Pieces of You (Shattered Hearts)

by Cassia Leo

  I narrow my eyes as I try to figure out why the hell she came here when she knows damn well that she could have worn me down and I’d have given up the information from Tasha. I didn’t want to say anything about this when she called me this morning to verify the address. I was afraid questioning her motives would make her change her mind. But I’m getting the feeling that there are more problems in her relationship than just the stupid scuffle we got in last week.

  “Christopher Michael Knight,” Jake booms into the microphone in his deep voice. “Get your sexy ass on this stage.”

  “You guys remember Claire,” I shout at them from the bar then turn back to her. “Come on. You can sit on the side of the stage so you don’t get squished.”

  “I don’t want special treatment,” she insists as she follows me toward the stage.

  Jake waves his drumstick at Claire and she waves back, but Tristan doesn’t acknowledge her. Tristan and Claire have never gotten along well. She always insisted he was trying to corrupt me. Tristan always insisted that I was whipped and Claire was the reason I went solo. They’ll probably never speak again after this fight with her boyfriend.

  “This place is going to be packed,” I insist.

  “So.”

  “You don’t have to pretend you don’t care.”

  I shake my head as I climb the steps onto the stage and pick up my guitar. I can’t see Neil’s eyes through the sunglasses, but I glimpse a barely-there smile on his lips. We warm up with “Gimme Shelter”; I take the first guitar solo and we go back and forth on the second one.

  The whole time we’re warming up, Claire stands off to the side of the stage with a scowl on her face. After a couple more songs, we head backstage so they can open the doors. Claire follows me backstage with a pissy pout on her face.

  Once everyone’s out of earshot, I grab her arm and pull her behind an equipment rack. “You want to tell me why you came here if you’re still so fucking pissed?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Claire

  I WRENCH MY ARM OUT of Chris’s grip and push him back. He’s standing way too close. His dark eyes are burrowing into me and making me nervous. I almost forgot how much of an asshole Chris can be when he thinks I’m hiding something from him.

  I am pissed at him over what happened with Adam, but I know Adam is the one who opened the car door to get at Chris. Chris didn’t even hit him.

  “You’re the one who bribed me into coming here. Why don’t you just give me the information so I can leave.”

  He smiles, that you-don’t-have-it-in-you smile, and I’m seriously considering punching him to wipe the grin off his face. But somehow I can’t stop staring at his lip ring. I wish I could forget the memory of the metallic taste of it in my mouth.

  “Come on, Claire. I’m your best friend; at least, I was your best friend. You can be honest with me. Are you having problems with your boyfriend?”

  “You can lose the smug grin, Chris. I came here because you bribed me with your information and because you looked like I’d smashed your guitar in half when I told you I couldn’t come.”

  He lowers his head a little as if he’s ashamed then lets out a soft chuckle. “Sorry. I guess I’m just a little on edge about seeing you after what happened with Abigail’s parents. I thought you’d blame me. Then that shit happened with your boyfriend and I thought for sure I’d lost you forever.”

  Suddenly, the muscles in my chest tighten and I feel as if I’m about to have panic attack. I have been trying not to blame anyone for the mess I’m in with Abigail’s parents, especially not Chris since I do believe he’s only doing what he thinks I want. But I can’t help but feel like Chris’s fame is the main thing that tore us all apart. If he hadn’t been in Los Angeles recording the final tracks on the Relentless album when I found out I was pregnant, I might actually have told him about the pregnancy. If I hadn’t been completely certain that having a baby would have ruined his career, none of this would be happening.

  I don’t want to blame Chris. After all, I was the one who encouraged him to leave. But hearing him say that he thought I would blame him for what happened with the meeting makes me feel as if he’s giving me permission to hold him accountable. I take a few long, deep breaths to keep the anger from exploding out of me.

  I need some serious therapy.

  “I don’t blame you for what happened with Abigail’s parents, but it is really frustrating.”

