Fractured Things (Folkestone Sins Book 2)

by Samantha Lovelock

I should have listened to my dad. I should have listened to myself.I should have told her from the very beginning.

  She promised she wouldn’t leave me again and now she’s gone. I can’t let this go. I know what I did was awful, but I have to find a way to get her back. Watching her leave was hard; not running after her to plead my case was harder. All I want to do is sit her down and explain everything. That I’m a chickenshit dressed in leather pants and biker boots. That I feel like the world's biggest asshole and would gladly have that tattooed on my body if she would only forgive me.

  Calling Sunday is the only thing I can do. I know Stella can’t call anybody—her phone barely missed my head when she threw it at me. So asking Sunday to go and pick her up before she gets physically hurt is my way of trying to protect her.

  From a distance.

  After I call Sunday, I get dressed, grab Stella’s phone, and jump in my car. The forty-minute drive to Ashbrook flies by, and I manage to get in and out of the mall just before it closes. I pull the cracked case off her phone back in the car and put on the new one I just bought.

  Payne texts to let me know Sunday and Stella are together, and they’re safe. He follows it up with a ‘what the fuck is going on’, which I choose not to answer. Feeling like I’m running on autopilot, my brain is still not fully registering the enormity of what happened earlier. I drive back into Folkestone and go straight to Tweedvale. After relaying Payne’s message to Miss B and showing her Stella’s phone, she tells me to go upstairs and just leave it in her room. Not wanting to intrude on her personal space, I tamp down my inherent male curiosity, set the phone on her bed, and leave. I say goodnight to Miss B and make the short drive home, spending the rest of the night curled up in my bed that still smells like Stella’s skin. Finally, I fall into a messy sleep filled with pointing fingers and the girl I love being ripped away from me continuously.

  Waking up the next morning, I have about two seconds of languid calm before everything comes crashing back in like a rogue wave, and all I want to do is hide. The problem is when you’re the shitty thing in your world, it's tough to hide from yourself. Deciding school is something I can’t face today, I sit up in bed, grab my phone and dial Payne, leaving a message when he doesn’t answer.

  “I’m calling shenanigans on school today, dude. If you feel like bailing, get your ass over here. Bring beer.” I hang up, and my thumbs are itching to text Stella. I attempt to ignore it but end up giving in and text her a good morning. Not bothering to get out of bed, I flop back down on my back and stare at the ceiling. This is where I am when Payne bangs on my bedroom door an hour later.

  “What’s the problem, Halliday?” he asks after I yell at him to come in. Setting down the two six-packs he’s carrying, he drops into one of the gaming chairs and turns it to face my bed. “While I’m happy to say fuck it to school today, I’m going to need some information. You’re acting weird, and outside of the single line I got last night, Sunday won’t answer my texts.” He looks at me expectantly. I throw off the sheets and stand, hiking up my pajama pants and grabbing a sweatshirt from my dresser. Flopping into the chair beside him, I pull my hoodie on and arch my eyebrow at him speculatively, wondering how much I should say.

  “I fucked up, and now I’m just plain fucked. Can we leave it at that and not pick at it? Can we just drink and play video games and not think until it’s a decent hour for me to go back to bed?” I hold my breath, not sure what I’ll say if he forces the issue. But he’s my best friend, and I should have known he’d have my back without question, even if it is driving him nuts not knowing what the fuck is going on. He nods with a last questioning look, and we spend the next twelve hours fighting zombies and getting wasted.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Deciding a shower and change of clothes are necessary before we go to the cemetery, I sprint up the stairs, stripping off my sweater and leggings as soon as I round the corner into my bathroom.

  I wash my hair and scrub myself with the vanilla and orchid scented body wash that has quickly become my favorite. When I reach to clean the most delicate part of me, I wince at the lingering pain from the force of my sexcapades yesterday. With the physical ache comes a wave of emotion far more painful, and I jam it back down, not willing to look at it right now.

