Torn (Torn Series, Book 1)

by Melody Anne

  It was the end of my sophomore year of high school, only a couple more months before school was out for the year. I was on the track team, but it was kind of miserable because I didn’t have anyone to talk to. My dad didn’t have a car and couldn’t come to my meets, so I was growing disillusioned with sports. What was the point in trying my hardest if there was no one on the sidelines cheering me on?

  We had a meet a few hours away, and I didn’t get back until two in the morning. I only lived about a mile from the school, but it was cold and my bag was heavy. I was suddenly bummed about the prospect of walking the dark streets alone.

  My team members quickly climbed into their warm vehicles and took off. I didn’t want anyone to know I didn’t have a ride, so I quickly skated around the building before the coaches could see. Then I began the walk to my house.

  Before I made it out of the parking lot, a horn beeped. I jumped, afraid to turn. I didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. I already had a lie planned. I’d tell them my dad was meeting me out front.

  “Hey, Miranda, need a ride?”

  I was shocked to see it was Mason. I thought about turning him down, but at that moment a few drops of rain landed on my face, and my decision was made. Still, I was terrified of him seeing where I lived.

  I never let anyone see my house. Well, I finally caved and let Audrey see it, but that didn’t count. She was just . . . I don’t know, different. She didn’t make me feel poor or like I needed more.

  I figured I didn’t like Mason, so it didn’t matter if he knew where I lived. I still didn’t need him coming to school on the following Monday and telling everyone about the dump. Black belt or not, I’d have to kick his ass if he did that. I refused to be some pathetic, frail female.

  I climbed into his car, immediately grateful for the warm air blowing directly at me. I froze the entire bus ride, being one of the few kids without a blanket. I didn’t want to bring one of my shaggy blankets from home, not when the other kids had such nice stuff. As I worked, I got more and more items, but priorities were priorities, and blankets were at the bottom of my list of needs, so I had to be cold on bus trips.

  “What are you doing out so late?” I asked as I buckled up.

  He sat there staring at me for a moment, sending the first chills down my spine with the intensity in his eyes. I couldn’t seem to break the contact. It was almost surreal, how I felt myself wanting to lean toward him.

  What?

  Before I knew what I was doing, my eyes broke from his, only to land on his lips. His tongue darted out to moisten them, and I felt a strange tightening in my stomach.

  Realizing where my eyes and thoughts had gone, I jerked my head away, feeling my face flaming in embarrassment. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. I didn’t like the guy, but all of the sudden I had this unexplainable reaction to him.

  It had to be the late hour — the dark — anything other than attraction.

  Even if I did like boys, which I didn’t, he wouldn’t be who I liked. He didn’t play football, basketball, or baseball. He was just an average guy, too skinny to have a crush on.

  “I couldn’t sleep so I took a drive.” His words startled me from my internal thoughts, and I turned toward him. Thankfully he was focused on the road in front of him as he began driving.

  “Oh,” I finally said, though I knew it sounded lame and had come far too late from when he’d last spoken.

  We drove in silence when I suddenly realized he was getting close to my house. How did he know where I lived? I’d never told him. I was too afraid to ask, terrified to see the pity in his eyes as we pulled up in front of the single-wide trailer that looked like it needed to be hauled to the nearest recycling station.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “Uh, I don’t know,” I answered, too surprised by the question to make something up.

  “Audrey said you were doing an art project at school and looking for gold. I know of some places, and I thought I could take you around,” he offered.

  That gleam, the one that scared me, wasn’t present in his eyes, and I felt . . . safe. I wanted to go for a ride with him. I was also reluctant to get out of his car, the dark blanketing us in the surreal world I suddenly found myself in.

  “That sounds like it could be fun,” I tentatively answered. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be a friend or . . . more. He was probably looking to hang out with someone on a Saturday. It wasn’t as if our town was exciting or anything. There wasn’t much to do on the weekends other than have a bonfire or cause trouble.

  “Great! What time do you want me to pick you up?”

  “Well, I guess around noon. I’m probably going to sleep in since we got back so late,” I hedged. For some reason, I didn’t want him to think I was lazy, but at the same time, I was exhausted. I only averaged about five hours sleep a night during the week and by the time Saturday morning hit, I crashed hard, sometimes not crawling out of bed until two in the afternoon.

  My dad never bugged me, which was nice. Sometimes, his lack of parenting really bothered me. I knew all the other kids at school complained when they were grounded, but at least their parents cared enough to ground them. My dad was kind of lackluster about the whole parenting thing.

  “Perfect. I’ll see you at noon,” he replied. Then he jumped from the car, which I found strange.

  Before I could undo my seatbelt he was at my door, opening it for me. I was in shock. What teenage boy did that? Wasn’t that something only the guys in romance books did? He kept confusing me.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled as I climbed from the car. Suddenly, the darkness I was so grateful for a few minutes earlier was almost suffocating. I didn’t know what else to say or how to act. It wasn’t as if I was on a date with him. He just gave me a ride home.

  He closed the door then reached in the back and grabbed my game bag. Then he put his arm behind my back and led me to the rickety front steps. My dad hadn’t bothered leaving a porch light on, which was probably a good thing. More light didn’t need to be shed on the condition of my home.