  “That they backed out on us or the reason they backed out?”

  “Both.”

  Before he can respond, Xander jogs toward us with a panicked look on his chubby face.

  Xander has been managing Chris’s career since he was a senior in high school playing local clubs. He was a customer in Jackie’s bakery and, true to her chatty nature, they sparked up a deep conversation. She found out he managed a few local bands and she buttered him up with lots of delicious cakes and pastries to get him to listen to Chris’s band, Blue Knights. Xander didn’t need any convincing to sign on with Chris, but he was always pushing Chris to go solo.

  Xander’s thick brown hair is plastered with sweat along the hairline and the panic in his eyes makes him look like a sitcom character. When he sees me, he doesn’t immediately recognize me. Then it clicks.

  “Claire? Is that you, sweetie pie?”

  Xander has the most melodic Southern accent I’ve ever heard on a man. It always makes me smile.

  “Hi, Xander,” I say as I reach out to give him a hug.

  He hugs me so hard I can feel the sweat seeping through his shirt and mine. I pat his back a few times and he lets go.

  “Girl, look at you. You look and smell like cotton candy on a stick.”

  “Not looking so bad yourself. Have you lost weight?”

  “I have!” He twirls around for me and shakes his butt. “Ten pounds. It’s this new trainer Chris referred me to. I mean, if he can get this boy some muscles, he’s gotta be able to work his magic on me.”

  I try not to laugh too hard at this. Chris was always a bit self-conscious about his inability to bulk up. He’s still pretty lean, but even through his T-shirt I can see his shoulders are a bit broader and his chest is bulkier. I have a strange urge to squeeze his arm the way I used to when he was lifting weights in the garage.

  Chris squints at me as if he knows what I’m thinking. “You think that’s funny? My trainer kicks my ass and he has me drinking these awful shakes that make me want to chuck the blender across the kitchen. But I do it all for the fans.”

  Xander’s panic returns suddenly. “Speaking of fans, one of your fans just got arrested for stripping in front of the club. They’re opening the doors early to try to subdue the frenzy. You’re on in twenty.”

  “What the fuck? Why do I always miss the action?” Chris complains.

  I resist the urge to punch him in the arm the way I would have when we were together. Those days are over. He’s allowed to make comments like that in front of me now.

  After the show, Chris insists I allow him to drive me to my car a couple of blocks away.

  “Those girls will rip you to shreds if you walk out there alone,” he says as he opens the passenger door of the Porsche. “You saw how they were looking at you while you were sitting on the side of the stage, like you were a cockroach.”

  Sitting on the side of the stage tonight, the way I used to, was an uncomfortable experience for me. Not because I had to watch Chris flashing his crowd smile at the girls in the first few rows of bodies. It was uncomfortable because of the way I felt when the same girls cast dirty looks in my direction while Chris performed “Relentless.” He kept glancing at me during this song, and the crowd noticed. I should have felt annoyed with Chris, but instead it felt kind of cool to be so envied. I don’t want to feel that way.

  “Just take me to my car,” I say as I grab the handle to shut the car door, but he holds on to keep me from closing it. “What are you doing?”

  He stares at me for a moment, looking lik
e he’s about to say something, then he shakes his head and shuts the door. Suddenly my entire body is zinging with a dreadful nervous energy. I hope he doesn’t try anything. I don’t want to have to reject Chris.

  He slides into the driver’s seat and chuckles as he turns the key in the ignition.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask as I buckle my seatbelt.

  “Nothing,” he replies as the engine purrs around us.

  He casts me a sideways look that sends chills through me. I rub my arms to feign cold as he pulls out of the parking lot and takes a few side streets to bypass the crowds leaving the club. When we arrive at my car, there’s a crowd of girls passing by and one of them points at the Porsche when she recognizes Chris.

  “Don’t get out,” he says as I reach for the door handle. “We’ll chill out somewhere for a while, then I’ll bring you back.”