  After rinsing and drying off, I wrap a fluffy dark purple towel around myself and try to figure out what one wears to say a final goodbye to a parent they haven’t seen in years. On the way past my bed to the closet, something shiny catches my eye. Reaching down, I snatch my phone off the duvet, flipping it over to see the new case on the back—white with small black glittery stars on it—replacing the one that broke when it hit Poe’s wall.

  How the fuck?

  Powering it on, I count eleven new texts from Poe and two from Payne. Not even bothering to read them, my finger hits delete on every one. Resisting the urge to whip the damn thing across the room again, or at least rip the cover off and stomp on it a few times, I drop it back on the bed and finish getting ready.

  Dressed, with my hair done and a bit of mascara and lip gloss on, I grab my purse and make it to the top of the stairs before gritting my teeth. Going back to retrieve my stupid phone, I shove it in the back pocket of my jeans. My aunt and Sunday are waiting for me in the kitchen, and when I walk in, I eye them both with suspicion.

  “Anybody care to share how my phone made it home, and with a shiny new case no less?” As if on cue, it trills merrily from my pocket, and I pull it out to see ‘The Only Dick in The Room’ flash across the screen. Dismissing the call, I dump the phone in my purse this time and pretend not to notice the look that passes between the two females in front of me.

  “Poe dropped it off last night. He came by to let me know he told you the truth about your mom and that you were with Sunday. I told him he could leave it in your room for you,” my aunt admits with a shrug. She quickly changes topics while ignoring the fact that my eyebrows nearly leave my forehead, they raise so high at the mention of him being in my room. “Do we all want to go together to the cemetery?” she asks.

  Sunday realizes I’m about to blow another gasket and smoothly steps in.

  “If it’s cool with you, Miss B, Stell and I will take my Rover and meet you there,” she announces while nudging me in the direction of the front door. Once we’re outside, and out of Cecily’s earshot, she tries to reason with me. “Let it go, Stell. It’s no big deal. He got you a new case and brought your phone home. That’s it.” Finally giving in with a huff, I climb into the passenger seat of her SUV, and we head to one of the oldest parts of Folkestone.

  The Folkestone cemetery is a strangely beautiful place, all massive trees and rolling lawns. Birdsong and the rustle of the leaves around us are the only sounds I hear as we walk toward the granite crypt. Even our footsteps on the flagstone walkway are muffled. Stopping in front of the entrance door, I run my hand over the now-familiar carvings of delicate vines and twinkling stars, the name Bradleigh in flowing old school script at the top.

  Cecily moves me gently out of the way and pulls a large and ornate skeleton key from her purse, slotting it into the old iron lock and pushing open the door. Stepping inside, she motions me to follow, but just as I’m about to, Sunday’s hand reaches for my forearm.

  “Stell, I’m going to wait out here, okay? This is for you and your aunt.” Giving me a little squeeze, she meanders over to the nearest tree and leans her back against it. She seems slightly odd, and there’s a bit of a shake to her hands, but I know cemeteries can freak people out, so I give her a grateful smile and join my aunt in the interior of the crypt.

  The first thing I notice is how cool it is inside. Reaching out to touch one of the dark rose granite walls, I realize they are primarily responsible for the air temperature in here. Smooth and cold, with a small window high in the back wall to allow a surprising amount of light in. While I expected to feel claustrophobic and nervous, instead, I feel reverent. Humbled.

  Cecily stands silently and wat
ches as I read the names of the Bradleighs that came before me. My grandparents, back to the great greats—Thomas and Christianne, Frederick and Euphemia, Isaac and Annah. Their children—my great aunts and uncles. And their children. Moving closer to my aunt, I see the newly inscribed memorial next to her.

  Catherine Elaine

  Beloved Mother, Daughter, and Sister

  Home at Last

  Something inside me that’s been wound tight for a long time snaps, and the tears that come feel ancient—powerful and cleansing. Wrapping our arms around each other, Cecily holds me tight while I cry, and I know in my heart I’ve truly forgiven her. She pulls back, wipes the wetness from my cheeks with her thumbs, and gives me a watery but peaceful smile.

  “This is where you come from, Stella Evangeline Bradleigh. These people, this town—this is your home. For better or worse, Folkestone is where you belong.”

