Every part of Stella Bradleigh was made for me.
The way her body responds to mine.
The shadows that hide within and tint her edges with darkness.
Her savage loyalty.
Her spirit that life keeps kicking in the teeth but refuses to be beaten.
The next kick is coming straight from you, fuckface, and there’s a good chance she won’t be able to get back up after this one.
Tears fill my eyes, and knowing when she finds out what I’ve done, I’ll never hold her like this again, the arm I have slung over her waist tightens and pulls her naked body closer to mine. If this is all the time we have together, there’s no way I’m wasting time on sleep, so I spend the next two hours committing every detail of her to memory. The gentle curve of her hip, the way her sooty lashes lay in contrast to her pale skin, the feel of her silky coal-black hair against my cheek, her delicate scent that will haunt me every time I close my eyes.
When she wakes up, I have to tell her the truth.
She’s going to hate me, and I’m going to lose her.
And there’s nothing I can do about it.
Chapter Thirteen
Oh shit.
In a rush of embarrassment colored with a healthy dose of panic, my eyes open wide as my mind replays a reminder of my potentially boneheaded move.
My mom made me watch Coyote Ugly with her a few times when I was younger, and I always laughed at the title until she explained what the term meant. After that, I just thought it wasn’t a very nice thing to say and couldn’t understand how anybody would end up in that kind of situation.
I was a kid. What the hell did I know?
Until this moment, I’ve been lucky enough to avoid that particular feeling of morning-after regret. Granted, in my case, it’s the same damn day, and it’s not my arm I want to chew off, it’s my tongue. Close enough.
Every cell in my body is collectively praying that the four words I let slip as I was falling asleep didn’t fuck this up.
Poe’s long, strong body fits perfectly against my back, and his arm draped across my waist holds me tight. In all my life, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more protected.
Safe.
Clueless as to how long we’ve been asleep, I attempt to use the amount of light still coming through the large windows as a gauge. My guess is it's early evening. Not wanting to leave this little nest of smooth, cool sheets and warm, naked skin quite yet, I try to stay as still as possible and am just dozing off again when I feel more than hear a quiet sigh behind me.
He’s awake. Should I get this over with? I should probably just roll over and face the music.
Stretching lightly, I maneuver onto my back without dislodging Poe’s arm around me and manage to keep the edge of the sheet tucked under my arms so my breasts are covered. When I turn my face to him, what I see is not at all what I expected. In my head, this played out one of two ways after my little outburst—either he would be cocky as shit about it, or he wouldn’t be able to get me out of here fast enough. The latter option was winning by a mile in my internal scenario.
Instead, Poe’s face is an inscrutable mix of sorrow, agony, guilt, and something that looks like it might fall into the love-ish category. He rests his head on the arm curled beneath it, the longer top of his rich, espresso hair a disheveled mess like he’s either been running his fingers through it for the past hour or somehow managed to pull off half a dozen head spins while I was asleep. I can say for sure that I’ve never seen the level of despair in anybody’s eyes the likes of what is swimming in his right now, and it makes my stomach hurt.
“Poe?” I pause, worry uncoiling in the pit of my gut. Naturally, because I’m a spaz when it comes to anything emotional, I start rambling. “Are you okay? Is it what I said? Don’t worry about that. Probably just hormones or something talking.” My nervous laugh fades to silence when he lifts his arm from my waist and brushes the back of his hand lightly along my cheek, his lips turned up in a slight, soft smile. “Okay, you’re officially freaking me out. What’s the matter?” When I see the sheen of tears form in his eyes, I’m suddenly terrified of whatever’s happening and shrink back into the mattress while gripping the sheet tighter around me.
With an air of resignation, Poe props himself on one elbow and leans over me, his dark blue eyes searching my face.
No, not searching.
Memorizing.
“Star,” he leans in and grazes my lips with his. “What you said was everything. I swear I’ll never forget those words or what they mean to me; I’ll never forget this.” He kisses me again, but this time with more force, almost like he’s trying to tattoo the moment into both our memories. Finally, he sits up beside me, his back propped against the black leather headboard and the sheet covering him to the waist. The breath he draws is shaky, and he stares at his hands folded on his lap for a few seconds before he speaks. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
The raw physical pain ripping through my body is nothing compared to the mental anguish contorting my soul in ways I never thought were possible. I don’t fully remember how I got here, but here I am. Shuffling down the lonely shoulder of the coast highway in the gathering dusk, stopping every so often to find the nearest bush or patch of tall grass to dry heave into.
When Poe revealed his sins to me, my world went dark. The heart that only hours ago told a boy it loved him for the first time, splintered into a thousand glittering shards, each one sharper than the next and laced with venom and misery.
After learning the truth, I frantically tugged my sweater over my head, one arm briefly caught in the sleeve twisted behind me, and swiped my leggings up from where they landed earlier. Stumbling and tripping, I managed to struggle my way into them while trying to see through the agony and fury collectively attempting to blind me. Shoving my feet into my boots, my shaking fingers searched the top of the low dresser until they closed around my phone, and the temptation proved to be too much for me. I spun on my heel and let the device fly, aiming straight for him. The sound of the case cracking as it smashed into the wall three inches above his head was enough to shut Poe up, and the resulting silence was deafening. The need to escape the boy, the room, and the house had me flying down the stairs, unzipped boots flapping loosely around my ankles and the echo of Eunice’s maniacal laughter echoing behind me.
