Breaking Even (The Sterling Shore Series #5)

by C. M. Owens

  “What does that mean?” Wren asks, his voice quiet, acting as though he’s worried the next thing will be aimed at his head.

  I don’t hate Wren. I don’t feel like shattering his skull.

  Yet.

  “It means he already knows she was cheating,” Ethan says, and my jaw clenches.

  They both take a deep breath, and I grab a book of baseball cards and throw the entire thing against the wall. It doesn’t do any damage. It just drops to the ground with a loud thud.

  I hate baseball cards.

  “Are you okay?” Wren asks just as I throw a basketball.

  They both duck when it ricochets off the wall and barrels toward their heads. Ethan catches it when it tries to bounce off the other wall, and he puts it beside him.

  I hate basketballs.

  “I’m fucking great. Can’t you tell?” I mutter dryly, grabbing two golf balls.

  I hate golf balls.

  ***

  BRIN

  The first sound of something crashing startles me awake, and I sit there and listen, trying to see if I was just dreaming. But the loud banging at the door, proves that something is going on.

  My tears are even falling in my sleep, so I’m not surprised that my face is wet. I try to dry my eyes as much as I can on my way to go answer the loud, persistent banging.

  I’m shocked when Wren Prize is the one looking at me the second I swing open the door. Maggie comes running out of her room, tying her robe, and Carmen is right behind her, tying a robe as well.

  Wren stares for a second, tilting his head as he studies them with far too much interest, and I snap my fingers in front of his face.

  “Why are you banging on my door at midnight?” I whisper. Though I don’t know why I’m whispering. There’s no one else to wake up.

  “We need a first-aid kit,” he says, sighing regretfully as he looks back to me. “And Rye doesn’t have one.”

  “Why do you need it?” Maggie asks as she goes to the cabinet.

  He looks at me and tightens his lips for a second, and then he answers reluctantly. “Rye sliced his hand open when he was beating up his car.”

  What the hell?

  “Why was he beating up his car?” Carmen asks.

  “Because it’s been a rough day.”

  I take the small box from Maggie, and I barge by Wren on my way over to the dumbass’s house.

  “I can handle it, Brin. I’m sure you don’t want to see him. Especially like this.”

  I don’t want to see him at all. That’s why I’ve spent all day in my room. Since he walked out of here yesterday, I’ve wanted to stay as far away from him as possible.

  “Especially like what?” I ask, ignoring his hand as he tries to help me off the curb.

  I’m not ninety. I can step off a damn curb without help.

  “He’s drunk off his ass, belligerent as hell, and a little violent right now.”

  For a fleeting second, I worry it’s about me, but for some reason, I know it’s not. This is something much, much bigger than me. Especially considering he never really let me in enough to cause this sort of meltdown. He walked away, after all.

  No. This is behind the barrier—the place Rye won’t let me see.

  I thought I had learned all there was to know about him, which was foolish. You don’t learn a lifetime of things in a couple of months. But I didn’t know how little I actually knew about him. Yesterday, I realized I didn’t know him at all.

  Ethan is standing in the living room when we barge in, and Rye is on the couch, blood pouring from his hand.

  “Shit,” I growl, dropping to my knees beside the couch and examining his much-too-deep wound. “Grab a towel and keys. He needs stitches.”

  “We can’t take him to the ER like this. I know a nurse,” Wren says with a grimace and heavy hesitation. “Maybe I can talk her into coming.”

  He walks away, and Ethan rushes over to me with a towel. Rye groans and mutters something completely unintelligible, and I start applying pressure, doing all I can to limit the amount of blood he’s losing.

  “Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?” I ask, looking up at Ethan since Wren is still missing from the room.

  Ethan frowns as Rye reaches over and tries to grab at me. He’s so drunk that he only misses and falls back to the couch.

  “I’d tell you, but I’d rather not end up looking like his Porsche.”

  Poor Porsche. That thing just needs to give up.

  “Why is he beating up his Porsche?”

