Broken and Beautiful

by Ryan, Kendall

  My bet had been called, and I already knew I’d lost. That’s what eventually happened to selfish pricks like me. I hadn’t grown up to be a good man. I’d done what was best for me at the expense of others, and I didn’t have a conscience. At almost forty-two years old, it was too late for me to form one. That was an inherited trait passed down by dear old Dad. As much as I’d done everything in my power to avoid ending up like him, it’s what had happened anyway. The fucker.

  Even from the grave, that son of a bitch was determined to make my life a living hell. Good always prevails over evil, my ass. I shoved the file I’d been looking at away and plowed a hand through my hair.

  For the second time in my life, I wished for a different path than the one I’d been destined to take. The first time had proved futile; this would be no different. I’d known I wouldn’t be able to hold on to the best thing in my life, so why the hell did I feel like my heart was about to beat out of my chest?

  Preparation was the key to every success I’d had, and today was no different. Despite being in the middle of desperate ground, I was prepared, and I intended to win. I also had the element of surprise going in my favor, but even that felt hollow. Victory would in essence be defeat.

  There were two women in my life that were more important to me than anything. They had wormed their way inside me, made me feel as if I actually had a heart. One of them had come to me after years of surviving on my own. She’d forced me out of solitude, been the only person who truly needed me. The other owned me completely. Without the first, I never would have had the second. Both of them had shown me the true meaning of family. Of unconditional love. Of what it meant to be a part of something bigger than myself.

  What I had to do would hurt them, wreck them really, but in the end, I was saving them both from the misery that lay ahead. I would do what was best for them, even though it might kill me.

  The red light on the security system panel lit up, alerting me that the front door had opened. I rolled my shoulders back, inhaled a lungful of air and released it, and then pretended to focus on what was on the desk. This would not go well.

  The familiar sound of heels clicking on the hardwood floors didn’t bring the sense of comfort I’d grown used to. Today, it was more like the final seconds clicking off the countdown clock in my head.

  Time’s up.

  2

  Vivian

  Present

  “Catch ya later, Paul.”

  The doorman of my Warren Street apartment building tipped his hat.

  “The wife’s baking cookies tonight,” he said as the elevator doors threatened to cut off our conversation.

  I thrust out my hand from inside the car to stop them. “The fudge ones? With icing in the middle?”

  “That’s the ones.” He pointed at me, and I grinned.

  “Don’t give mine away before I come down.”

  “You got it.”

  The elevator doors closed, and I rested my head on the mirrored back wall, tempted to slip the stilettos off my aching feet. Today had been good. The new shelter for abused women and children had finally come to fruition after two years of planning. It was beautiful and practical. I’d made certain we’d been fiscally responsible, the result being that we’d come in on time and under budget.

  I was encouraged for the future of the women I’d grown to care for. Paths of Purpose had become important to me over the years, giving me a real sense of purpose.

  The elevator doors opened on the thirty-second floor, directly into the marbled private lobby of our apartment. I used the front door to prop up my tote and dug through the chaos for keys. Once inside, I tossed the keys onto the console table, and stopped short, hand frozen in mid-air.

  There, in the usually immaculate foyer, were trunks and suitcases and bags, stacked as if ready for removal.

  I forged on toward the bedroom, needing to get more comfortable before beginning an investigation into the mess by the front door.

  As I passed the study, a spectacular grin broke out across my face at the sight of my beautiful boyfriend. He was regally positioned at the desk, Tribeca and the Hudson River spread out in the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. I paused in the doorway, admiring one of my favorite rooms and the man in it. Two leather chairs the color of a worn saddle were positioned in front of the desk, framed nicely by the dark wood paneling of the walls. A matching sofa faced the fireplace. But it was the man behind the desk who made the space.

  His broad frame filled out my favorite three-piece black suit, the black tie knotted around his neck as fresh as when I’d tied it for him this morning. I ran my eyes over his face. Even after nearly eight years together, the sight of him still made my heart beat faster. There was simply no getting used to Daniel Elliott.

