Broken

by Enders, KC

  From the back of the car, my parents pull a tailgating tent, a table, camp chairs, a cooler, and several boxes of snacks. It’s officially an end-of-season party in the Frankses’ tent.

  “I think you might have gone a little overboard,” I say as I help arrange bowls and platters on the table.

  My dad huffs through his nose, and Mom laughs.

  “It’s a special day, Chloe. Look at how much our boy has changed since coming to the South.” She stands at the edge of the rugby pitch, hands on her hips. Her cropped gingham pants, peasant blouse, and neat silver bob are such a contrast to the way she growls, “Wrap him up and take him down, Jacob.” With three short claps, she turns and wanders back under the shade and fusses, “It’s hotter than Hades out here. We should’ve brought the fan and mister. Chloe, baby, put more of those drinks on ice, would you?”

  She is in her element, making a party out of my kid’s rugby game. No doubt she’s got enough to feed both teams and their families.

  “Who’s that talking to the boys?” Dad asks. “Thought you said Miles was going to be back in time for the game. Where’d he go again?”

  “California.” I look down the sideline and see Shane Dempsey running the team along with another boy’s dad. Miles is nowhere to be seen. “He was supposed to be back, but he must’ve gotten caught up.”

  There’s no doubt something is up, but I hate that I have no idea what it is. Since we’ve started seeing each other, not a day has gone by when we don’t speak, let alone shoot a million and one messages back and forth.

  Talking to Natalie didn’t help matters, and no matter how bad it makes me feel, as soon as the game is done, I’m going to corner Shane and grill him for information.

  * * *

  Almost three days.

  Just shy of seventy-two hours actually.

  I’ve officially been ghosted.

  “Mom, what do we have for dessert? I’m starving.”

  Of course he’s starving. Not even an official teenager yet, and Jake is eating me out of house and home.

  “I think there are some cookies left from Nonna’s rugby party yesterday,” I say absently. My phone has remained disappointingly silent, though that doesn’t stop me from checking it several times an hour.

  Shane had nothing to tell me after the game yesterday. Just that Miles had emailed Natalie and asked if Shane was able to fill in as coach. Natalie had nothing further than that. No explanation. No information. No message.

  Jake walks through the living room, one hand filled with what’s likely the last of the cookies, and gives me a flyby hug. “Night, Mom.”

  “You’re going to bed already?” I glance at my phone again and check the time. No new notifications.

  “Mmhmm. Shower after I finish these and then …” The rest of his sentence is lost in a mumble around a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie.

  “Don’t forget to brush your teeth,” I call after him.

  Bronson lifts his head, ears perked forward and stubby tail twitching against my foot. I follow his gaze out the front window, hoping the headlights coming down the street pull into my driveway but they don’t. Bronson puts his head down on my knee and sighs.

  “I hear you, buddy.” I flip his ears back, so he looks like he’s got them slicked back.

  My phone buzzes, and I scramble to swipe the screen and accept the call before I even check to see who it is.

  Kate’s nasally voice greets me, and as hard as I try to hide it, my disappointment bleeds through.

  “Still MIA?” she asks.

  “Yep. God, Kate, I’m sick to my stomach over this. What happened? Where is he?” I right Bronson’s ears and stroke his sweet face. “What did I do?”

  “Don’t you dare assume you did something wrong. Men are weird creatures.” She sniffs against her stuffy nose. “You didn’t do anything to push him away, did you?” Only Katlyn Hays Jackson can shame me for thinking I did something wrong and then, in the next breath, ask me if I did.

  “No. I mean, I don’t think so,” I answer, groaning as the sour feeling I’ve been fighting all weekend returns.

  “Give me his number. I’ll call him.”

  “What good is that going to do? Who answers calls from unknown numbers?” I whine.

  Kate sneezes five times in quick succession, followed by a muttered, “Well, shit.”