  “Because he’s beating up everything right now. Trophies, baseballs, baseball cards... the list goes on and on. Then he went outside, and the next thing I know, he has a crowbar and he’s taking his frustration out on the pretty Porsche. But he sliced his hand on the glass.”

  I start to speak, but Wren returns, putting his phone away as he frowns.

  “She’s coming, but she won’t be very nice.”

  “I don’t care if she’s nice. I care if he stops bleeding,” I grumble, but suddenly a hand is in my hair and pulling at me.

  “Brin,” Rye whispers, and a piece of my heart melts.

  I hate him, I remind myself.

  He keeps pulling, to the point it’s almost painful, and I’m forced to rise up to go with him, keeping a strong grip on the towel and the wound.

  “What?” I ask, hoping he’ll let me go, but he keeps pulling until I’m forced to fall on the sofa with him, my body resting on top of his.

  “Someone want to help me?” I hiss. Rye’s lips find my cheek, and I curse as he keeps his uninjured hand tangled in my hair.

  “I’m not messing with him while he’s like this. I took a shot to the face last year. He won’t hurt you,” Wren says, taking a step back.

  “He’d hurt me if I tried pulling you away,” Ethan retorts, stifling a grin when Rye tries to bring up his wounded hand to hold me still.

  I stop fighting him just so that he keeps his arm still. Great. This is not how I envisioned our next encounter. I wanted to be inflicting pain—not healing it.

  For twenty minutes, Rye cups my ass with his good hand, kissing my neck the whole time, and I fight a battle of misery while keeping his wounded hand elevated and still.

  “You’re back,” he says, trailing his lips down to my chest.

  “Shouldn’t he be passed out by now?” I groan, feeling tortured and pissed.

  “Rye won’t pass out for a while. He’ll slowly start sobering up. He seems to be finding a rhythm with groping your ass,” Ethan says, amused, and I glare at him.

  Finally, someone knocks on the door, and relief washes over me.

  “Thanks for doing this,” Wren says as a pretty girl with soft, strawberry blonde hair walks in.

  She looks like she’s one of the sparklers almost, but she also looks like me. A mixture of the two—ordinary and extraordinary. If that makes any sense.

  Who can make sense after being jarred awake at midnight to deal with the man who broke her heart?

  “It’s not a big deal. I’ve done more for worse people,” she says coolly, but she smiles when she sees me.

  “Girlfriend?” she asks as she drops down and pulls out a kit of her own, her eyes scanning the ever-wandering hand that is brazenly moving all across my ass.

  “Ex-friend that he only used for casual sex,” I say, smiling tightly as she lets go an accidental laugh.

  “You’re more than that to him and you know it,” Ethan says, frowning at me like I’m the one that ended things.

  He’s as damn confusing as Rye. Maybe it’s the entire male populace that I can’t understand.

  “No. I’m not.” I turn my attention back to her as she starts breaking out her packs of sealed sutures and needles. Or whatever they’re called.

  But Rye starts moving his hand when she goes to touch him.

  “Did you pack anesthesia in there?” Ethan asks her.

  Wren hasn’t said a word since the cold greeting the strawberry blonde deliv
ered. I have no idea who she is, but they apparently aren’t on great terms.

  “That would be illegal. It’s not really my place to stitch him up either, but I suppose some things can’t be helped. Can you keep him still?” she asks, looking up at me. “I can deaden the place around the wound to keep it from hurting so much, but I need him to be still while I do that and stitch him up.”

  I groan as Rye continues to be combative, and I hold his head with one hand as I look into his eyes. “Can you be still, please? We have to fix your hand.”

  “Kiss me and I will,” he slurs.

  He’s got to be kidding.

  “We’re doing this to help you. Just be still.”

  He moves his hand again, and Wren and Ethan both curse.

  “Just kiss him and hold him still,” Wren growls.

  Both the nurse and I turn to glare at him, and he quickly walks away, cowering as though we just pointed guns on him. She turns back to me while rolling her eyes. “Care to help?” she asks, her words meant for Ethan.

