“So you thought you’d hide what you were going through?” he says, frustration creeping in again. “You thought that would be easier for me?” He watches my face. “You did.” He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Of course you did. I walked away yesterday. I’ve walked away from you so many times.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s a big job, keeping Catherine safe, and I know why you’re doing it. I don’t want you to have to worry about me on top of all of that.”
He steps back, his arms rising in agitation. “I want to worry about you! You pushed me away—you wouldn’t let me—you didn’t tell me—” He presses his hands to either side of his head, like he’s trying to keep himself from exploding. He draws several breaths before letting his hands fall away. “You did this for me?” he finally says. “Pulling away, hiding what was happening with Alex, that was to protect me? Because from here, it feels like you didn’t think I was strong enough to be what you need or you didn’t trust me.”
I grimace and cover my mouth with my hand. I wanted to make it easier for him, but seeing the pain in his eyes tells me I did the opposite. “I didn’t want to demand that from you.”
“Why, Romy?”
“Because I love you!” I swipe tears from my face. “I love you, Caleb, and seeing you in pain kills me. The thought of having anything to do with you losing Catherine all over again made me feel terrible. Our relationship was so new, and you were finally getting your chance to be a family, and I knew I didn’t have any right to interfere.”
“You had every right to interfere!” he shouts. “You had every fucking right.” He comes toward me and grasps my shoulders. “Because I love you, too.”
His lips crash down on mine, and I throw my arms around his waist as he puts his hand on the back of my head and deepens our kiss. The sensation of him is overwhelming, the firm lines of his body, the warm scent of his skin, the merciless thrust of his tongue. I tangle my hands in his hair and feel him growing hard against me. After a few frantic, mindless minutes, he pulls away, nibbling my bottom lip before kissing the corner of my mouth. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt,” he says softly. “If you knew, if I’d been brave enough to say it, maybe you would have understood how important you are to me.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” I say, leaning my head against his shoulder as he gathers me to him. “I trusted you with so much, but when it came down to Catherine and me, I didn’t want to know how it would end. I didn’t want—”
“You didn’t want me to choose her over you.”
I close my eyes. It sounds so incredibly selfish. “I didn’t want it to be a choice at all. I never wanted you to feel like it was, and I didn’t trust myself not to be selfish. That’s why I didn’t tell you about Alex, especially when I wasn’t sure he was actually following me. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to manipulate you. I thought it was better to keep it to myself.”
“Do you have any idea how much that hurt?” he whispers.
“I’m sorry.”
He takes my face in his hands and tilts my chin up. “Things have to change.”
“I think you’re right.”
“I want us to fix it. Together. I think it’s fixable.”
Hope soars inside of me. We’re standing in the ruins of something that had so much life, so much potential. “I’m willing to try.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “I had a talk with Katie this morning, and then I met with her treatment team, including Amy. I said some things that I needed to say. Some things I should have said a long time ago, maybe, but I never felt strong enough or worth enough to do it, until I met you.”
“What did you need to say?”
His gaze moves over my face, from my hair to my eyes to my lips. “That I love her and always will, but that I love you, too, and we’re going to have to figure that out. I can’t do it all by myself.” His fingers smooth over my hair. “Because I need you, Romy. I need you in my life. And part of what I need is to be what you need.”
“I care about Catherine. I don’t want my presence to be hard for her—”
“Everything is hard for her, Romy. You know that. But when she realized how much I was hurting without you, she told me I had to come after you. It scared her—I could see the fear in her eyes. But she’s trying.”
“I’m sorry.” I draw a shuddery breath. “I wish it didn’t have to be so painful for her.”
“It has to be this way, though. I was going to start resenting her if things didn’t change.” He gives me a light kiss, his lips lingering, closing his eyes as his expression relaxes. “So … we made a plan. Katie will be discharged on the twenty-second, as long as she’s stable, and she’ll go stay at Amy’s until Christmas Eve. And that means, if you wanted me to come to your parents’—”
“I do. I’m sorry I made you doubt that.” I wrap my arms around his neck and he hugs me so tight that I’m lifted off the ground. “But I also want things to get better when we come back.”
“Me, too. So I want you to understand a few things.” He leads me to the couch and sits down, then pulls me down to straddle him. “The first is that you have to be honest with me. You have to let me in. We can’t be one-sided, Romy. You’re not my therapist, and this isn’t about you taking care of me. It’s about us taking care of each other.”
I stroke his cheek, looking down at his handsome face. “I’ll try.”
He takes my face in his hands. “I’m strong enough. I can do this.”
My throat is so tight. I hate that I made him think I believed he was weak. “I know, Caleb. You’re the strongest person I know.” I lay my forehead on his. “It’s why I ran to you yesterday. You were the place I felt safest.”
He closes his eyes, like it was what he needed to hear. “All right,” he says. “Then the other thing you have to understand is that I need you.” He grasps my hips and slides me toward him, awakening every nerve ending. “And that I want you. Always. I do have to be there for Katie sometimes, but—”
I tilt my head back as he nuzzles my neck. “I shouldn’t assume that means you don’t want to be with me. Got it.”
