncapping it, she glided the balm across her puckered lips. “That doesn’t mean that I need to show up looking like you.”

  I glanced down at my attire. I was construction appropriate. There were no holes in my jeans or my shirt. I had even been diligent about cleaning under my fingernails. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  She rolled her lips together, releasing them with a pop. What was up with her?

  My brain worked overtime as I tried to compare the difference between the colonial that Penelope and Dougie had bought from me and the property in Heritage Park.

  The formula was practically the same. Total gut job—tighter budget.

  New area.

  Same crew…almost, with one new addition.

  And he just happened to be a couple of inches shorter than me and young enough to date my sister.

  My jaw twitched at the epiphany, my lips curling into a snarl.

  Trina raced for the door, giving me her back before I could read the truth that would be scrawled all over her face.

  That little shit.

  I locked the door before I lumbered after her.

  “This better not be about Adam,” I warned, barely containing the growl in my voice, watching as she skipped with too much eagerness toward the Wrangler.

  She responded with a nonchalant shrug, but the look of mischief that twinkled in her eyes as she grinned at me from over her shoulder already had my fists working.

  I was in a bad mood already, so if Adam was sniffing around my sister, then he would have to nurse a broken nose first.

  Then we could talk about whether he thought Trina was worth the risk.

  My mind felt miles away as I moved around the site. My body was warm despite the cold chill that spread through the house, sweat spreading across my chest and face. I rested my weight against the sledgehammer that was face down, handle up on the floor as I surveyed my handiwork. Penelope had come up with the brilliant idea that there were, and I quote, “too many walls in this house; it’s depressing.” So, we were opening this place up on the main floor and making way for her vision.

  She hadn’t been particularly pleased to learn that some of the walls she had wanted to take a wrecking ball to were load bearing; we needed posts to support the weight and she would have to figure out how to design around them. The house was over a hundred years old, and we were already trying to navigate creating the ten-foot ceilings she had envisioned on the main floor—a challenge in and of itself without leveling the house and rebuilding.

  She tried talking to me about the psychology of design, and I hadn’t given enough fucks to listen. We agreed to disagree on the matter, and I reminded her of the budget she had to work with for this to be profitable for all of us. She was lucky I’d been crazy enough to bring her back at all at Dougie’s behest.

  I pretended it wasn’t because he wanted to check her and her growing baby bump out all day long.

  Penelope had done a great job on the colonial; I would give her that. Frankly, the Heritage Park house was going to need all the help it could get.

  I warned her through gritted teeth to keep the word Caesarstone out of her vocabulary. I had a vendor and a thirty percent markdown lined up for granite countertops, and she needed to deal with it. It wasn’t the first argument we had had since starting the project, and I suspected it wouldn’t be the last.

  I was determined to keep both our budget and Penelope in check this time around, but with a desire to keep the peace in mind, I gave her the open concept.

  Compromise. That was how to keep your work wife happy.

  Trina appeared in the opening I had just created in the wall, a clipboard clutched to her chest. She had ditched the trench coat in the car, but her teeth were practically clattering together. She wasn’t moving around enough to stay warm, and unlike Penelope—whose expensive looking black parka was still buttoned to her neck like a damn nun—my sister had prioritized drawing the attention of every fucker on this job site with a low-cut white tank top that she was practically spilling out of. I wanted to fasten the oversized denim shirt she had draped on top right up to her chin just to keep the gawking to a minimum. “Sean, Big Head’s looking for you.”

  “Aren’t you cold?” I observed, looking her up and down. I tried to keep the judgment out of my voice. It wasn’t her fault that the men couldn’t keep their gawking under lock and key, but shit, the element of her being my kid sister was completely clouding my judgement. And with the shit mood I was already in? I was liable to take a monkey wrench to someone’s eye sockets.

  “What?” she challenged, her eyes narrowing. She knew exactly what I meant. I didn’t feel like wrapping her up in a trench coat any more than I felt like rolling all these assholes—who forgot they were married or the father of daughters every time they stole a glance in my sister’s direction—into the bed of Dougie’s truck
and depositing their bodies into a river.

  It wasn’t Trina’s fault that they couldn’t keep it together, but it would be mine when I staple gunned their eyelids together. I rested the sledgehammer against what was left of the wall. “Never mind,” I muttered, “Where is he?” I averted my gaze, scanning the opening in search of Dougie.

  She gave me an eye roll. “Outside.”

  Without warning, the indignation that had colored her face up and vanished. Frowning, I followed the forged path of her eyes. Sometimes, the universe could be better than a birthday. There, behind me, stood the heart of my fists’ desire.

  Adam Ryan.

  On a superficial level, the kid didn’t look like he belonged anywhere near a construction zone, not with his wiry build, long limbs, and strong facial structure. But hand him any tool, and he knew how to work it better than some of the dumb fucks I’d had on my payroll for years. The hair on the sides of his head was taper faded, the top long with waves. He shoved a mop of dark reddish-brown hair out of his line of vision, his hazel stare bouncing between me and Trina.

  I couldn’t tell if he was unimpressed with my sister’s getup, or if he simply wore a poker face, but I wanted to pulverize him all the same. Did he not realize the amount of effort she had gone to with all that beauty queen shit this morning? He could at least tell her she looked nice. Instead, crimson burned his face the same way I imagined his pallid skin did when it saw the sun sans sunscreen.

  Cocking an eyebrow, I pitched my hands on my waist. “You got something you want to say to me?”

  He shrank where he stood, and I imagined his balls receding into themselves from fear. “Yeah, actually.” He straightened his posture, buying himself another two inches he’d lost to slouching. Rubbing the back of his head, he started to speak, “I just—”