  I can’t help but laugh at my sweet, pregnant friend. Poor thing just wet her pants. “Go take care of that. I’m going to go to bed and hope I feel better in the morning.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Miles

  I’m too fucking old for this shit.

  Never in my life would I have imagined that, at thirty-two, I’d be too old to put in a solid weekend of hard drinking and still be able to function at work on Monday morning. Or Wednesday afternoon. I honestly don’t even know what day it is anymore.

  “Your new phone?” Natalie asks stalely.

  A FedEx box lands on my desk in front of me. The thud and slide of the small box echoes through my head, a dull ache settling behind my left eye.

  “Thanks,” I mumble.

  Any hope that Natalie might take pity on me and walk on by goes to shit when she leans her hip against my desk and folds her arms over her chest. She waits patiently—or maybe not so patiently—staring me down.

  “Enough of this, Clark.” She nudges the box toward me.

  Clearly, I’m supposed to open the thing and get it up and functional. I palm the small rectangle of cardboard and turn it, finding a taped end. My thumbnail rhythmically scrapes across it, and I pick until a sliver of tape curls up. I pinch the free end and pull, the odd line of tape doing nothing to free the flaps of the box.

  With a huff from Natalie, the box flies out of my hands and reappears seconds later, empty with the contents set before me. Powered on, and the activation process starts. “Are you going to finish setting this thing up, or do I need to have Chance hack your password and do it for you?”

  The answer is no. I don’t even want to think about the shit that would end up on my phone if those two did the setup. Porn and God knows what else from Chance, and I’m sure a tracking app from Natalie.

  I don’t say a word. I just pull the phone toward me and tap in my email and password at each prompt. Sadly, my diligent focus on the task doesn’t discourage Natalie from getting comfortable. Instead, I’m treated to twenty minutes of getting my ass handed to me by my boss. And more importantly, by my friend.

  “I can’t keep lying for you,” Natalie says.

  “Can’t or won’t?” I ask. The look on Natalie’s face leaves no doubt that there’s little difference. With my elbows propped on my desk, splayed wide, I scrub at my face. I’m sure my overgrown beard is wild. “I never asked you to. You want to talk about me? Go right ahead. I don’t give a shit, Lee. I don’t fucking care.”

  “That’s the thing.” Her voice softens with concern. Concern I don’t want. Concern I don’t deserve. “I don’t want to talk about you. I want to talk to you. With you. I want you to trust in the people around you, who care about you.”

  I glance up to see Mark give me a tight nod as he slips into his office. Even Chance tosses a look my way.

  “Lee,” I sigh heavily and throw my hands in the air, exasperated.

  “You’ve become an important part of the team here. Cole Security … it’s more than a job, and you know it. We’re a family.”

  I hit her with an exaggerated slow blink and raise my brow.

  “Fine. It’s a fucked-up family, and we’re ridiculous, embarrassing and completely inappropriate most of the time. But when things are tough or shit goes south, we’re here. We’ve got your back, and we want to help. We just need you to be present. To talk to us.” Her body is tense, eyes sternly serious, but she’s leaning forward, eager, wanting me to buy in and embrace what she’s saying.

  “I get that, but—”

  “Sometimes, superheroes need saving, too. Three days in your fortress of soli
tude is enough. A chapter of your life is over. It’s done. That doesn’t mean the whole story is. You have an amazing opportunity here, not just your job—your job is fine—but you have kids you’ve coached, a damsel you’ve saved from distress.” She pauses to let her meaning sink in. As if I could have possibly missed it. “And you have Chance.”

  “Chance?”

  “Yep. We took a vote and decided he’s your responsibility. No one else wants to hold his hair back when he pukes. You’re stuck with him.” She glances over her shoulder and then pins me in place again as she stands. “And I’m not your secretary. I was fine telling Shane you needed him to coach on Saturday, but from here on out, you need to take care of your own communication. Maybe leave a little early today to weed through all your messages.” With that, Natalie walks away, leaving me to a killer headache and a phone bouncing across my desk with incoming notifications.