  “Aunty,” I ask haltingly, “can we sit down sometime soon and talk about them?” I wave my hand around us. “I’d really like to know more about them, learn about the Founding Families, the Heirs. What it all means.”

  “I would love that.” She sniffles and digs in her bag for a tissue before giving my hand a squeeze. “I’ll give you a few minutes with your mom.” As she steps out into the sunlight, my thoughts turn to the last time I saw my mother. Slightly manic at breakfast and rambling about my birthday promise to never tell anybody who I was. Me coming home to an empty apartment after school that day and finding her gone without a goodbye.

  I have no idea what happened to her in the intervening years, but I feel like she spent her whole adult life looking over her shoulder, just waiting for the boogeyman to catch up.

  You’re safe now, nobody can ever hurt you again. I know I didn’t keep my promise to you, but I’m not alone anymore. There is love here. I can feel it.

  I trace the letters in her name.

  Goodbye, Mom. I love you.

  Feeling lighter, I leave the crypt and pull the door shut tightly behind me, looking around for Sunday and my aunt. Not seeing either one of them, I start to wander further along the path that weaves lazily among the trees. Stopping at a stone gazebo, I survey the area and realize I appear to be in the middle of this section of the graveyard and that there are seven other crypts similar to my family’s.

  One for each Founding Family.

  A breeze tickles the hairs on the back of my neck, and from this vantage point, I can see Sunday sitting next to one of the crypts and Cecily standing a respectful distance away. With a little shiver, I make my way over to my best friend and crouch beside her. She turns her face to mine, and even though her eyes are a little glassy, she gives me a smile and gestures to the small gravestone beside her.

  “Stella, meet my brother. Charlie, this is my best friend.” My mouth drops open in surprise, and she giggles.

  “I think I just shocked Stell into silence, Charlie.” Standing up, she brushes the back of her jeans off and loops her arm through mine, quickly kissing the tips of the fingers on her free hand and pressing them to the top of the plain, almost white, headstone. “See you later, big brother.”

  “Uh, so, brother?” I stumble over my words, unsure of whether I’m being rude or not.

  “Yep. Charlie would have been the Easton Heir had he not gone drinking with his friends that night and decided to get behind the wheel after a few too many. He was seventeen and alone in the car when he broke our mother’s heart. That was four years ago.” She presses her lips firmly together. “Her perfect golden boy wasn’t so perfect after all, and she punished him for that by burying him outside of the family crypt.” We’ve caught up to Cecily by now, and I can see the disapproval on her face when Sunday mentions why her brother isn’t buried with the rest of the Easton family. I tighten my arm through Sun’s and pull her closer to me.

  “I’m sorry about Charlie.”

  “I’m sorry about your mom.”

  The three of us walk in silence back toward the cars, and I notice the crypt nearest the entrance. Not only does this one have the same beautifully carved door as the rest, but it also has an imposing stone raven guarding the roofline.

  Halliday.

  I know it’s theirs before I see the name carved above the door, and I can feel my anger at Poe rippling below the surface of my calm. Not wanting to fall into that particular pit right now, I focus on the next task for the day.

  “Sun, are you still okay to take me to the hospital?” I ask, but before she can answer, my aunt spins on her heel to face us.

  “Hospital? Why are you going to the hospital?” Her voice flutters with worry.

  “Nothing serious,” I assure her. “Mr. Halliday arranged for me to meet with a nurse to have my blood drawn for a paternity test, is all.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  Sunday squeezes my arm and answers for me.

  “Nah, it’s alright, Miss B. I’ve got this one.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure. Why don’t you both come back to the house afterward, and I’ll make us some lunch?” We nod happily. When Cecily feeds us, it’s always tasty. Giving me a kiss on the cheek, she climbs into the back of the Caddy, and she and Spry pull out of the cemetery parking lot.

  Once we get to the hospital, Sunday and I manage to follow Holt’s directions without incident. The nurse is friendly, and I barely feel the pinch of the needle. As we’re heading back out to the Rover, my phone dings with a text, and when I pluck it out of my purse, I see it’s another one from Poe. Again deleting it without reading it, I shake my head when it rings a few seconds later and see the call is also from him. Before I can blink, Sunday grabs the phone from my hand and answers it.

