Broken

by Enders, KC

  Sounding small, Jake whispers, “A dad.”

  “Oh, Jake.” I pull him into my arms as his tears start to fall.

  “What happened, Mom? Why did Miles go away?” He sniffs, trying so hard to be so, so big. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? I was … I didn’t know all the rules before him. Like, the first time we met him and you fainted, I didn’t know about the rules. I was rude and snotty and kind of crappy to him.”

  I bite back a smile at the way Jake hesitates and then emphasizes the word crappy. I can’t imagine it’s the only cuss word he uses, but the fact that he’s testing it out with me makes my heart melt a little. And it’s just another sign of him growing up. But the heart of what he’s saying concerns me.

  “And now, he’s gone away and left me, too.”

  “What do you mean, too?”

  “Everybody leaves me, Mom. Everybody. Daddy went away all the time, and then he died. Uncle Jack got married to Aunt Kate, and then they had babies and moved far away. All of them left. And then Miles … I thought he liked us. I thought he was different. He …” Jake dashes a hand under his nose, sniffing hard. “He made me feel good, important. Like he cared. I thought maybe this time would be different. Like, maybe he would stay. Like, maybe we could be … like, I finally was good enough.”

  I shift Jake, so I can hold his face in my hands. “Good enough? For what, baby? What do you think you’re not good enough for?”

  His big brown eyes, which look so much like his daddy’s, are glassy with tears. His bottom lip quivers as he tries so hard to hold in his emotions. His voice is so small, so vulnerable, when he says, “A dad. One who doesn’t want to go away. I just want to be a family.”

  And with that admission, the floodgates open.

  I pull Jake into my lap. He’s too big, almost as tall as me, but that doesn’t matter, not now, not when he’s so sad. Not when his world is tumbling down around him yet again.

  “Oh, Jacob. None of that is your fault. Daddy died because it was his time. God had a purpose for him, and whether we understand it or not doesn’t matter. He was a hero. He saved people’s lives.”

  “I miss him, Mom. I wish he didn’t have to die, but …” Jake rubs his face in my shoulder, using my T-shirt to wipe his nose.

  “But what?”

  “But I think he would’ve liked Miles. Like, I think they could’ve been friends, and if Dad got to pick someone to take his place and make us a family, he’d’ve picked Miles. Even Uncle Jack likes him. And Grandpa, too. I was trying so hard.”

  “Yeah.” I run my fingers through his sandy curls, pushing them off his forehead. “I don’t know what to say about Miles. I miss him, too. But I know for a fact that Miles didn’t leave because of anything you did or didn’t do. He obviously cares about you, Jake.” I bury my nose in his hair and press my lips to the top of his head, breathing in the scent of body wash Miles helped Jake pick out.

  Jake burrows his head into my neck, his elbow pressing into my stomach. “How do you know?” he asks softly.

  “Because he came by here to check on you, baby. To make sure you were doing okay and to keep his promise to you. Maybe he’s got something going on, something that he’s having a hard time dealing with, but he for sure didn’t want you to think he’d forgotten about your deal.” They’re only words. I have no idea if there’s any truth to them, but with each assurance I mumble into Jake’s hair, tension drains from his body. “Why don’t we call it a night, babe? I’ll cover our slices of cake, and we can have them for breakfast.”

  “Really?” With a pat to his hip and a shift of my shoulder, Jake gets the hint and sits up, staring at me.

  “Really. Go on and brush your teeth.”

  “Love you, Mom.” He squeezes me tight and lumbers up the stairs.

  I wrap his cake and tuck it into the fridge, but mine, I scrape into the trash. I have no appetite. My stomach churns as I think about how much life has thrown at Jake. How much he’s dealt with and just how hurt he is.

  Calling Miles or even texting him is getting me nowhere. And while, initially, I was doing that for me, this is different now. When it hurts my kid, the stakes change. So, I call the only person who has been there with me through everything. The person who caught me when the news about Dallas brought me to my knees.

  “Jack, it’s Chloe,” I say. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Hey, yeah. Just let me get Hays settled in bed.” He grunts and mumbles under his breath some nonsense about his daughter being too big to be carried to bed.