  * * *

  “What was Natalie all up your ass about?” Chance asks, twisting around to keep a set of perky tits in his line of sight for as long as possible.

  I drag the last of my fries through a smear of ketchup and toss them in my mouth. I wash them down with the rest of my pint. “Love, support, and a little bit of get your shit together.”

  “Just a little?” He lifts his empty glass and points to mine, wordlessly ordering us another round.

  “And I guess I officially have custody of you, so you need to get your shit together, too,” I say, pushing my empty plate away.

  “Yeah? So, you’re saying I need to find myself a nice little mommy like you did? How’s that going anyway? She’s sick of your sorry ass, right? That’s why you’re hanging out with me again.” There’s no subtlety in the way Chance rakes his eyes up and down our waitress when she delivers our beers. “Thanks, doll. You’re free later, yeah?”

  “You’re a fucking pig,” I say on a laugh.

  “Whatever. Seriously though, you done with the single mom?”

  I shrug in answer.

  “So, you don’t care if I step in? Take a turn and tap that?”

  Fucker is making plans for tonight with the barely legal waitress and disrespecting Chloe in the same breath.

  “Off-limits,” I growl.

  Chance flexes, rubbing a freshly inked hand over his chest, and winks as another server passes by. “You don’t want her, but no one else can have her. That’s some shit right there, son. Bad fucking form.” He just laughs at the scowl I throw him and continues, “I told you not to mess with the single mom, told you that was a bad idea. You went and caught feelings, both of you, and now, you’re ghosting. That’s fucking low class. She deserves better than that.”

  “Yeah, she does.”

  “Then, give it to her. Commit or don’t, but don’t fuck with her head. Or her kid’s. Man up, Clark.”

  The time I’ve spent with Chance this week, the more I’ve realized, I hardly know him. Since when is Chance Robinson the voice of reason?

  * * *

  The scent of fresh cut grass fills the air, and I wonder how the hell I ended up sitting in my truck, checking to see if Jake has mowed the lawn. He leans into the slight incline and stops to wipe the sweat from his face when he hits the crest.

  The fact that I’m awake and out in the world this early is strictly attributable to Chance being in full mission mode last night. Not wanting anything to do with him getting his dick wet, I actually went home at a reasonable hour and got some sleep.

  “Miles,” Jake yells, letting the mower engine die. He bounds across the street and bounces on his toes a handful of times before catching himself and crossing his arms low over his chest. “You’re finally back. Are you coming to hang out today? Mom’s inside. You want me to tell her you’re here, or do you wanna surprise her?” He takes a step back, his huge grin stabbing me in the heart.

  “Watch it.” I dash my arm out, pulling him back to the side of the truck and out of the street. “I’m not staying, just wanted to see if you were keeping up with your end of our deal.”

  The kid looks over his shoulder at the yard, only a few rows left to be mowed. “Uh-huh. I even trimmed the edges last week. Wanna see?”

  I can see it from here, the jagged lines along the curb. “Can’t. I’ve got to …” There is nothing I need to do today. Shifting in my seat, I pull my wallet from my back pocket and rifle through it. I pull a wad of cash out, a couple hundred bucks, and hand it to him.

  Jake’s brows pinch together, and his chin juts forward.

  “That should cover the summer,” I say, glancing at the sideview mirror of my truck.

  I want to jet before Chloe wanders out. I’m managing, but if faced with seeing her, I’m pretty sure I’ll crumble and beg for forgiveness. She definitely deserves better.

  “So, you’re done with us? What about the rules?” Disappointment winds itself around Jake as he turns away from me. His shoulders slump, making him look small and vulnerable.

  I want to tell him to stand up straight, make eye contact, but any reference to the rules of being a gentleman would be hollow now. “Take good care of your mom,” I say, willing Jake to look at me.

  He doesn’t. Instead, Jake takes a bracing breath, squares his shoulders, and stands tall, offering, “I will, sir. Thank you for the time you were able to give us.” He thrusts his hand out, and when it’s firmly grasped within my larger palm, he shakes strong and with purposeful confidence.