Headlights illuminate the ground in front of me now, stretching my shadow grotesquely and pushing me farther from the edge of the road. The gravel behind me crunches as the vehicle pulls onto the shoulder and stops, engine idling.
“Stell?” Sunday’s head pokes out of the driver’s side window, her hair lifting in the breeze. At the sound of my best friend’s voice, my legs decide they’ve had enough of my shit for one day and give out, bringing me to my knees in front of the Range Rover. My hands fold like broken wings into my now-hollow chest, and I hunch forward painfully as the harsh sobs tear through me like wildfire. Sunday’s out of the SUV in seconds and right beside me on the ground, draping herself over my back and wrapping me in her arms like she’s trying to absorb some of the pain wracking my body.
“Stella, what happened? Can you tell me what happened? Are you hurt?” Her last question prompts a horrible burble of sick laughter to erupt from my raw throat.
“Yeah, you could say that.” The acid dripping from my voice has her pulling back like I smacked her and lifting her eyebrows in surprise.
Do not bite at your best friend, dumbass. This isn’t about her, and you’re gonna need her to get through it.
“Sun, I’m sorry,” I wipe my snotty nose on the sleeve of my sweater and grab her hand with my free one, squeezing tightly.
“You’re going to tell me exactly what the hell happened, but let’s get away from the road. All we need is some drunk asshole careening around that last turn and flattening us like pancakes.” Her hand squeezes mine back, and as she gets to her feet, she pulls me up with her and leads me to the passenger side of the Rover. Once we�
�re both inside, she makes no move to drive and instead sits quietly, waiting for me to speak.
“How did you know where I was?” I ask suspiciously, remembering that I didn’t have my phone, so I couldn’t have called or texted her in my stumbling stupor.
“Poe called me.”
“Of course he did.” My heavy sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed and prompts a confused look to settle over my friend’s features.
“He said you needed me and told me you’d left his place on foot,” she pauses, chewing the inside of her cheek. “He sounded awful. Like somebody died.”
Turning to face her wide-eyed expression, my shoulders sag in resignation, knowing I have to tell her the story of how Poe crushed my heart and broke my trust, and then set fire to the pieces.
“That’s because somebody did.”
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
I feel like lying down to hear whatever it is that has him looking so stricken is probably not the best option. The sheet clutched tightly in one hand, I use the other to push myself up and sit with my back against the headboard beside him.
“Okay, so tell me. Whatever it is can’t be worse than what Callum had to say.” My light chuckle meant to diffuse the heavy awkwardness rapidly building between us fades quickly when he lifts his head.
“It’s worse, Star, and I’m so sorry.”
His expression has my heart squeezing more than his words do, which is saying something because his words do a pretty damn good job on their own.
“Say it. Just say what you have to say.” I set my teeth, press my arms to my sides, locking the sheet under them, and leave my hands free to fist in my lap.
“After your grandparents passed away, your aunt started searching for Catherine again. It was quiet for years apparently—a few half-assed leads but nothing serious.” He draws a ragged breath. “Until two months ago.”
My eyes go saucer-like in shock.
“What do you mean, ‘until two months ago’?”
“Two months ago, Cecily got a new lead on Catherine. She also got one on you, but she couldn’t understand why one came from New York and the other from Georgia. Your aunt might be the only person who knew you existed, and she never considered you and your mother wouldn’t be together.” Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, he gets to his feet and walks naked to the dresser. He pulls out a pair of torn and faded jeans and slides them on, not bothering with boxers. Still shirtless, he comes to sit on the edge of the bed, close enough to touch me but hesitating.
“Cecily didn’t put much stock in the Georgia lead on Catherine—she’d gotten her hopes up too many times in the past. So, she sent her PI to New York to look into the information about you, and she sent me to Georgia.”
“She sent YOU? Why the hell would she do that?” The incredible orgasms earlier, followed by our afternoon nap, have left me feeling dazed. My brain is struggling to keep up, and I’m getting irritated for some reason.
“Because she needed a favor from somebody she could fully trust to be discreet, and I’m the Halliday Heir. Technically, any requests made of the Heirs would come to me.” He glances at me before returning his focus to anything but my face. “You’re wondering why she didn’t ask my dad.”
“I have no fucking idea what I’m wondering right now, but sure, let’s go with that.” I snap, feeling my nerves starting to stretch tighter and tighter.
“My father would naturally have been her first choice, but she lived through his heartbreak when Catherine first disappeared, and then the year he spent searching for her. She couldn’t put him through that again, so she went to the next best option.”
“You.”
“Me,” he nods sadly, “and you have no idea how badly I wish she hadn’t.”
“Why? What did you find?” The lump in my throat makes it difficult to speak, and my voice comes out weak and stilted.
He scrubs his palms across his face before leaning forward on his forearms and turning his face to mine.
“I found her.”