  I smile, picturing her clinging to her daddy like a baby koala. “Don’t you say such things to her. Precious Hays is a princess,” I coo as if I were talking directly to her instead of Jack.

  “And I’m her man servant. Thank God she and her mama are going to be the only girls in this clubhouse. Hang on, Chloe.”

  A thud sounds from Jack putting the phone down, and then he whispers a sweet good night to one of my favorite little girls. A door creaks softly, and then Jack is back.

  “So, you’re excited about another boy?” I ask.

  Kate had her sonogram a while ago but has been oddly tight-lipped anytime I ask her about it.

  “Two boys. Twins again.” He almost sounds like he feels bad about it.

  “Jesus, Jack. Is Kate okay, or does she need—”

  “She could probably use a shoulder to cry on and a good bottle of tequila, but she’ll be fine. Deep down, I’m sure she’s excited.” Jack chuckles. “But I’m guessing you didn’t call me to talk babies, so what’s up?”

  The sound of dishes clinking together and running water filters through the background. “God, you’re such a good guy. You’re doing the dishes, aren’t you? And you put Hays to bed. I bet you even drew a bath for Kate, so she could relax and cry in peace over being even more overrun by testosterone in the house.”

  “Correct on all counts. What’s going on, Chloe? Do I need to come kick Jake’s ass? Get him squared away?”

  “Not Jake’s,” I tell him.

  The dishwasher door creaks, and the water tap silences. “Go on.” And with those two words, Jack is in full work mode.

  “Miles seems to have flaked on us, which is fine really. But Jake is feeling a little brokenhearted—more than a little—and I can’t stand for that.”

  “Give me the rundown. Details.” Ice rattles in a glass, followed by the glug and splash of what’s most likely some of the high-end tequila he and Kate adore.

  With a deep, bracing breath, I tell Jack what’s up, focusing on the events of the past week. That everything seemed to be going fine, that Miles and I made plans for when he returned from California. How he ghosted. And then—because, really, it’s the most important part—how he broke my kid. When I hear myself relay the events aloud, it doesn’t seem all that bad. That is, until I think of Jake crying in my arms and trying his hardest not to.

  “I know I’m being a girl about this, but—”

  “Not at all. Individually, yeah, it’s shit. But considering what he’s been working on and then the final kick in the junk, it kind of makes sense.”

  My head is spinning. Jack doesn’t cut anyone slack. Ever. But this goes beyond just giving Miles a pass. “What do you know, Jack? Did you … did you look into him? Jesus, really?”

  He scoffs like that’s a ridiculous question. “Of course I did. Don’t act like that surprises you. You know I would never sit back and watch you give your heart to anyone without knowing what kind of person they were. What kinds of skeletons were in their closets. And I’m not saying Miles is handling things all that great on his end, but maybe cut him some slack. A week isn’t all that long for him to make peace with his shit.”

  “What is Miles handling? What’s he been working toward? What does he need to make peace with?” My heart is racing, and my stomach rolls over on itself, making me wonder yet again if I’m going to need to run for the bathroom and bow before the porcelain throne.

  “His trip to California. He didn�
��t mention what he was going for?”

  “I mean, I knew he was going. I knew it was weighing heavy on him, but this is what you guys do. You go into shitty situations and save the world. You don’t talk about it outside of the circle of trust. Then, you come home to your families, and we get to try to make things better—normal—again. But he didn’t come home to me, Jack. I’m not comparing this to how Dallas left us, to how we lost him, but Miles didn’t come home to me. And now, there’s no finality. He’s here, in town. He stopped by but didn’t see me, didn’t talk to me, just got Jake all kinds of upset. And, God, he sobbed, soaked my shirt with snot and tears, just like … like when …” My heart twists painfully as I think back to the morning I told my little boy his daddy was never coming home to us.

  “Chloe, you need to flip this one around. Go to Miles. Talk to him.”

  “Tell me what’s going on. I can’t walk into this blind. You guys are the heroes, not me.”