  Watching him turn and walk away makes my chest swell with pride. He’s so different from the attitude-filled, snot-nosed kid I first met months ago in the convenience store. Much as I don’t want to risk seeing Chloe, I stay where I am and watch as Jake starts the mower and finishes the last strips of longer grass. He doesn’t acknowledge that I’m still here as he wheels the mower to the side of the house, thoroughly cleaning it off. Not even a glance as he pushes it past me and stows it in the garage.

  But when Chloe steps out onto the patio to admire his work, my heart stutters to a stop.

  She looks exhausted, her skin pale, her eyes swollen and red. She hugs Jake to her, holding him tight. When she pulls back and cups his face between her hands, concern pinches her eyes. A small smile. A single nod and a kiss to his forehead, and then she turns and ushers him into the house.

  The last thing I see in my rearview mirror as I drive away is Chloe leaning against the sliding glass door, a hand pressed against her stomach and the other pressed to her lips.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chloe

  Tonight’s dinner was way too much work for just the two of us, but my baby was sad. It was no big thing, figuring out what had taken the bounce out of Jake’s step. There are only so many curvy, fully restored green ’52 Chevy pickup trucks around. The muscle-clad arm, messy and dark hair, and beard left no doubt about who was behind the wheel.

  I held in my tears as I watched Jake’s excitement at seeing Miles morph and change, settling into complete letdown. So, I did what any mama would do and scraped my sorry self up off the couch and made a roast with mashed potatoes and gravy. Fresh hot rolls and, of course, a chocolate cake.

  My boy ate with gusto.

  And helped clear the dishes.

  And helped put away leftovers.

  And then he asked if he could go up and shower before we had dessert.

  He’s so grown up, and yet, when I went out to tell him what a great job he did on the lawn, he wrapped his arms around me, squeezed me tight, and was my sweet baby all over again.

  While Jake’s showering, I switch his mowing clothes from the washer to the dryer. The soggy wad of cash that’s now spread out on the dryer is a mystery though. Twenties, tens, a handful of ones. Two hundred forty-eight dollars that I know for a fact Jake didn’t have in his pocket when he went outside this morning.

  “Can we have dessert in the living room, Mom?” Jake’s newly acquired man smell hits my nose seconds after his feet hit the wood floor.

  “We can. How big of a piece do you want?” I ask, pulling p
lates from the cabinet.

  Jake puts his pointer fingers together, showing me how big of a wedge he wants. It’s not nearly as much as I thought he’d ask for.

  I cut us each a slice and drop a fork on each plate, and before I have a chance, Jake picks up both plates and carries them to the living room.

  “Jake,” I start but pause. I don’t want to screw this up.

  “Mom,” he says, shoving way too much cake into his mouth at one time.

  “I washed your mowing clothes.”

  “Mmhmm,” he mumbles, a crumb clinging to his bottom lip. He loads his fork with another oversize bite.

  “I found some money in the washer. Kind of a lot of money, Jake.”

  The cake forgotten, Jake’s shoulders slump forward.

  “I’m not going to be mad, I promise. But I need to know where you got that kind of money, babe.” I rub my hand up the middle of his back and then hook a finger around his chin, urging him to look at me.

  He sighs big and mutters, “From Miles. He promised to pay me for mowing. I thought it meant every week, like we’d keep seeing him. But …” His shoulders lift in a shrug.

  “Wow. Um … huh.”

  Jake flops back into the cushion. “I don’t want it.”

  “Why? How much did he say he was going to pay you to mow the lawn?”

  “Ten bucks a week.” He twists his hands in the hem of his T-shirt, uncomfortable. Nervous. Full of anxiety. “It wasn’t about the money, Mom. I … if I could trade it …”

  It tears me apart, listening to the grown-up words spoken in his little-boy voice.

  “What would you trade it for, Jake?” I run my fingers through the damp curls at the back of his head.