His words have roughly the same effect on me as a cattle prod or a bolt of lightning. The hope that juices my veins is the highest high multiplied by a thousand. Scrambling to my knees, I hastily yank the sheet free from the other side of the bed and fashion an awkward cover-up out of the section Poe isn’t sitting on.
“You found her? You found my mom?” I ask excitedly.
Hearing the electricity in my voice, he turns to look back at me kneeling in the middle of the bed and wearing his bed sheet like a crazy dress, but his face doesn’t look excited. It looks devastated.
“She was living in Columbus, Georgia, in a state-run facility.” There’s something in his voice, something dark…
“Wait. What did you say? She WAS living in Georgia? In a facility? Where is she now?” My hand reaches out and latches unconsciously onto Poe’s muscular bicep. “Where is she now, Poe?” Desperation colors my voice in shades of wine red and grainy charcoal.
“She was sick, Star. The first time she saw me, she thought I was my dad, and it scared her. Badly. She kept begging me to leave, crying that it wasn’t safe there—that ‘they’ would find out and come for her and her baby. Eventually, the orderlies had to sedate her, but before I left, I gave the charge nurse my name and number as an emergency contact since there wasn’t one listed.” He stops, expecting me to say or do something, I guess, but I’m frozen. Caught in a silent internal battle between hope and despair, unable to speak until his story is told.
“Back at the hotel, I called Cecily. She was shocked. She said she needed to get a few things in order but that she would meet me in Columbus in two days to bring Catherine home. The next morning, I decided to go visit your mom again. She was lucid enough to recognize I wasn’t my dad that time. We spent the afternoon trading stories. Me telling her about my life and answering questions about her sister. Her gushing proudly about her beautiful daughter, who was about my age, and how much she missed her.”
The tears are coursing freely down my cheeks, and I don’t even bother to wipe them away anymore. The ache in my chest is nearly breaking me, and Poe’s next words are like being hit by a train.
“I think I fell a little in love with the idea of you that day.” He pauses, and a small, sad smile creases his lips before he continues. “Before I left, I told her all about how Cecily would be there the next day to take her home to Folkestone. Then I hugged her goodbye. Knowing what we do now about Callum, I never should have said anything about Folkestone. What happened is my fault.”
The pause is so long this time, I wonder if he’s going to say anything else. But when he does, I’d give anything to stuff the words back into his mouth.
“The call came just after midnight. They found her in her room. She was gone, Star.” Tears streak his handsome face now too, but I don’t care. I can’t care. Scrabbling as far away from him as possible and huddling on the corner of the bed, I swear I can feel my heart cracking, the pained blackness rushing at me from all directions.
“Don’t stop now. You’re on a roll,” I say, my words rattling hollowly.
“Star, you don’t need to hea—” he starts.
“YOU don’t get to decide what I need. TELL ME!” I demand, grief making my voice ferocious.
“She’d asked for a pen and paper in the common area but complained the pen was out of ink. When the orderly brought her another one, he forgot to take the first one away. They collected one from her when she was taken back to her room but didn’t know to look for a second. She snapped it in half and used the jagged end to cut into her wrists. She bled out in her room before the nurses did their late-night bed checks. They couldn’t save her.”
“Is that it?” The dull, flat tone of my voice is foreign to me. Cold. My icy stare refuses to move from a shadow flickering in the late evening light on his wall.
“That phone call to Cecily was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, Star. When your aunt found out what happened, she was in
consolable. We managed to hammer out her wishes, but there was no way she was fit to travel. Not like that. So, I offered to take care of it. The facility arranged to have the death certificate signed, and Catherine was cremated. I caught a flight home the next day with her ashes tucked carefully in my bag.”
The rough edges in his voice tear at my insides, adding to an already overwhelming amount of agony.
“Who else knows?”I ask, trying not to throw up.
“Only Cecily and my dad.”
While I mull that statement, something flits through the back of my mind, and the rage that has been slowly building, fully ignites as the math suddenly makes sense.
“When did you fly back to Folkestone?” I hiss through clenched teeth, still staring at the shadow on the wall. Poe doesn’t answer at first, which is enough of a confirmation, and I start to laugh—a horrible, ugly, grating noise. “You made out with me at the airport with my dead mother’s ashes in your fucking luggage?” Standing woodenly, I let the sheet fall and, completely naked, turn to face the boy who only hours ago was the object of my affection but is now wreathed in my hate. “Answer me, you fucking pussy.”I spit, my words like daggers.
“That’s right, Stella, I’m a fucking pussy,” he snarls, jumping to his feet and advancing on me. “I fucked up. Bad. I should never have told Catherine about coming back to Folkestone, and I will live with that for the rest of my life. But I had no clue who you were at the airport.”
Cutting him off, I interject heatedly.
“It doesn’t matter who I was, asshole! Dead. Woman’s. Ashes. In. Your. Luggage. Have some fucking respect!”
“Just another thing wrong with me in your book, huh? Thinking with my dick like usual, I guess. That must be why I never told you about any of this—didn’t want to miss out on that tight little cunt of yours that practically begs for my tongue, my cock.” He leers down at me, and I sneer right back.
Fractured Things (Folkestone Sins Book 2) Page 10
