Shatter Me

by Tori St. Claire

  “What is that?” he blurted as Shelley let out a strangled gasp.

  She spun to face him and rasped, “It’s ugly, isn’t it?”

  He tensed, his stomach twisting. Why, he wasn’t quite certain. But it was like that bad feeling beyond the wire all over again. Something was coming. Aimed directly for him. “I don’t…understand.”

  “Reagan, this isn’t the place—” Shelley warned tightly. “Don’t start this here.”

  “Isn’t the place?” Bending, Reagan swiped her sweater off the ground and balled it in her hands. “When is the place to tell you what your venerated brother did to me? Look close. It’s a fucking belt, Shelley. It was Drew’s favorite way to punish me.” She glared at Alex. “And now you know why I don’t give a damn he’s gone. Why I never want to talk about him. I’m not avoiding his death. I’m celebrating my freedom!”

  Oh, holy fuck no. His world pitched sideways. He blinked, then blinked again, trying to swallow the undeniable proof someone had beaten her. Shelley claimed it was her father. But he’d never known Reagan to lie.

  “No,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she ground out tightly. “There are a few marks here for looking at you too long. And at Santa at the mall, and the fucking grocery sacker, and take your damn pick.” She shouldered around him as she yanked the sweater back on. “I’m going home.”

  “Jesus,” Luke muttered, his voice barely audible.

  “It’s something else,” Shelley proclaimed, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the evidence. “Drew would never hit a woman. You’re crazy, Reagan.”

  But it wasn’t something else. It couldn’t be—Reagan did not lie. She avoided. She distracted. She hid things.

  But she’d lied about Drew’s snoring.

  Yet those horseshoe brands…Alex’s stomach twisted harder. Drew? An abuser? He owed his life to a man who’d beaten his wife? Who’d beaten Reagan?

  It couldn’t be possible. Her father, though…

  “Screw you, Shelley,” Reagan muttered. Her angry glare locked on Alex again, narrowing even more. “And screw you, too, for even considering I might make something like this up. For standing here and allowing her to defame me. Good-bye, Alex.”

  She stormed off, long legs crossing the tall grass with determined purpose. Alex stared, unable to move. The way she’d flinched on her porch scalded through his memory. Her oddness over being handed a twenty-dollar bill. He couldn’t deny it if he wanted to. And yet…he couldn’t accept it, either.

  Looking at you too long.

  Surely, she hadn’t said that. He must have imagined it. Drew wouldn’t have assumed anything brewed between them.

  Then again…

  He forced his feet into motion, following after her. “Wait.” He caught her by the elbow. “Just wait a damned minute.”

  She turned, her anger muted by the shimmering of tears within her eyes. “What?” she whispered.

  He searched her face but found no answers. “If this is true, why didn’t you tell me?”

  She shook her head. “What was I supposed to say?” She blew out a hard breath and pushed her hair off her shoulders. “The look on your face now—I didn’t want to put that there.”

  “You looked at me too long?” he barked.

  Closing her eyes, Reagan nodded. “But it wasn’t just you. Drew changed after he enlisted. At least I like to think he changed. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was always an abuser. But that’s the truth of it—he was. He controlled everything I did with that belt. In the end, he cut me off financially, convinced his family I was mentally ill, and left me in this mess you’ve stumbled into.”

  “Cut you off financially? Where did his insurance policy and death benefits go—those don’t just disappear.”

  “Drew made Shelley the beneficiary to his life insurance. And his beneficiary in all other things, too.” She clenched her teeth, no doubt biting back the anger that turned her voice brittle. “It was another way of controlling me. He wouldn’t hand over money when he was alive—he certainly wouldn’t do it in death. Hell, Alex, the house was willed to Shelley, not me.”

  “But you have it.”

  “I bought it. I took out a loan and had to buy my own house from my sister-in-law.” Scathing words accompanied a dark flash of disgust in her eyes.

  He clenched a fist at his side, struggling to match the man she described with the man he knew. “His parents shut you out, too?”