  “I’ll call your parents, have them come get Jake for the day, maybe a couple days—”

  “We still have school, Jack. We can’t just blow that off,” I say, but I’m already doing a quick rundown of my lesson plans for the first half of the week. I can make it work and take some time.

  “Is Miles important to you? Do you …”

  “Love him?” I ask and then sigh. “I do. Yeah, I do.” I hate that I don’t say the words to Miles first.

  “Then, go to him. Make him talk to you. Make him understand that you’re there for him. That you’re not going anywhere,” Jack says.

  Whatever is going on, it’s serious. Gravely serious by the tone of Jack’s voice.

  “He’s a good guy, Chloe. And he needs you. He’s going to push you away—hard—but you gotta stick with him.”

  “Jack, you’re freaking me out.”

  “Don’t. Just … I think he needs you to put him back together.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Miles

  I don’t know how many days have slipped past. How many hours I’ve spent numb. How many bottles of whiskey are lying empty in the trash. If someone hadn’t loaded them all into a bag and thrown them away, I’d at least be able to count them up. Or try to.

  As it is, I’m exhausted.

  How long can I do this?

  How many days can I drink away before I officially have a problem?

  An annoying voice in the back of my head whispers that I’m probably already there.

  It’s been like a goddamn parade through here for the last … I don’t even know. Jackson called to check in on me. Mark tried, too, but when he didn’t get anywhere, Natalie showed up at my door. She talked. Said all the things she was supposed to. That it wasn’t my fault. I did everything I could. I went above and beyond what anyone could have expected of me. I gave my all.

  That’s where shit went sideways. I fought her on everything she said. And with nothing left to say, every heartfelt statement twisted into a meaningless platitude for me to cast off, she conceded. Natalie, one of my best friends, walked out the door.

  Was that yesterday? The day before?

  I peel myself off the cheap leather couch, leaving a layer of skin behind. I stink. I need a shower and food and a run.

  An impatient fist pounds on the door, no pause between each series of head-splitting raps.

  I stumble across the apartment and pull open the door, a simple, “Fuck,” falling from my lips.

  “What do you want?” I grumble at Chance. “You here to blow sunshine up my ass, too? Don’t waste your time.”

  I swing the door shut and turn away, wondering if I have anything to eat. Tacos and homemade guac would be fucking stellar right now.

  “Fuck that. I have no interest in your ass or blowing anything.” Chance saunters through the door, letting it close with a bang.

  “Then, why are you here? I’m on leave—vacation.” I snort a laugh at the thought. This is no fucking vacation. It’s a goddamn nightmare. “Anything you need for my project, Natalie knows where to access it.”

  “Nope. Couldn’t give a shit about work right now either.” He flops down on the couch I just vacated and wrinkles his nose as he looks around at my mess.

  I rifle through the fridge and come out with a couple of beers. There’s not much else in there, so I’m going to have to sweet-talk him into driving my sorry ass to the liquor store. If that’s not a sign that I’ve fallen pretty far down the hole, I don’t know what is.

  “This is all I’ve got.” I toss a can to him, but Chance looks at the label and sets it down on top of a pile of unopened mail on the table.

  “No, thanks. So, uh, where you at with the chick?” He leans back and runs his hand over his stubble, the rasp echoing in the silence.

  I slam my can of beer on the counter, foam bubbling out and running down my clenched hand. “The fuck, man? She’s dead. Where do you think I’m at?” I want to punch the stupid look off his face.

  “The single mom? So, does that make you … like, the kid’s not your responsibility or anything, right?” He looks almost as confused as I feel.

  “What? No, not Chloe. She’s … I’m sure she’s fine.” She has to be. I need her to be okay.

  Chance waves a hand, brushing me off. “So, the mommy, she’s fair game? You done with her?”

  “Yeah, we’re done.”

  “Sweet. I’mma tap that ass, then. Figure if you’re this broken up, she’s got to be worth a little effort,” he says, neck cracking loudly as he twists his head.

  Chance stands, and before he can take a step for the door, before he can even think of doing it, I am in his face. Shoulders back, chest puffed out, jaw tight as shit.

