Pieces of Us: A Confessions of the Heart Stand-Alone Novel

by Jackson, A. L.

  “It wasn’t anything like that,” I told her softly.

  “You just go on tellin’ yourself that.” She paused, her expression going somber. “Find your heart, Izzy Mae. Don’t ignore it.”

  Thirty minutes later, I pulled to a stop at the address Faith had given me. His house was in a quaint, quiet neighborhood in Charleston.

  Squeezing the steering wheel, I peered out the side-window, trying to ignore the spike of hurt that pierced my spirit when I took in his house.

  Small and charming and sweet. Hedged by a short fence that might have been considered cliché if it weren’t so perfect, dainty white flowers blooming on the green shrubs that grew up the slats of the wood. Porch painted gray with white accents, the barest light flooding the space in warmth. A manicured lawn stretched in between.

  Seeing it hurt.

  It was the kind of home I’d hoped for as a little girl. The kind of home I’d dreamed of when I’d become that hopeless romantic as a teen. The kind I’d been a fool to tell him all about.

  I nearly rolled my eyes at myself.

  Hopeless, was right.

  Well, I sure couldn’t dwell on it then, so I sucked down a steeling breath, cut the engine, and climbed out.

  In the dull light coming from the porch, my sight caught on the same Suburban parked in the driveway that Maxon had been driving when he’d saved me a few days ago. Sitting next to it was an enormous black pick-up truck that he probably took hiking or camping or hunting.

  Or hell . . . it just looked like Maxon, no matter what.

  Rough and rugged and strong.

  Part of me wanted to run and hide from all that strength and intensity, the same way as I’d been doing for the last thirteen years. But that was no longer an option.

  It was time for me to suck it up. Tell him like it was. He could hold it or trample it or laugh in my face, but all of those things were up to him.

  The only power I had was in myself. My own choices. My own resolve.

  Fingers fumbling, I unlatched the gate and started up the concrete walkway, feet clumsy in the same heeled sandals I’d been wearing earlier.

  My heart felt even clumsier.

  Like I might tumble.

  Take a fall.

  Land flat on my face.

  But that was a risk I had to take. I at least owed Maxon this. An explanation. An apology for my own wrongs, not that any of them negated what the man had done.

  Holding onto the railing, I eased up the two steps onto the porch.

  Swore, the echo of my shoes felt like gunshots as I crossed the wooden planks.

  A breeze whipped through the humid night air, and my tongue darted out to wet my dried lips, and I searched for courage as I stood at the dark gray door.

  I lifted my hand and rapped the wood. It sent a loud, reverberating echo through his house.

  I struggled around the dread and the worry and the gross feeling that had forever whispered in my consciousness.

  Whispered that I hadn’t been good enough. Not pretty enough or sexy enough or interesting enough.

  That insecure girl didn’t matter right then.

  This was about Benjamin.

  Stilled silence echoed back. Well, that and the roar of my pulse that thundered in my ears.

  I leaned in closer to the door, listening for . . . anything.

  I looked back at the cars parked in the drive, sure that he had to be there.

  A smack of panic hit me in the face.

  What if . . .. . . what if he was with a woman?

  Oh, God.

  I hadn’t even considered that. And I shouldn’t. Shouldn’t even contemplate it or give it a second thought. But I couldn’t help it, those old memories that crept up the way they loved to do.

  Ghosts that shouted and mocked.

  Pain crushed my ribs, squeezing, pressing at those shards, still sharp enough to cut.

  I gulped for a cleansing breath and forced myself to knock again.

  Harder this time.

  Nothing.

  I frowned, bit my lip, wondered what to do.

  Resolution brimmed within.

  I wasn’t going anywhere until the two of us had this out.

  Talked.

  Maybe found some closure.

  I moved over to the steps and sat down on the top one.

  And I waited.

  Waited and waited.

  The night drew deeper, bugs trilling in the shrubs, the hot summer breeze rustling through the leaves on the enormous tree that grew in the middle of Maxon’s yard.