  She let out a dry laugh. “He was their golden boy, and we only got along for Drew’s sake. I haven’t seen or heard from them since the funeral.”

  Confusion tugged at his brow as he stared at the lake behind her. Finally, he gave up with a shake of his head. “I don’t get it. He made it sound like they adored you.”

  Chin high, she met his imploring gaze defiantly. “Appearances, Alex. The better he looked all the way around, the better his advancement potential. You know how it goes.”

  “Do you know what you’re asking me to believe?” How could he? Drew Sanders gave his life to save Alex’s. He had Drew’s word to back Shelley’s claims that Reagan couldn’t handle money. “And if it’s true, you’ve been hiding it from me.” He let out a disparaging snort. “You could take me to bed, screw me senseless, and you couldn’t tell me the truth.”

  “I could screw you senseless?” Her voice rose in pitch. “You’ve been trying to force me into what you think is appropriate behavior, and never once have you stopped to listen! You’re not listening now. You’ve chosen Drew over me. I see where your loyalty lies.”

  Alex’s own fury made him immune to the tear that tracked down her cheek. “Let’s talk about loyalty. I beat myself up with guilt over wanting you. You could have stopped today, Reagan. But you didn’t. Even when you saw Shelley earlier, you said nothing. We could have left and talked. We could have worked this out.” He released her arm and turned for his pickup, pulling his keys out of his pocket.

  “You’re turning the tables! You planned this whole thing today. If you’d listened to what I’ve been saying—that I get a say in my life—this wouldn’t have happened at all.”

  “Yeah, well, it did.” And he could feel the distance creeping between them as the seconds passed. He’d bared his soul to her. All the while, she’d held back.

  Jesus… Glancing around, he took in the faces he recognized: Jacob, Don, others he placed from Colton but couldn’t recall their names. Much like Shelley, disapproval etched into their features as they watched Reagan. They’d heard her angry explosion. Maybe they didn’t side with Shelley, maybe they did—whatever the case, they judged Reagan unfavorably. Hell, he wouldn’t put it past some of them to judge her for spilling the god-awful truth.

  Fuck. What the hell was he supposed to do with this?

  Nothing. There was nothing he could do. Nothing more to say. “I have to go.”

  “I see,” she mumbled.

  He scoffed bitterly. “Don’t give me that ‘I see’ crap. You don’t see. Obviously.”

  Hot color infused her cheeks as she swiped at another tear. “All along, you’ve been calling the shots. I’ve been letting you. You’ve made your decision, and I’m done trying to convince you otherwise. You didn’t want this in the first place, and I pushed for it.”

  He stared at her, torn between what to believe, how to respond. Silence spanned between them, weighty and suffocating. Slowly, his gaze shifted to his pickup. He couldn’t continue this conversation. If he tried, he’d say something he could never take back. What she wanted him to believe contradicted every truth he understood.

  She broke the ominous silence, her voice low and flat. “You need to get your stuff out of my house tomorrow morning.”

  God, just hearing the words felt like he was bleeding out. But she was right. He clenched another tight fist as his illusions of happiness shattered at his feet, then he straightened his shoulders. “Fine,” he muttered.

  “And I’m leaving now.” She whirled on her heel, making a beeline toward the edge
of the shelter where Chance and Desi watched them.

  They ushered her quickly to their car, the slamming of the doors like firing cannons to his heart. As a heavy weight banded around his ribs, he stormed across the grass, heading for his pickup. He had to get out of here. Escape. Sort through the crap in his head. Death before dishonor.

  Was Reagan right? What if Drew chose death because he’d been dishonorable?

  Alex furiously shook off the thought as he climbed into the cab and slammed the door. Not Drew. He was the best damn marine Alex knew. Everything he understood about the man couldn’t be false. Hell, he’d asked Alex to look after Reagan.

  As he fired the engine, he surveyed the people gathered beneath the shelter. No one rose to her defense. Not even Chance and Desi said anything to refute her claims, though their support was obvious enough in their actions. Why? Because they knew things about Reagan he didn’t?