  “The fuck you will, motherfucker. The. Fuck. You. Will.” Voice low, threat apparent, I clench my free hand into a tight fist, ready to lay him out. “Chloe is off-limits, you hear me? Not just no, but hell no. Fuck no. No.” I step in closer, ready to tear him limb from limb for talking about Chloe that way. Ready to murder the heartless bastard for daring to even think about touching her. “Did you fucking hear me?” I demand, glowering.

  And Chance smiles. He takes a step back, putting some separation between us, and nods. His slicked-back hair doesn’t move from the motion. “Loud and clear, my friend. Loud and fucking clear.” He slaps the front of my shoulder as he passes, hard enough to push me out of his way. “Get your shit sorted and get back to work, man. I’m tired of covering for your ass.”

  Chance walks out the door, and I’m left rooted to my spot, beer in hand, wondering when the fuck he became the responsible one.

  No sooner has the door slammed shut behind him than a quick, loud rap sounds against it. At least it feels like it happens in quick succession. I seriously have no sense of time right now. I could have been standing here for a minute or twenty, but by the chill on the beer can still clasped in my hand, it couldn’t have been all that long. Fucker probably decided to come back for a drink after all.

  I swing the door open without even looking and turn to stumble back to the couch. My moment of sobriety fueled by anger has passed. I just want to sink into my shitty couch and drink myself to sleep.

  “Forget something, asshat?” I say, my eyes already closing.

  I should put my half-empty beer down before it falls out of my hand, but I don’t. I’ll just clean up the mess in the morning. Or not. Who gives a shit?

  The can slips a little, my grip going lax as my body gets heavy with sleep.

  “The fuck you want, Tin Man?” I mumble, not even sure Chance is still here.

  The door softly clicks shut.

  “Miles?”

  I peel my eyes open because either Chance’s balls are in a vise or it’s not him in my apartment. That voice is too high. Too sweet. Too … too Chloe.

  “What’re you doing here?” I try to push myself up to sitting, but it takes some serious concentration before I can make it happen. “How’d you … you’ve never …” I rub a hand down my face, trying to clear my head and figur
e out how she knew which apartment was mine. We spent all our time at her house, the beach, but not here.

  “Natalie. I had an idea of where it was, but I begged her for the number, so I wouldn’t knock on the wrong door.” She takes a tentative step in and looks around at my sparse furnishings. Her gaze bounces around, taking in the nothingness of my apartment. Couch. TV. Coffee table. It looks more like a long-term efficiency rental than the place someone’s lived in for almost a year.

  I let her look though. Because while she’s focused elsewhere, I get to focus on her. The black hair tumbling down her back, free from its binds for a rare moment. Her sparking blue eyes, clear, concerned. The pout of her pink lips pulled down at the corners. She’s fresh-faced and beautiful. I stare at her for as long as possible, memorizing all the tiny details that I’ve missed.

  Her gaze swings back to meet mine, and after a beat, I look away.

  “We had an agreement,” Chloe says, taking the few steps to the end of the couch. She lowers herself to perch on the edge of the cushion by my feet, the shitty excuse for leather squeaking as she sits. “You broke it.”

  Jesus, fuck, going right for the kill, isn’t she?

  “I guess I did.” I let my head sink into the cushion behind me and close my eyes. It’s easier to let her go, to push her away, if I don’t have to see her.

  “It goes against the rules.”

  My mouth twists. “What?”

  “You take the time to coach a bunch of boys in a stupidly violent-looking game. You hold them to a standard and teach them what it means to be a gentleman. To keep their word, be respectful, make eye contact.” She pauses, waiting for me to do just that but I don’t. I can’t. “And then you ignore it all yourself.”

  There’s nothing I can say. I can’t dispute any of what she said.

  “Will you talk to me, please? Look at me, Miles. Just look at me and tell me what happened. What changed so drastically with us?”

  How can I explain it to her? How do I tell her that I thought I had everything and lost it? Only to find it again in her and Jake—a family. One I almost lost and then begged, pleaded for, so I could have the honor of keeping them, all based on the promise that there would be no secrets. And I’ve been keeping a fucking secret I can’t even deal with.