  I got lost in the peace of it, my mind wandering far. To fantastical things that I hardly allowed myself to contemplate anymore.

  I was so deep in my thoughts that I jolted upright when the blinding glare of headlights came up the road. It had to have been the first car that passed in probably an hour.

  A lump climbed my throat, thickening everything when the car slowed and pulled to a stop behind mine.

  The sedan gave off the same vibe as Maxon’s Suburban, completely white with those blacked out windows, strange antennae sticking up on the rear window.

  An unmarked cop car.

  A shiver sped across my skin.

  Cold and hot and sticky.

  I had no idea who he was with. If he’d even want to talk to me. Had no idea what I was gonna say.

  The driver’s side door opened. A super tall, thin man stepped out, wearing a rumpled suit.

  I pushed to standing, waiting, this worry rising up so fast, this feeling that somethin’ was . . . wrong.

  The man eyed me speculatively as he rounded the front of the car. “Probably not a good night for Maxon to have any company,” he said, though what I really was hearing him say was get lost.

  Discomfort crawled beneath the surface of my skin.

  He thought I was there to . . . to sleep with Maxon.

  God, that hurt, too.

  No doubt, Maxon had women hanging all over him. Waiting for him. Wanting him.

  That face and that body and those hands.

  He was gorgeous. Compelling and striking and sexy.

  I stood ground, refusing to back down because none of that was what this was about.

  “Is something wrong with him? What’s goin’ on?” I tried to keep the tremor out of my voice, but I failed that task miserably.

  Ignoring me, the man pulled open the passenger door, and a stir of that energy came blasting out.

  Disorder and disease.

  I felt it like a punch.

  A blow to the chest.

  Bowling me back.

  Anxiety flamed, and I started to come down the steps, unable to stand still for a second longer, when the man dipped inside the door and helped Maxon out.

  He held him upright, and Maxon had an arm slung around his shoulders. His head drooped to the side, his body slouched, hardly holding up any of his weight.

  Wings of dread flapped in my stomach, and my heart lurched in a violent careen to the right. I reached a hand out to the porch railing to steady myself.

  “Maxon?” I questioned, panic laced through my voice. “What’s wrong with him? What happened?” I demanded, my voice hitching higher.

  Through the shadows, I could barely make out the expression of the guy who was helping him, though I was pretty sure he was glaring at me like I was an obstacle.

  An annoyance.

  Or maybe like I was trash.

  “Think you’d better go on your way. Told you it wasn’t a good night for company.”

  Was it wrong that I wanted to toss it right back at him? Tell him, good, he could go on his way?

  Maxon groaned. It was this . . . horrible, pained sound. Agony that cut me like a knife.

  But in it contained some semblance of my name.

  The sound of it enveloped and warmed.

  Urges hit me.

  I wanted to be the one helpin’ him. The one there for him. To soothe whatever he was going through.

  And I knew that made me nothin�
�� but a fool, but it didn’t matter.

  I was drawn.

  Shackled.

  Chained.

  Just the way I’d always been, unable to stand beneath the force of the man.

  I was a little terrified that I might just offer myself up as a willing prisoner.

  I hurried down the two steps, not even caring that the man helping him threw me an annoyed glare.

  I got that he was bein’ protective. But this was my Maxon he was protecting.

  Oh, and that right there should have been a good enough warning for me to go running, but I just took another step toward the two of them, trying to get a hold on what was happening.

  “Is he drunk?”

  I mean, why wouldn’t he be? I’d wanted to drink myself into oblivion, too. I’d just had two babies I had to think of first.

  “You might not want to be too hard on the guy. He hasn’t exactly had the best night.” More frustration and spite coming from the stranger.

  My attention shifted from the silhouette of Maxon to the man at his side, questions of what he meant on the tip of my tongue, when every cell in my body froze.

  Because that was right when they took a lumbering step forward and came into the glow of the light cast from the porch.