  “Halliday, it’s Sunday. You need to fuck off now, ‘kay? I love you like a brother, but you messed this up bad, and you just need to back off. She’ll talk when she’s ready.” And with that, she disconnects the call and turns my phone off before slipping it back into my purse.

  “You’re seriously the best, you know that, right?” I tell her gratefully, giving her a slightly brittle smile while choking down the rage and sorrow that are both so close to exploding every time I think about Poe Halliday.

  Lunch back at Tweedvale is a welcome distraction. Cecily and Sunday keep up a near-constant stream of chatter about ordinary, everyday life while we eat the thick-sliced turkey sandwiches and chef’s salad Cecily made for us. Makeup trends, celebrity sex scandals, and my aunt’s strange fascination with the latest foot peel craze all make it easy for me to decompress, even if it is just for a little while. The entire time we’ve been eating and talking though, I’ve noticed Sunday’s phone pinging with text after text. She’s been politely feigning ignorance, but her eye has started twitching with each new notification.

  “Dude, answer it already. Whoever it is obviously has something to say,” I tell her.

  “Oh, I know exactly who it is—two damn drama peas in a pod. Hold please,” she commands, holding up a finger before pulling out her phone and dialing. I don’t even know if it managed a full ring on the other end, it was picked up so quickly. “Payne, stop it. I know your dudebro is upset, but pissing me off is not the way to get Stella to talk to him. He made his bed, don’t you go crawling in it with him. Aren’t you supposed to be in class anyway?” There’s a pause as she listens to his response, and she follows it with a long-suffering sigh. “Go play video games then. Entertain yourselves with some hookers and beer. Whatevs. Nobody here really cares what you guys do. Just stop with the stalker texting.” She hangs up, and her expression reflects the disbelief in her voice. “Apparently, Poe is traumatized and simply had to take the day off school, so Payne had to as well. He’s offering ‘emotional support’, which to me sounds like code for them drowning Poe’s sorrows in alcohol and Call of Duty or whatever the shit they’re playing.”

  If only it was that easy to drown mine the same way.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The doorbell rings shortly after we finish eating. An un
derling from the Bradleigh family legal team is ushered into the kitchen and presents me with a stack of paperwork to sign to complete my surname change. I have no idea how they managed to pull it together so swiftly, or without a real birth certificate for that matter, but they did.

  I guess the kind of money that has lawyers bringing paperwork to you at home also goes a long way toward those people being able to magically pull things out of their ass.

  After the papers are signed, I’m politely informed all of my official documents will be available in a week or so. Cecily brings up the driver’s license issue and the lawyer excuses himself to make a couple of short phone calls to God knows who. He comes back into the room and lets us know I can go to the DMV this afternoon and take my written test. As long as I pass, my temporary California license will be issued today, with the permanent one to follow by mail.

  The lawyer trundles off back to his office with paperwork in hand, and Cecily, Sunday, and I pile into the Caddy with Spry. On the way to the small historic building that houses most of Folkestone's government services, my mind replays Sunday’s words.

  Poe is traumatized.

  What does he have to be so damn upset about? I’m the one who was lied to. The one who got lulled into a false sense of security and trust. The one whose mother fucking died and nobody saw fit to tell her.

  So screw him and his trauma. He’ll get over it and over his infatuation with me and move on to the next girl in line. I wish her luck.

  Shoving my anger and hurt to the side, I march through the front doors of the DMV, determined to focus on myself instead of on punching Poe in the face, for the time being at least. I breeze through the written test and emerge an hour later with my temporary license clutched in my sweaty hand. Folding it into the smallest rectangle possible, I tuck it in my purse and wipe my palms on the front of my jeans. This is exciting and everything, but it’s also nerve-wracking. Things are changing so fast, and I’m still scared somebody’s going to show up and pull out the piece that'll make the wobbly Jenga tower that is my life topple once and for all.