  Or because no one possessed the courage to condemn a Purple Heart awardee?

  Looking at you too long.

  Christ, if what she claimed were true, then he held just as much responsibility for those damned scars. Every time she looked at him must have reminded her of that torture. Maybe that’s why she’d clammed up about Drew. Maybe he brought her tangible pain. Jesus, that put him on a whole new level of undeserving.

  Fuck.

  Alex jammed his foot on the gas. Rocks sprayed as he peeled out of the parking lot. He didn’t know where he was going, but he sure as hell couldn’t stay here and pretend to be normal. Everything he thought he understood just turned on end.

  And with it, he’d lost the only woman who ever mattered.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  No, no, no, no.

  Even after several hours at Desi and Chance’s home, the disastrous afternoon well behind her, Reagan still felt violently ill each time Alex’s devastated face flashed through her memory. In no way had she planned to spit out the truth as coldly as she just had. She hadn’t eased him into the conversation, she’d fucking crushed him in one, unthinking, angry outburst.

  Her heart lodged in her throat, and she blinked back tears all over again. Through her back porch door, she glimpsed the warm inviting light spilling onto the grass from Desi’s screened-in patio. If she went back there, she could forget with more wine.

  But forgetting would only be temporary. In the morning, she’d still have to face that Alex had turned against her. Wine solved nothing. She needed the clarity that would come with morning, and that meant braving the bed that waited. A cold, empty bed, no longer the safe haven it had once been.

  Forcing herself to rise out of the overstuffed armchair, she trudged to the stairs.

  What else could she do? She’d let the whole mess grow out of control. She’d known the truth would tear them apart, only she hadn’t expected it would hurt so damned bad. That when he walked out of her life, he’d take a part of her with him.

  Because somewhere along the way, she’d foolishly fallen in love with him.

  Love.

  She pushed open her bedroom door, crossed to the bed, and flopped stomach-first onto the mattress. A mirthless chuckle escaped her lips as she rolled over and stared at the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge the pillow beside her head and the scent of Alex’s skin that clung to the sheets.

  Thankfully she hadn’t confided the little tidbit that she’d fallen in love. He would have likely thrown it in her face, too. He certainly didn’t share the same emotion. If he did, he would have listened, would have known she couldn’t make something so ugly up.

  She should have been better prepared for his decision. The bonds of soldiers were the bonds of brothers. She shouldn’t have been surprised he’d honor Drew’s memory until the last. Hell, he owed his life to Drew. She couldn’t begin to compete with that. And she wouldn’t.

  Still, she’d hoped. Prayed that Alex would take her into his arms, hold her tight, and tell her everything would be all right between them.

  But he hadn’t.

  She sniffed back the tears and closed her eyes. Like someone shoved a spike between her ribs, pain flared anew in her chest. So intense her lungs cinched together, and she struggled to find air. He hadn’t even tried to consider what she had to say. That he was so unwilling to fight for them, fight for the happiness they’d found, only proved he wasn’t invested in a future together. Once a soldier, always a soldier.

  Parting was probably for the best. He’d shown his true colors. Hints bled through in the way he took control of her porch, and she should have seen those signs for what they were. In the end, he proved himself every bit as unbending as Drew. And if he didn’t go, she would have begged him to stay. While they’d had a great time, while he made her feel things she’d forgotten could exist, he never got it, never understood her. He bulldozed his way time and again, flexing his control. If he couldn’t let go enough to see her as an equal partner, all the love in the world wouldn’t make them a couple.

  But damn it, he wasn’t entirely like Drew, and she knew that in the depths of her being. He’d made her feel alive and cherished. Made her laugh. Put her back together again without ever realizing she was broken. And tomorrow, he’d come to her house for his things, only to walk out forever.

  Maybe he’d realize this wasn’t completely her mess. Maybe he’d acknowledge his own fault and come back full of apologies. Maybe they could somehow…

  Her thoughts clogged on a rush of heartbreak. She was fooling herself. He’d already made his choice.