  Horror raced up my throat, dragging like razor-sharp claws.

  A sob followed it, and my hands shot to my mouth to cover it.

  Hold it back.

  But it was no use.

  It ripped free.

  Maxon was . . . bloody. So bloody.

  A gaping wound flapped open over his left brow, and his bottom lip was split wide open.

  His skin was dirty . . . covered in filth . . . clothes he’d been wearing this afternoon torn and mangled.

  Under it, I could almost see the purple bruises blooming on his skin.

  My own pain clutched me, every cell screaming out.

  “Oh my god,” I whimpered.

  Breaking out of the shock, I rushed the rest of the way down the walkway. “What happened to him?” I demanded. “Is he okay?”

  Alarm rang through my being, horrified that after he’d left my house, things had gone so wrong.

  So very, very wrong.

  Maxon tried to focus on me, and his mouth hitched up at the side, words slurred together, nothing but a train wreck. “Hey, gorgeous. Musta died and gone to heaven for you to be standin’ there. Fuck . . . so pretty. Why’re you so pretty?”

  Oh yeah, he was definitely drunk.

  Hurt and drunk and saying nonsensical things.

  That was all.

  I looked at the guy holding him up. “What happened to him?”

  He sighed, but it sounded in resignation. Guessed there was no missing the fact that Maxon wanted me there.

  Wasn’t about to admit to him I was pretty sure that was only the alcohol talkin’.

  The guy angled his head. “Dumbass left a bar and had four guys jump him. He got lucky.”

  “Lucky?” The word was pure disbelief.

  It sure didn’t look like the man had gotten lucky tonight, and I meant that in every way.

  He smelled like a pit, the stench of stale alcohol and rotting garbage coming off him in waves.

  “Pretty sure he has a couple busted ribs. But this asshole refused treatment, so who knows what the fuck is wrong with him.” This was anger from the man, totally directed at Maxon.

  Maxon grunted. “Fine now . . . just wanna go home.”

  God, how did I end up in the middle of this? I twisted my fingers together, contemplating what I was supposed to do. Figured the best thing was to shove off the emotion, the reason I’d been here, and be glad that I’d come when I had.

  Maxon needed help. I could give him that.

  My brain shot into action. “Okay. Let’s get him inside and get him cleaned up. Maybe if he sobers up some, I can convince him to go to the ER.”

  Going to the opposite side of the man, I wound my arm around Maxon, ignoring the rush of tingles slipping across my skin.

  It just wasn’t fair the effect he had on me. I should be repulsed. And I really didn’t want to be anywhere else.

  Maxon leaned on me more, his presence consuming, mumbling something incoherent.

  Something sweet.

  “We’ve got you, Maxon. Don’t worry. You’re gonna be okay. I promise,” I whispered in a hush.

  What was I even sayin’?

  Doing?

  This was crazy.

  “Maxon, huh?” the guy questioned me, and I could almost hear the grin in his voice.

  Shyness worked its way to my face. “I’ve always called him that.”

  “Seems like you two have known each other a long time?”

  Without a doubt, this guy was doing his best to figure me out.

  “All my life. And you?” I asked as we slowly made our way up the porch.

  Formal introductions, and all.

  “Pete. Maxon’s partner.”

  “I really think you should have taken him to the hospital.”

  Pete laughed as if any of this was normal. “Know he looks bad, but believe me, he’d probably be in worse shape if our sergeant found him like this. Better for her to read the report than witness this disaster in person. Actually, saved his ass, bringing him here.”

  God, I didn’t understand that world. The danger of what Maxon did. The life he led.

  Getting sloshed at a bar and then getting in the middle of a fight.

  That was just . . . stupid and reckless and made my aching heart bleed in worry and pain.

  “Owed me, asshole,” Maxon slurred, smiling a big, sloppy smile at Pete.

  “Which is why you’re here, and I didn’t dump your ass at the ER instead.”