  “He’ll hit a guy. Especially one that gets too close to her right now. Sorry. Not taking that chance.”

  She looks at him at the same time I do, and he runs away, too

  “Worthless men,” she grumbles. I wish I could call Maggie to come help, but he won’t let anyone touch him right now but me apparently. My confusing hell only seems to grow hotter.

  “You’ll be still if I kiss you?” I ask him, and he immediately goes still.

  “Yes,” he whispers, and that’s when I see a tear fall from his eye, breaking my heart in ways I didn’t think were possible.

  I really wish I knew what was going on, but I don’t. And I never will. But he has to get his hand stitched up, and I never got to give him a goodbye kiss.

  Looks like this is as close to closure as I’ll get.

  My lips go to his, and I feel the nurse tug my hand away as she goes to work. Rye’s tongue slips into my mouth with familiar, expert ease, and his good hand goes to my hair as he pulls me closer, devouring me in a way that only destroys me more.

  I always confused his passion for love. And now I remember why it was so hard to be strong around him.

  My hands tangle in the soft strands of his short hair as I say a thousand words with this one kiss. Everything I’ve felt, everything I’ve wanted him to know, and every ounce of pain I’ve had all go into this kiss, and he moans while tugging at my small, thin shorts.

  “Just a kiss,” I murmur against his lips, ignoring the tang of my salty tears as they start to invade.

  He nods and moves his hand back up to my hair, and he kisses me harder, as though he’s saying all the same things I am. And it hurts. It hurts so damn bad that it feels as though the pain is manifesting into a physical mass inside my chest, pressing against me with a heavy force, and making it hard to breathe.

  All I want to do is run out of here and cry. And I will. The second I leave this room, it’s going to be a painful, breath-stealing, heart-achingly, agonizing cry that rivals a wolf’s mournful howl at the moon. And then I’m never going to speak to him again.

  This is it. This is our goodbye. He’s drunk as hell, his hand is bleeding, and he has no idea what he’s doing, but right now he’s giving me the closure I need, even though it only makes it hurt worse.

  “Brin,” he murmurs against my lips. “Stay tonight.” It’s a whispered plea that sends an ache too deep inside me and almost decimates my resolve, because he’s so sincere right now. But in the morning, everything would be terrible—worse than it already is.

  My tears don’t wait until I’m out of the room to start dripping harder; they burn down my cheeks with a feverishly rapid succession. I move my lips back to his, hoping it’s enough to keep him quiet. I love him and hate him with every breath we exchange, but I hate myself the most.

  I did this to myself. I was fine before him, but I’m ruined now.

  “I love you,” I whisper just as the nurse finishes up.

  “I know,” he groans, turning his head away. “But you can’t. Love is temporary, and it’s a bitter bitch when it leaves. I can’t be responsible for your happiness like he was hers. Like I was. I can’t handle more guilt, and I’ll fuck up again.”

  I have no idea what his drunken words mean, but I stand up as he tries to move. I don’t bother learning the nurse’s name, or thanking her for all her help. I can’t. I can’t say another word. Rye is okay now, and I have to go before I fall apart in front of everyone.

  I sprint across the yard as he calls my name, yelling for me. And I hear the first punch someone takes. I hope it’s Ethan. I look back in time to see it is Ethan, and I almost smile, but that smile fades with all the weight of my misery.

  He’s drunk. He’ll break my heart in the morning because he’s drunk enough to love me tonight. But when he’s sober...

  I keep running down the street with no idea where I’m going, but Maggie pulls up beside me in her car, and I hop in the back seat.

  “Saw the drama. Feel like pancakes?”

  I just laugh and sniffle at the same time, and she drives away. She and Carmen are still in robes, and I’m not even wearing a bra.

  “Don’t worry,” Carmen says, smiling softly. “It’ll get better.”

  I doubt it. But I don’t bother arguing. There’s nothing left to say.