  Horror gripped my stomach when I realized Mason would see my house in the light of day. I stopped the thought and held my head a bit higher, and tried telling myself it didn’t matter. At least I wasn’t homeless. My dad did the best he could.

  “I’m glad I found you tonight, Miranda,” Mason suddenly said, his breath whispering across my neck as he stood next to me.

  Goosebumps instantly appeared on my arms, and that tingly sensation came back with hurricane force to my stomach. I turned slightly, finding myself only inches from his face. Our eyes locked together in the darkness. I was barely able to make out the shine of his eyes. I found myself at a complete loss for words.

  “See you tomorrow,” he finally said, his face a little bit closer. I stood there frozen, not knowing if he was going to kiss me. What was worse was I might have wanted him to. As we stood locked in our impossible impasse, a cat cried out, shattering the intimate moment, making my sanity return.

  “Thanks, Mason,” I mumbled, shocked by the breathless quality of my voice.

  I grabbed my bag from his hand and quickly shot inside my house, firmly shutting the door in his face. I made it . . . but just barely.

  Chapter Five

  Now

  I take extra time in the morning, applying my makeup in a flattering way. My eyes are highlighted, darkened to make them look smoky and mysterious. Kaden likes when I take the time to impress him.

  I think about when I began my new job at Kaden’s company. It wasn’t my ideal position. But my dreams have evaporated since getting married. Mason and I moved to Portland so he could pursue his vision of becoming a world famous artist.

  Okay, maybe those were more my dreams than his. But I saw such potential in his work. I knew he’d make it big. And then we could live our dreams together. Have a perfect h
ome with two perfect children. I’d be the PTA president and he’d provide for us. We’d attend galas and I’d wear a little black dress and sexy heels. We’d have showings where everyone fought to meet him and outbid each other for his pieces. I’d be the proud wife on his arm.

  Then the two of us would run home, making mad, passionate love for hours on end. The world would want him, but I’d be the only one he needed. I’d be his everything as he was mine.

  But it’s funny how dreams rarely live up to reality. I can lie in bed all I want and fantasize about the life I expect. It doesn’t matter, though, because it’s incredibly rare when fantasies become reality. Living in the city is expensive, and it isn’t easy being an artist.

  Yes, Mason has his inheritance money, but he sold his company to his uncle, wanting nothing to do with the corporate world. He wants to be an artist, and he refuses to dip into what he deems our emergency funds.

  So we live a simple life. And that means my dream of having children was put on hold. I tried college and realized I’d lost my love of learning. So I quit and got a job, then another and another. This is probably my tenth job, but it’s for a large corporation with great pay and even better benefits.

  The dreamer in me has slowly died over the years. It’s time to grow up.

  The day I start my new job, a huge storm blows in from the coast. There’s thunder and lightning, high winds knocking down trees and power lines. But if you were born and raised in Oregon, you aren’t afraid of a good storm.

  As a matter of fact, you appreciate the beauty of nature. Growing up on the coast, I learned to love storms, the crash of giant waves on the beach, winds that almost lift you into the air and carry you away, and the slash of lightning in the sky. Even the boom of thunder is a comfort to me.

  I enter the twenty-story high-rise, shaking off the moisture from the rain, knowing I look like a drowned rat as I enter the elegant lobby, my heels clicking on the marble floors. I head straight for the bathroom, grateful I don’t look as bad as I envisioned.

  I pull out my brush and fix my hair as best I can, taking my cosmetics out and touching up my makeup. I’m not perfect, but I’m presentable. I walk out, holding my head high as I approach the security desk, presenting my temporary ID.

  They give me access to the twentieth floor where I check in, get my permanent badge, and begin my new job. I’ve never worked on the highest floor of a building before. It’s frightening but incredibly exciting.

  Thunder crackles and the lights flicker as I ride the elevator up, the music glitching. I’m not worried. This might not be my dream job, but since I’m not sure what my dream is, that doesn’t really matter. I’m here and it pays well. Hopefully the people I work with will be great, and I’ll love coming to work.

  I don’t love being at home, so the thought of being a stay-at-home mother isn’t at all appealing to me like it had once been. I know I’m reaching the age where I have to make a decision on whether to have children or not, but I push that thought from my mind.

  From the moment I step off the elevator onto the luxurious twentieth floor, I’m blown away. Soft classical music plays at the perfect volume. Plants are strategically placed in a comfortable seating area where several people stand by sipping coffee in their expensive business suits. I immediately feel underdressed.

  I’m certainly not in rags. I bought my sleek pants and jacket at the Nordstrom Rack . . . but on clearance. I’m sure my outfit is outdated in this chic world of movers and shakers. I try to shake off that feeling, but my hair is still damp from the storm and every person in this building looks impeccable. I’m out of place.

  There’s a part of me that wants to turn around and run. What have I gotten myself into? I thought this was a great job and love that it pays more than my other jobs, but they’re going to take one look at me and realize they made a mistake.

  I’m half turning when the woman at the front desk looks up and gives me a friendly smile. It seems like a real expression, not that typical customer service smile that so many wear throughout the day that grows more and more dim as the hours roll on. This smile seems real.