  “Fine. Got Izzy. Gonna keep her.” At least, that’s what I thought Maxon said, and my stupid heart skittered.

  No, that wasn’t helpin’ things, either.

  God, I really was getting in deep. Deeper than I should. But I didn’t know how to let go. Didn’t know how not to care when this man used to mean everything to me.

  We made it to the front door, and I grabbed the keys that were dangling out the front pocket of Maxon’s jeans, fumbled to get the right one into the lock, and opened it.

  Dim light spilled out, his house only illuminated by the muted lights that glowed from under the kitchen cupboards, the inside just as quaint and perfect as the outside.

  We stepped inside, and Pete moved to prop Maxon against the wall. “Can you stand?”

  “Yup. Good as new.” His words were almost filled with a laugh.

  “Hardly,” I scolded a little, not sure how these two could make light of this.

  “You good?” Pete asked, moving toward the door and pointing at Maxon.

  Um . . . what? Did he think he was just going to leave me there with him?

  “I’m good,” Maxon said, leaning against the wall, all of this attention trained on me.

  Redness flared, and I tried to tamp it down, to keep this unsettled feeling from turning into something else.

  “Not sure that’s a good idea,” I said, fidgeting with my fingers. “I mean . . . you can’t just leave him here with me like this.”

  “Know he looks like death warmed over, but believe me, he’s had it way worse than this. Drawbacks of the job.” There he went again. As if this were a joke.

  The man could have been killed.

  “Pretty sure the only thing he needs is a hot shower and a few kisses on those booboos, and he’ll be good to go. Looks like he’s in plenty good hands.”

  That redness that’d been creeping flashed, full blown heat.

  “I’m . . . I’m not . . .we’re not . . . we don’t . . .”

  Frantically, I gestured between Maxon and me. I sounded like a blundering fool.

  Maxon’s expression shifted, a smirk catching at the side of that busted lip.

  How was it possible that was sexy?

  But it was, and trembles were taking up residence in my belly.r />
  Those blue eyes glinted, needy and hot and arrogant, like he was standing right there, remembering all the times when we had.

  “I just want Izzy,” he grunted at his friend, and my stomach tangled in a thousand knots.

  Oh, this was bad.

  Bad, bad, bad.

  Pete dug into his wallet and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my number if you need me. He’ll be fine. Just get him into bed and let him sleep it off.”

  “Owe you,” Maxon told him, head slumping to the side.

  “Damn right you do. Take care of yourself, man. Clean up. Sleep it off. Be ready for Sergeant Woods to rip you a new one when you come crawling in tomorrow.”

  Pete stood in the doorway, glanced back at me. “Are you cool?”

  Was I cool? Did I look cool?

  I looked back at Maxon who was just . . . starin’ at me.

  So many emotions coming off of him I didn’t know how to process them all.

  Those blue eyes nothing but a raging sea at midnight. Dark, lulling waves taking me under. Deeper and deeper. There was nothin’ I could do but inhale and hope I didn’t drown.

  “Yeah. I’ve got him,” I told Pete, while my rational side screamed out that this was a terrible idea.

  He gave me a tight nod and pulled the door shut behind him.

  The second he did, the walls closed in. Closer and closer. The air thick and dense.

  Energy crackled, this physical entity that had always lived within us.

  I got stuck in a whirlwind of it. Just starin’ at the man who’d loved me like none other and then hurt me in a way no one else had ever had the power to do.

  His commanding face torn to shreds. Blond hair sticking up and matted. Chest heaving with massive, choppy breaths.

  Mine matched time, ragged and harsh.

  He was so beautiful. So big and powerful and strong. Rippling with it as he leaned against the wall, like a warrior who’d just made his way home after battle.

  Mesmerizing in a way that had captured me the first time I’d seen him.

  And I knew . . . I knew he was broken in ways that were only represented by his bruised exterior.

  Tonight was so much more than him simply happening upon a fight.