  He pulls away quickly before I can protest.

  “Hey! I don’t care about those girls. I need to get back to the dorm to study.”

  “It’s 11:45.”

  “Yeah, I’ll probably be studying until four a.m. Even later if you don’t take me back to my car right now.”

  He turns right at the intersection and passes in front of the club where the sidewalk is almost empty now.

  “Claire, we need to talk.” I stare out the passenger window as he continues. “I know you asked me not to text you or call you out of respect for your boyfriend, but—”

  “His name is Adam and he’d be really fucking pissed if he knew what you were doing right now.”

  “I don’t give a shit what his name is or what he’d do. The hard truth is that you need to grow up.”

  I turn to him and he’s serious. Not a trace of a smile on his face.

  “Don’t look at me like you’re so surprised to hear me say that. I know you made some tough decisions this past year, but you’ve been running from the consequences of those decisions instead of facing them. And you’re still running. We should be able to have a fucking adult conversation concerning our daughter without worrying if we’re going to piss off your boyfriend. By the way, he needs to grow up, too.”

  I want to tell him to fuck off. I want to plug my ears or punch him or jump out of his Porsche as it speeds down the boulevard; anything not to have to hear another word of this.

  The only thing stopping me is that he’s right.

  I take a moment to gather my thoughts before I respond. “You don’t know anything about the decisions I’ve made or what it’s been like living with the consequences of those decisions,” I begin. “After the baby was born and ripped away from me, I….” My throat constricts painfully as I recall the way I felt right after I gave birth to Abigail last April. “I thought I had nothing left to live for.”

  This is the first time I’ve spoken to anyone about this. Not even Senia knows how close I came to taking my own life the first week after I moved to Wrightsville Beach. Lately, I’m struggling to make it from one day to the next, but back then I was grasping for every second. It wasn’t until I met Fallon and she taught me how to meditate that I managed to claw my way out of the dark hole I’d almost buried myself in. Just thinking of all the nights I sat on the bathroom floor staring at the razor blade and the bottle of pills sitting on the linoleum floor in front of me fills me with shame.

  Chris pulls into a supermarket parking lot and triple-parks across a few spaces in the empty lot. He kills the engine and stares at me.

  “I should have been there for you.”

  “It would have ruined everything you had going on.”

  “In April, I was touring in Asia. I didn’t have to be there. I should have been here.”

  I unbuckle my seatbelt because I’m starting to feel claustrophobic in the tiny cabin of this sports car.

  “I need some air.”

  I throw the door open and jump out of the car. The asphalt sways beneath me and I swallow the sour vomit stinging the back of my throat. Chris arrives at my side just as the vomit comes back up and explodes out of my mouth. Some of it splashes onto the side of his beautiful car, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he holds back my ponytail and one more pocket of spew streams from my mouth.

  I spit out the bitter traces still lingering on my tongue then swipe the back of my hand across my lips. “Sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For handling this so poorly.”

  His eyes soften as I lean back against the car to steady myself. “For someone who’s been through what you’ve been through, I think you’ve handled this well. But I do wish you wouldn’t close yourself off to me. Sometimes I need someone to talk to about all this stuff and you’re the only one who’ll understand. I need you, Claire.” He takes a step toward me and I hold my breath as he brushes a sweaty lock of hair away from my face. “And I know you need me too.”

  His hand is warm against my cheek and it makes me want to lose myself in him. I close my eyes to attempt to block out this longing, but I still see his face. I have so many memories, though most of my memories from my first fifteen years on this Earth are painful. I didn’t really start creating happy memories until I met Chris and Jackie.

  After Chris and I broke up, I saw him everywhere. When I watched a movie and saw a man kayaking, I thought of how Chris promised to take me whitewater rafting. When I opened the refrigerator at Senia’s parents’ house and saw her little sister’s Capri-Sun pouches, I thought of how Chris was addicted to those. Every time I’d lie in bed at night, I thought of how Chris would sing me to sleep. Every time I looked down at my growing belly, I saw him. Every time I listened to her heartbeat during a checkup, I heard him.