“Mmm. But I don’t want you to assume anything. If you need me, say so. If you need to hear me say how I feel about you, ask.” He nips at my throat, and it creates a chain reaction, lighting me on fire. “I’ll be happy to explain. And if I don’t have the words, I’ll draw you a picture.”
I bow my head over his and kiss him fiercely, grinding my hips against him. I love feeling him, hard and ready beneath me, and knowing I did it to him. “I can do that, Caleb, but you have to do the same. You assumed I didn’t tell you what was going on because I thought you weren’t strong. You were worried I didn’t want to take you to my parents’ house because I wasn’t proud of you.” I kiss the tip of his nose, his jaw, his chin, the smooth spot between his eyebrows. “Because I am so proud of you. And so in awe of you. And so grateful you want me to be in your life.”
He blinks fast and lowers his head, resting it against my shoulder. “You twist me up, Romy,” he whispers. “It’s almost painful.”
I rest my cheek on the top of his head, so full of relief and joy that I can barely contain myself. “I love you, Caleb. And I’ll happily untwist you if you give me a few hours.”
“I can give you a lot more than that.” He lifts my wrist and pushes my sleeve up my arm. Out of difficulties grow miracles. Slowly, he brings the inside of my wrist to his lips, sending tingles of pleasure along my skin. “You made me believe this, Romy.”
His eyes meet mine as he kisses his way up my inner arm. He makes me feel weak and strong at the same time, vulnerable and invincible. He has my heart, but I know I have his, and that makes me feel like we could do anything.
I raise my arms and let him lift my shirt over my head, smiling at his intake of breath, gasping at his hands on my body. “So that leaves one question.”
He’s busy slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of my pant
s. “What’s that?”
“Who gets to be in control tonight?”
He pulls me against him, trailing his fingertips up my back, making me shiver with anticipation, with excitement, with the intensity of my love for him. “Let’s feel our way through it together.”
And that’s exactly what we do.
Acknowledgements:
Many thanks go to the team at New Leaf Literary, for all their wisdom, energy, and patience: Danielle Barthelle and Jaida Temperly most especially. I’m endlessly grateful to Kathleen Ortiz for her guidance in all things from revisions to strategy. My beta readers give me both kicks-in-the-pants and encouragement that I need, so thanks to Anne-Marie Bora, Justine Dell, Jaime Lawrence, and Stina Lindenblatt. My phenomenally talented cover designer, Jennifer Rush, knocked it out of the park with this one, so massive gratitude goes to her. And of course, to my family--who keeps me afloat and tolerates me even when I’m grumpy and confused by the real world—I love you, and without you all of this would be meaningless.
BY REFERRAL ONLY
By
Lyla Payne
Copyright 2013 by Lyla Payne
Cover art and design by Sarah Hansen
Editing: Jim Thomsen
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used factiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
LYLA PAYNE
Praise for Broken at Love:
A USAToday Bestseller
“If you like Abbi Glines, you'll love Lyla Payne…Broken at Love is a sexy new adult novel that will leave you breathless for more!” – Denise Grover Swank, bestselling author of The Chosen series.
“Broken at Love is sexy, engaging and unputdownable! Emilie and Quinn sizzle on the page.” – Jennifer Iacopelli, author of Game. Set. Match (forthcoming from Coliloquy, May 2013).
To every weird, accepting, creative, confident theatre kid I’ve ever known.
Chapter One
I hadn’t had sex in months.
Somehow my vagina had gotten the idea that Liam was the one we wanted, even if it meant waiting. After last summer’s run of As You Like It, we’d been cast opposite each other in a community production of West Side Story, which meant the two of us had spent the better part of three months mooning about and getting it on in front of an audience, but he still didn’t seem all that interested in moving the hanky-panky offstage.
The ridiculous wig that came with the part of Maria probably wasn’t helping matters. My blonde-haired, blue-eyed Northern European genes would have earned me a special place in Hitler’s heart, but sadly, did not make me the best looking Puerto Rican on the block. Liam had playfully suggested that I’d need to stuff my bra and my ass, too.
The performance had allowed me to test our chemistry, and Liam had already made it through the sexual cattle call audition and callbacks. And I was very interested in having him in for a cold reading.
Or in this case, a hot one.
I considered potential ways to make that happen as I steered my Acura into the Delta Epsilon parking lot, taking care to avoid anyone who might be stumbling home less than sober on a Saturday night. A few second-floor windows glowed and the front porch light illuminated the padded swing as it swayed gently in the late summer breeze. White columns and black shutters completed the classic antebellum look of my home away from home. Like the area my parents had moved after my dad’s company went public and the cash started rolling in, the pretentiousness of Whitman’s Greek Row was adorable.
It all looked so inviting it made me want to hug a damn house, but the knowledge that Emilie wouldn’t be waiting in our room to chat about my night sank heaviness through my middle. There should be a word for that feeling when you’re so happy that your best friend has found the goddamn unicorn of men—hot, adoring, and amazingly attentive in the sack—but you’ll be forced to kill her if she doesn’t stop talking about how happy said unicorn makes her. Several times a day.