  "What are you doing home so early?" He’d flown to Washington, DC this morning to meet with one of the sitting senators. I hadn’t asked the purpose, because most of the time I trusted his judgment that the less I knew about his business, the better. His early arrival home meant one of two things: it had gone extremely well, or it hadn’t.

  I hurried across the room to give him a kiss, my lips already tingling in anticipation, but I only made it to the edge of the desk before he gruffly ordered me to sit.

  The glow I felt quickly faded. He knew better than to take that tone with me, but I let it go for the moment. "What's with all the bags in the hallway? Are you going somewhere?" I said lightly, still smiling despite my nerves. When he didn’t respond right away, didn’t even glance up from what he was doing, I obeyed, for once, sinking into a seat with the desk a barrier between us.

  He snapped the file in front of him shut. I flinched. His knuckles were white as he clenched the edge of the folder and stuffed it into the cabinet under his desk. The lock clicked in place with a decisive turn of the key, the sound setting me on edge.

  "No. Those are your belongings." He gazed at me stoically, his onyx eyes cold and distant.

  "Mine?" I asked dumbly.

  "It's over."

  Two little words sent the world crashing down on me. This had to be a joke. Not two minutes earlier, I’d been excited to be home, couldn’t wait to see Daniel to tell him about my day. His generosity had made so much of it possible.

  I fought to keep the hot tears pooling in my eyes at bay, the man I loved a blurry vision sitting across from me like a stranger.

  "I've secured an apartment for you and deposited a generous sum of money into your account. You can keep your credit cards. It's not fair for me to turn you out with nothing." His lips were moving. I heard bits and pieces, but none of it registered. All I could do was stare blankly at him. "If the money isn't enough, I'll take care of it."

  Each word was like a slap, stinging my heart instead of my cheeks. I tried to take a deep breath but came up short.

  "No." It was all I could manage under the circumstances, and it felt like quite an accomplishment.

  "No?" he repeated incredulously, eyes flaring, sparking my senses to life.

  “No,” I reiterated, this time with some backbone.

  “Don’t make this difficult.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Did you think I would make it easy?” I growled, clenching my jaw.

  “Have you ever.” It wasn’t a question, the acid in his tone burning my gut. That was one of the things he’d liked best about me. I didn’t do anything the easy way.

  “How about we rewind, Daniel. Because I’m having a hard time catching up.” I took in a deep breath to steady my temper and adjusted my attitude in hopes of figuring out just what the hell was happening.

  “No, you aren’t. You simply don’t like what I’m telling you.”

  “Damn straight about that,” I confirmed with a nod. “Why don’t you fill in the gap between what happened this morning and now? Because when you made love to me last night, leaving me didn’t seem to be—” I stopped abruptly, thinking about the way he had woken me at two a.m.

  Oh. I deflated. I hadn’t seen
it then, but now it was clear. He’d been saying goodbye.

  One dark brow lifted. He knew I’d put at least one piece of the puzzle together.

  “What happened?” I whispered. I searched his face for a sign of something—anything—and came up short. I didn’t know this man staring at me. This was the one who went on lockdown, who refused to let anyone inside the vault with him. Except didn’t he realize I was already there?

  “We’ve run our course,” he said indifferently.

  I shot to my feet and came around the desk until I was beside him. He didn’t turn, so I swiveled his chair, forcing him to face me. I shoved between his thighs and cupped his cheeks. “You can’t just cut out your heart and throw it away. It doesn’t work like that.” A tear slipped down my cheek, and Daniel tensed against me, the only tangible sign that he was uncomfortable.

  There wasn’t just steel around him, but a wall of ice too. “The time has come.”

  “Liar,” I whispered, bringing my mouth closer until it hovered above his.

  “I’ve never lied to you,” he promised. And he wasn’t lying now. I could see it in his eyes.