  I’d gotten so used to imagining my future with Chris that every reminder of him seemed like a slap in the face. Like someone laughing and pointing at me while showing me all the beautiful things and the all-consuming love I would never have. By the time I had Abigail I was thoroughly beaten down by the memories.

  Then I met Adam.

  I open my eyes and Chris is watching me with that look of concern that I’ve grown accustomed to. You don’t grow up with a heroin addict for a mother without becoming very familiar with that look.

  “All of this is insanity,” I whisper as I stare at his chest. “I should be able to have a conversation with you about… Abigail. I don’t know if I deserve to meet her. I think it will drive me crazy. Seems I’m more like my mother than I thought I was.”

  He places his fingers under my chin and tilts my face up. “You are nothing like your mother, babe. You put Abigail’s needs before your own. You made the selfless choice, not the selfish one. Please tell me you believe that.”

  I shake my head. No, I don’t believe that.

  He pulls me into his arms, a place I practically lived in for four years. My home. I clutch his T-shirt in my fists, afraid I’ll collapse at any second.

  “I’ll make you see it,” he whispers into my ear.

  The drive back to my car is filled with an uneasy silence. I can’t stop thinking that I shouldn’t have come to the club tonight. And I can’t stop wishing I were going home with Chris, back to a time and place where things were simpler.

  When he pulls up next to my car, the sidewalk is as empty as the space between us.

  “Can I call you tomorrow? I’ll tell you everything Tasha and I have been discussing.”

  I nod. “Yeah. I’ll be in my dorm all day.”

  I reach for the door handle when it dawns on me that my cell phone is about to get cut since I haven’t paid the bill. If I tell Chris, he’s going to offer to pay it for me. But if I don’t tell him, and it gets cut before he calls, he may think I’m trying to avoid him or that something bad has happened to me.

  “I might not be available, though. I’ve got a paper to write for my sociology class.”

  “Really? You can’t spare a few minutes to discuss the adoption?”

  My leg starts bouncing with nerves as I try to think of a better lie. Finally, I sigh as I resign myself to the t
ruth. “My phone might get cut. I have a couple of job interviews this week, but even if I get one of those I won’t get paid for another two to three weeks, which means I’m going to probably be without a phone for a while. I’ll call you from Senia’s phone tomorrow whenever I take a break from studying.”

  “Are you serious? Your phone is about to be cut off?”

  “I don’t have a job anymore. The scholarship doesn’t pay for my cell phone bill.”

  He’s pissed.

  “Don’t worry about your cell phone. I’ll take care of it.”

  Chris knows all my personal information, from social security number all the way down to my fucking panty size. All he has to do is have someone call and pretend to be me so he can pay the bill over the phone. Part of me is pissed that I know what he’s going to do and part of me is grateful that he’s willing to go to such lengths to help me.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll do anything for you, Claire. You should know that by now.”

  Against everything inside me, I lean over and kiss his cheek before I jump out of the car. My hands are shaking as I hit the unlock button on the key fob. I slide into the driver’s seat and slam my door shut before I allow the first tears to fall.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Adam

  THIS IS MY FIFTH TRIP to Hawaii. The first four trips were packed with exhausting competitions and late nights with plenty of booze and girls. This time is different. My first two days in Hawaii were spent unpacking and grocery shopping for my training diet. My coach, Remmy Dufrense, won’t be here for another three days. I need to keep up my routine until then, but I’m already feeling the urge to toke or down a bottle of vodka.

  After what happened last week with Chris, I’m getting a strong feeling that this trip will be the biggest mistake of my life. I’m not imagining things. Claire’s voice sounds different today than it did yesterday morning.

  “What did you do yesterday?” I ask as I grab an apple out of the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter and bite off a huge chunk.