  Do not cry, damn it.

  The tears betrayed her orders and slid steadily down her cheeks. Wiping them away, she turned her head to gaze out at the starless sky. There were no answers written in those fathomless depths. Just a vast emptiness that gnawed at her soul.

  She’d survived before. Picked herself up and put life back together. She could do it again. She might go to her grave loving Alex, but he wouldn’t destroy her. She could face the emptiness, rise above it. And somehow, some way, she would.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It was after midnight when Alex managed to pull himself together and move off the bank of the stream north of Colton. Base gut reaction put him on the run, initially urging him back to Chicago. But as he’d crossed the bridge twenty miles south of the lake, something drew him toward Colton, like an invisible thread tying him to Reagan.

  He trudged up the bank, his thoughts still as jumbled as when he sat down hours ago. The answer lay just beyond his reach—he could feel it like a tangible thing in his periphery. And yet, no matter how he searched, how he tried to grasp and hold on, it eluded him. Drew. An abuser.

  The idea was as dumbfounding as Reagan being a liar.

  Maybe talking to her would help.

  Of course it would.

  He opened his truck door, climbed inside, and started the engine. Now that his shock had worn off and his anger faded somewhat, he stood a better chance of hearing what she really said. Talking would be the best for the both of them, and contrary to his outburst, he wasn’t ready to give up all they’d discovered these past few days. If there was an iota of hope left, he had to try.

  The scant miles passed more quickly than he would have liked, making it impossible to prepare what he wanted to say. When he pulled into her drive, nerves tangled his insides. Her house was dark, not even a solitary lamp burning in the front room. Knocking would wake her up. Once again, he’d be doing exactly what she claimed—thinking only of himself.

  Nevertheless, this was about them, and they needed to sort it out.

  Still, his hand hesitated on the truck door handle. He studied her front porch, not seeing the destruction from the storm but the quaint, shaded overhang that had caught his eye the first time he visited Drew’s home. A wind chime had hung on the far corner, its whimsical melody alluring in the late-summer breeze. Little pixie-like fairies sat atop the thin pipes, and he’d been struck by the thought Reagan resembled those magical creatures. Her laughter at the lake, the impish way she sneaked up
behind him and dumped a cooler of ice over his head—

  Alex’s thoughts screeched to a halt. The lake.

  Reagan had worn a red, white, and blue bikini. It hung low on her hips, showing off a smooth, flat belly. The sexy little top emphasized the fullness of her breasts, and its ties dangled down her back.

  Her smooth, tanned, and unblemished back.

  The next afternoon, when he’d come here for dinner, she’d worn a shapeless old T-shirt that struck him as comfortable.

  She’d been wearing those same uninspiring T-shirts ever since.

  Son of a bitch.

  His gut churned violently, and he swallowed down the bitter taste of bile. The man he owed his life to had beaten the crap out of her. Not just with fists—Alex presumed those were involved as well, but didn’t really want to know—but with the buckle end of a belt. Hard enough to scar her.

  And he’d stake his soul on the fact that the first time had been after the lake.

  Drew, an abuser. It was like he’d never really known his best friend. In a thousand years, he never would have dreamed it was possible. Never would have believed Reagan and he were anything but happily married. Truth to tell, if he hadn’t witnessed the scars, he might not have believed it still.

  But he had seen them.

  Worse, he’d caused them.

  Maybe not all of them, but part of them, and the idea that he’d brought her pain, however unwittingly, was even more difficult to accept than the fact that the man who’d been nothing but honorable as a best friend and brother was a shit husband. The idea of Reagan hurting cut Alex like glass.

  He dropped his head to the steering wheel with a groan. What had he done in return? Doubted her. All but accused her of lying. All this time she’d been hiding the scars—all the numerous times she’d made a point of staying in the dark, of refusing to show her back when they were intimate, of wearing T-shirts to sleep in after an incredible bout of sex.