  “Then tell me when I stopped being your everything,” I challenged, keeping our faces mere millimeters apart. For a fraction of a second, he stopped breathing. A short burst of heat hit my mouth when he spoke.

  “This is the way it has to be. It’s the way it’s always had to be.”

  “You can’t do it. You can’t tell me,” I taunted, hope taking root inside my heart that this was Daniel being stubborn because he’d made up his mind about how he wanted to do things. Without explanation. Because God forbid he ever be forthcoming without me having to fight for every answer.

  He rolled his chair backward, increasing the distance between us, like he couldn’t stand to be near me a second longer. As if he’d pushed me, I stumbled, reaching for the desk, needing its support. I struggled to stay on my feet as tears clouded my vision.

  “This is wrong,” I choked out, not bothering to swipe away the moisture on my cheeks.

  The chair moved a hair’s breadth toward me before reversing course.

  “This is what’s best for you,” he said hoarsely, his mouth contorting downward, those strong hands that knew every inch of me gripping his thighs.

  “When did I stop getting a say in that?” I asked, throat raw.

  “Please.” I didn’t know what he was asking me for, but there was pain in the word. “Don’t cry. One day you’ll see I’m right.” His fingers twitched, and I held my breath. For a fleeting second, I thought he would touch me. But he didn’t.

  “You already know you’re wrong,” I countered.

  “The time for us has come to an end,” Daniel replied resolutely. “Focus on what’s ahead of you. I hope someday this moment won’t taint your memories, and you’ll think of what we had together fondly.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Fondly? Are you kidding me? At least have the decency not to treat me like I’m a goddamned stranger. And don’t insult me with such a blasé word for what we had. Fuck fond,” I spat, gripping the edge of the desk until my joints almost cracked.

  He leaned back and crossed one leg so his ankle rested on his knee. Casual. Indifferent. Done. “It’s over.”

  “You already said that,” I shot back.

  He sighed heavily, as if I were a nuisance and not the woman at the center of his world. If he’d wanted me to believe otherwise, he should have done a better job over the years of proving I wasn’t. Until this moment, I had never doubted his feelings for me. Even though verbal expression was rare, I knew he loved me. His actions up to this point had never wavered, always showing me that was true even if he couldn’t say it.

  “This isn’t up for discussion.”

  I was tempted to sink to the floor, make him physically remove me. My heart screamed at him to stop this nonsense. Daniel had decided our fate. I knew when he could be moved and when he couldn’t. His mind was made up. I wouldn’t get anywhere by continuing to go round and round with him.

  "You'll give me a week to find somewhere else to go," I said. "I'm not taking the apartment. And you can withdraw whatever you've deposited."

  "This isn't a negotiation."

  I sniffed, still seething. “You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

  "A car is waiting for you downstairs to take you to your new apartment." He folded his hands around his knee, and despite his I-don’t-give-a-fuck-anymore demeanor, his knuckles were white.

  “One week. That’s not asking too much.”

  "There's no need to drag this out."

  "We're not dragging anything out. You won't even know I'm here. I'm going to go through the stuff in the hallway and dig out what I came here with. The rest you can keep."

  "Those things are yours. I bought them for you." He sounded offended—so help me God, if he was pulling that now…I was the one fucking offended.

  "I don't want it. None of it means anything without you."

  "Don't be absurd. You came here with nothing,” he said, affronted.

  "I'm leaving with a lot less than that."

  I straightened, the anger that had fueled me evaporating. We stared at one another, those eyes that had consumed me now dull and empty. I couldn’t resist moving back in front him until my legs pressed into his. I touched his soft hair and closed my eyes, cursing all the times I’d taken for granted doing this very thing. When I opened them, I saw a wary expression on his face.

  I brushed his forehead with my lips, heart split wide open. “I love you so much I’ve forgotten everything else. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you, Daniel. Don’t forget that.”