  “You must be Miranda,” she says as she stands.

  I clutch my perfectly acceptable bag against the side of my body. It’s large enough to carry my wallet and keys, along with my papers HR said to bring. But it’s still stylish. So what if I bought it at the outlet mall? It was chic and elegant. I was thrilled to find it . . . two years ago.

  What was I thinking? The women in this room carry Gucci purses and wear Jimmy Choo shoes I’m positive aren’t two or three years old. I’m angry with Mason for not letting me spend some of the emergency funds on more acceptable work wear.

  “Yes, I’m Miranda,” I say, hating the slight doubt in my voice as if I don’t even know my own name.

  “Great. I’m Jenny. I’ll be showing you around and getting you settled,” she says, her smile not faulting in the least. She chooses to ignore my nervousness as she comes around the desk. “Follow me.”

  I have little choice but to do as she says unless I want to go running and screaming from the room. There’s still the slightest chance I may do that. She chats with me as she goes to the elevator and we ride down to the nineteenth floor, make our way down a long carpeted hallway, and enter another beautiful area.

  It’s divided into sections with several doors, one that says HR, one that appears to be a locker room, another a break room. She chuckles when she sees the confusion on my face.

  “I love when new people come,” Jenny says.

  “This wasn’t what I was expecting,” I admit.

  “We work in Oregon where it rains a lot,” she says as she takes me into the locker room. It’s a classy area with wooden lockers, a shower bay, bathroom area, and large sink cubicles with mirrors, blow dryers and . . . curling irons.

  “Yes, it does rain a lot,” I say as I look around.

  “Well, Mr. Alexander’s sister told him if he was going to set up a place of business in this wet area, he needed to have accommodations for those of us who don’t like to look like we just immerged from a swimming pool. We also have a gym that many of us take advantage of. It’s all part of the perks. Pick out an open locker, and you can store your purse. You can also bring a gym bag here and leave it. Towels are provided, and we have a laundry room if you want to leave your workout clothes. We try to be all-inclusive. Mr. Alexander gives us a lot of perks because there are weeks we practically live here, working seventy hours at times, and we need to get a boost. A nice jog helps.”

  “Seventy hours?” I question. Nothing like that had been mentioned in my interview.

  Jenny laughs again. “It sounds much worse than it is. I’ve been here for five years and I absolutely love it. Once you work for Mr. Alexander, you won’t ever want to leave. He expects a lot but he gives even more. It’s a great place,” Jenny assures me.

  I put away my purse, pulling out the papers HR needs.

  “I’ll give you ten minutes if you want to use the hairdryers,” Jenny tells me.

  I self-consciously touch my hair. I did the best I could in the downstairs bathroom, but a hairdryer will make me look a lot more presentable. I take Jenny up on her offer. When I’m finished it doesn’t look as if I was caught in the storm.

  The rest of the day flies by. There’s a lot to learn about working in this building, but Jenny’s right, there are a lot of perks. I’m one of many associates working for Mr. Alexander, and I’m told I’ll hardly ever see him. He’s in and out of the office a lot. There’s so much to learn and even more to do, but all the employees assure me I’ll pick it up fast.

  My fears begin to dwindle as the day wears on. When five o’clock comes, the rest of the staff leaves. I take advantage of the gym, realizing quickly how out of shape I am from such a sedentary life. Still, I push myself hard.

  The building is practically empty when I
immerge from the gym. I decide to forgo the shower in favor of taking one at home. I haven’t been able to do much more than power through a workout on the elliptical in my socked feet. Thank goodness I carry a pair in my purse just in case I can kick off my heels beneath my desk.

  I’m sweaty and not looking so put together anymore, but that doesn’t matter. The entire staff already left. The storm is still raging, shaking the building’s windows as I gather my bag and make my way to the elevators.

  I step inside and press the lobby button. The doors almost close when a hand shoots between them, making them fly open. I look up, horribly embarrassed to be caught in my business clothes that are now damp with sweat. Still, I look up with a smile. Maybe the person, or people, won’t notice.

  My eyes are suddenly captured. He’s there . . . and he looks familiar. My body shakes as he moves forward.

  Chapter Six

  Then

  It seems I’m living in two separate worlds as I flash back and forth from my life with Mason and my affair with Kaden. I can’t help myself. I can’t help but compare the two. I’m two different people. I’m the sweet, scared, shy girl Mason fell in love with. I’m also the bold, confident, outgoing woman Kaden desires. I can’t seem to reconcile how the two halves of me fit together seamlessly.

  On one hand I’m the same girl Mason believed in so many years ago. But on the other I’m this new girl, this person who died and burned, then rose from the ashes. Maybe I’m being a bit melodramatic, but I remember a counselor once telling me we don’t make mistakes in life; we are shaped by every step of our journey so each decision has to be warranted, has to be appreciated. It’s not a mistake because it leads to the next step.

  I refuse to have regrets. I might not be perfect, but I give with all I have, and I truly do love the same way. Sometimes love fades. The reality of life: it isn’t perfect. Life is messy and complicated. I think back to those early days with Mason . . .