Come to think of it, there should be a mitigated jail sentence, too.
I got out of the car and grabbed my bag, light on the weekend before classes began for the fall semester, then slammed the door and headed up the steps. Emilie hadn’t spent the night here since Recruitment ended last week and I missed her. Even her absence reminded me she’d found something amazing, once in a lifetime, and it made it harder to pretend I didn’t want it, too.
At least, not with anyone at Whitman.
I’d learned my lesson about what I could expect from the guys at this school before Christmas break my freshman year. Looking back, it had been naïve of me to believe the kids here would be any different than the entitled brats at my private high school, but I had foolishly assumed that having money for ten years instead of five made me an insider.
It didn’t.
Michael Lawrence had taught me that, and pretty much ripped my heart into shreds in the process. A big part of Liam’s appeal was that he didn’t attend the college, and didn’t judge me because of how and when my parents made their fortunes. I might want to find a unicorn of my own, but for now, finding something safe and pleasant to ride in the interim would have to do.
A figure on the porch caught my eye as my heavy legs trudged for the front door. She must have just gotten home, too, because she hadn’t been here when I parked. The short, straight blonde hair that ended in a bob at the nape of her neck was mussed all to hell, and she wore a tight, short black dress. A pair of four-inch expensive heels dangled from two fingers as she randomly stabbed at different room numbers on the intercom.
“Motherfucking bitches, answer the goddamn buzzer!” She yelled the last part up toward the windows, none of which were open in the stuffy heat, then poked three more buttons in quick succession.
“Um … Chaney?”
She whirled at the sound of my voice, her eyes wide like she needed to dive for her rape whistle. Her lipstick was smudged and eye makeup smeared onto one cheek; her hair looked even worse from the front.
I held up my hands in mock surrender, unable to hide my amusement at busting her obvious walk of shame. “Jesus, what does the other guy look like?”
“Oh, Ruby, thank God. I don’t have my keys and no one’s answering.”
I eyed her. She had nothing but her shoes, and concern edged my mirth. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fucking great.”
“Didn’t want to spend the night with him, huh?”
Chaney barked a laugh that sounded more like a curse. “That’s an understatement.”
“Where were you?” I stepped past her to unlock the door and then held it so she could step into the foyer.
The chandelier overhead diffused pale light on its overnight setting. An ornate rug spanned the length of the walnut floors, and a couple of terribly uncomfortable but expensive chairs crowded around a marble table covered in fliers. The midnight quiet in the house seemed to reprimand our intrusion, and we both lowered our voices.
“Lambda Phi party.”
“Oh, right. You’ve been out with that Scottish guy a few times. What’s his name again?”
She glowered at the question. “Cole Fucking Stuart.”
“Huh. Didn’t realize that was a popular middle name over there.” I paused, smiling, but she didn’t return it. “Guess we’re not seeing him anymore?”
“No.” Chaney headed for the stairs that led to the second floor, waiting for me again because I had to swipe my student ID to get through the door that led to the resident rooms.
“Date number three, huh?” I surveyed her hair and face again. “Bad in bed?”
“Ruby, you have no idea. It was awful.” She rolled her eyes and went ahead of me. “Why can’t guys just ever be normal about sex?”
“That is an excellent question.”
After Michael, sex had become the only thing I was sure of anymore. It gave me the power, the upper hand, and even though I’d accepted I’d leave Whitman behind without meeting the future Mr. Ruby Cotton, it didn’t mean I wanted to give up fun altogether.
Chaney sighed and slung her shoes over her shoulder, her heavy steps saying she wanted to find a bed to fall into worse than I did. “Thanks.”
“Sure. I’m going to demand details sometime. My fee for playing the white knight.”
She disappeared with a tired smile onto the second floor, where the majority of the older girls lived—she was a senior this year. Most of them didn’t live in the house, but Chaney had been elected as vice-president and didn’t have a choice. At least she got a single.
The third floor was pretty quiet, as houses filled with girls went, with just the sound of a few televisions and muted conversation filtering into the carpeted hallway. Composite pictures of the classes of Delta Epsilons that came before us hung on the eggshell painted walls, and I wondered if all—or any—of them had managed to find guys who didn’t send them home a half-mangled, unsatisfied mess after dates.
The door to the room across the hall from mine stood open, and voices caught my attention. In spite of being tired, the temptation of a distraction from being down about Liam and sad over missing Em tugged me that direction.
Three of my pledge sisters lounged around the room, dressed in pajamas, faces scrubbed clean. Ginny and Brooke, whose room it was, sat side-by-side and cross-legged on one bed and Larissa laid on the other, propped on her side with a beet red face.
“Hey, y’all.”
“Howdy, Ruby Sue,” Ginny drawled back.
I hated when I forgot to lose my Louisiana accent. I’d fixed it by sixth grade, but fatigue sometimes made it reappear. Instead of showing them it bugged me, I smiled, then shoved Larissa’s feet out of the way and sat down. “What are you guys talking about?”
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