  Chapter 16

  RYE

  “Why the fuck do I have stitches?” I growl, glaring at my throbbing, swollen, and bruised hand. The crisscrossed stitches seem to be professionally done, but I’m still wondering if Dr. Frankenstein broke into my house last night and played mad scientist on my hand.

  Everything is too fuzzy, and all the memories are hidden under a thick veil of fog.

  “Because you’re a clumsy bastard,” Ethan groans, raising up from the sofa that’s in my room.

  His black eye gives me pause. “Why is your eye black?”

  He laughs as he stands up, stretching as he shakes his head.

  “Because you’re a clumsy bastard with a mean right hook.”

  I slowly get out of bed, cursing my aching right hand when the internal throbbing grows to be more vicious. And damn, it itches. But the itch feels like it’s under three layers of very tender flesh.

  “You don’t remember anything?” he asks as I follow him out, ignoring all the damage in my room.

  “Nothing after the boxes I shouldn’t have ever opened,” I say while blinking and trying to stop seeing things in a fog.

  “Figures. Your Porsche is going to need more work. You beat the hell out of it last night.”

  Ah, hell. My poor car.

  “And my hand?”

  “You cut it on the window after you broke it. Wren’s child’s mom came by to fix your hand. Yeah. That shocked the hell out of me. No one thought to tell me he had a kid?”

  He turns to glare at me, and I shrug.

  “Not my secret to tell.” He rolls his eyes while leading the way to the kitchen, and I drop to a stool as he starts making coffee.

  “Why’d I punch you?” I ask, still trying to put all the blurry images together.

  “Because I stopped you from chasing Brin out of the house.”

  He turns to face me as all the color drains from my face. “Why the hell was Brin over here? And why was I chasing her?”

  He breaks down all the details, and I get sicker with everything he says. She kissed me to keep me still. She came because I was hurt. And she left here in tears because I’m the world’s biggest asshole.

  I made her cry. Her ex-husband never made her cry, but I did.

  “You shouldn’t have involved her,” I snap.

  “We didn’t. She came because she cared. She kissed you because you refused to be still any other way, and she stayed on top of you because you wouldn’t let her go. Pretty sure any other girl would have prayed you bled to death.”

  She should have let me bleed and stayed away.

  “I need to go apologize to her.”

 
; He props up as I try to stand straight, but things are still a little warped, and it feels like I’m suffering the after effects of a bad carnival ride.

  “For what? For breaking her heart or for being a drunken ass?”

  I don’t even want to think about the shit I said to her the other day. It was too harsh, too stupid, and too damn cruel. She didn’t deserve anything that came out of my mouth.

  “The list is too long to detail. I’ll be back,” I mumble, stumbling toward the door.

  “Tell her I said thanks. We couldn’t have handled you without her help last night.”

  That just turns the knife in my heart a little more. I can’t believe she came over here after what I did.

  Not bothering to put on a shirt or even shower, I head across the street. I’m barefoot and still wearing my blood-splattered jeans from last night, but she’s waited long enough for an apology. Before I even reach the door, Maggie is swinging it open, and she looks pissed—nuclear warning pissed.

  “What?” she barks.

  She’s definitely not on my side anymore. I don’t blame her. I’m not on my side either.

  “I just want to apologize for... well, everything. Can I please come in and talk to her?”

  She blocks the doorway with her small body when I try to come in, so I take a step back.

  “She’s not here. She had to go to work.”

  I glance over my shoulder, wondering if my mind is playing tricks on me. Her Camry is still parked.

  “Her car is here,” I say, turning back around just as the door slams in my face.

  That went worse than I thought, and I didn’t even get to talk to Brin. I knock, and then curse when I use my injured hand. The throbbing intensifies, punishing me for forgetting about it. Swapping to my left hand, I knock again.

  “Go away, Rye. She’s not here. She took a cab because she didn’t have any gas in her car and she was running late,” Maggie says through the door.

  No gas in her car? I can at least take care of that.

  Shit. When did my life get so messed up?