  And then I did the hardest thing I’d ever had to do.

  I walked away.

  3

  Vivian

  Eight Years Earlier

  “Mother, I’ve been here for five months. Can’t Daddy let it go?” Every time I got on the phone with my parents, I asked myself why I bothered calling. Climbing a jagged cliff with no safety rope would have been easier.

  “Vivian, he’s busy. Hasn’t even made it home yet.” The lie rolled off my mother’s tongue with such ease, I bet she even believed it was true. It was after six o’clock in Dallas. If my father wasn’t home by then, somebody needed to send out a search party.

  “Tell him I called, okay? I gotta go.” I let out a long, frustrated sigh. I knew how they were. Why I thought they’d change, I didn’t know. “Love you.” It was too late. She’d already hung up.

  I threaded a gold chandelier earring through my lobe, stuffing down disappointment. My father hadn’t spoken to me since I’d boarded the plane to New York what seemed like only a few minutes ago but in reality was months. I hadn’t conformed to his plan, and he knew how to hold a grudge like nobody’s business. He’d told me to keep my ass in Dallas after college, that New York was too big and would swallow me whole. Said I had no business gallivanting around, and he didn’t want to hear it when I came home crying.

  He’d cut me off, and I’d yet to thank him for that since he wouldn’t speak to me. With a little time and distance between us, the pain hadn’t really subsided.

  It hurt that they’d basically shrugged when I’d proudly shared the news of my position at Hamerstein and Associates. The prestigious accounting firm was not only selective with their wealthy clientele, but also with their interns, the vetting process rigorous. Somehow I’d proven I was worthy. At the time, the salary had sounded like a Brink's truckload of money, though reality had quickly set me straight.

  New York was expensive. I barely had enough money to eat, even though I’d paid a year’s worth of rent up front for the shithole in Alphabet City I fondly called home. While my parents thought I’d blown through the money they’d given me over the years on frivolous things, I’d been saving it all. The internship, the apartment…I’d done it on my own. That gave me a sense of pride I’d never had before. But it was the things money couldn’t buy that I craved.

  I sho
ved one foot in a stiletto while I leaned on the sofa, my only piece of furniture. Lucky me, the day I moved in, a couple was putting the old thing out on the street. They’d even helped me carry it up the stairs to my apartment. The springs had sprung. When I moved, it squeaked. But it was better than nothing. I’d gotten kind of attached to the thing.

  Once I had my other shoe on, I looked around the room, trying to remember what else I needed for the evening. “Purse,” I said to myself, scooping it up off the floor.

  I took one more cursory look down at my dress to make sure nothing was out of place. It was a little black number. Three-quarter-length sleeves hung from the shoulders, the dress fitted to the knee, and the neckline plunged modestly. I’d purchased it before leaving Texas to wear to an awards banquet for one of the many golf tournaments my father and ex-boyfriend participated in every year. Translation: an excuse to drink.

  Tonight was a fundraiser for Paths of Purpose, a group Hamerstein and Associates was closely tied with. I’d been volunteering at the shelter for abused women and children in what little spare time I had, finding it fulfilling just knowing the people there. Their iron will to build a better life for themselves, to overcome the hardships they’d faced…If I’d been through what some of those women had, I wasn't sure there would be anything left of me.

  I was excited when my supervisor sternly suggested the interns make an appearance tonight, and I hoped there would be lots of generous hearts in the room. I’d seen so much that could be done, heard from others who volunteered how far extra money could go. And though I wasn’t certified yet as an accountant, I’d offered to take a look at the books to see if there was anywhere we could stretch their dollars.

  A man who was getting on up in years had done the accounting since the beginning, though when I met him, I’d gotten the distinct impression he was about ready to give it up, his failing health making even everyday tasks difficult. Because of the close link between the shelter and my firm, I’d been surprised to find out Hamerstein and Associates didn’t do the bookkeeping.