Perfectly Broken

by Prescott Lane

  “God help that kid.” She closed the phone, seemingly unsatisfied and somewhat confused.

  “Did you expect to see a bunch of naked women on my phone?”

  “Yeah, at least half-naked.”

  “Are you offering to model for me?”

  “Not on the second date.”

  “Good, I have something to look forward to.”

  Peyton rolled her eyes. “You know, I did expect to see a bunch of women. I guess I shouldn’t check your contacts, though.”

  “Probably not. But your number is the only one I plan on using.” Reed began to punch buttons on his phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  He smiled at her. “Deleting phone numbers.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said.

  He pressed on, going as quickly as possible, not wanting her to know how many numbers he actually had.

  “Reed, you really don’t need to.”

  He paused at Heather’s name and decided to keep her; after all, she was a family friend. He deleted some more, and after another minute, his contact list was significantly smaller. “I’ve got to do one more thing.” He pulled up the photo of Peyton resting her head on his chest and made it his screen saver. “Done.”

  She stared at him, half-expecting him to fall into some kind of withdrawal or convulsions. But he simply smiled at her. Peyton opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  “Looks like I finally shut that smart mouth of yours.”

  “I guess so,” she said, lifting her eyes slightly. “But I know those women will be calling you, or you could easily get new numbers.”

  Reed lowered his forehead to hers. “You’ve got to trust me a little bit. I’m not a liar or cheater. You will always know where you stand with me.”

  * * *

  For the next week, Reed texted and called Peyton every day, just to check in and see how she was doing. The best part of his day was hearing her voice or getting a sweet, sometimes sexy, text. When he could, he snuck away from work to bring her lunch or just a pink flower. He missed her when he couldn’t see her. He was already addicted, craving the taste of her. She was his sugar high. To get his fix, he swung by Adelaide’s Pie Shop every night after work and found himself sometimes staying until closing time, either chatting her up or just watching her move. He’d then drive her home, usually grabbing a drink or some late dinner along the way. And after each night, they kissed goodnight and went their separate ways — to separate beds — Reed left to looking at her photos in the morning. He never expected things would take this long. He hated he’d promised to go slowly. Things hadn’t taken this long since high school. He couldn’t figure out what the hold up was. He wanted to quicken the pace.

  CHAPTER TEN

  REED HAD PLANS with Peyton tonight, but he didn’t know what they were. Peyton had just told him to come over. On his way to her house, he wondered what it could be. He liked surprises and hoped it was a sexy one. He knew it wasn’t sex, though he’d gladly settle for second or third base.

  Then Bret called and dropped a bomb, telling Reed it was Valentine’s Day, and going on and on about the perfect evening he’d planned for Quinn. Reed had no idea. He’d spoken to Peyton a few times during the day, and she hadn’t mentioned it. He hoped she forgot, too. Bret assured Reed that was unlikely, and if she were anything like Quinn, he’d probably be castrated for forgetting.

  Reed hung up and swerved into a florist shop. He hustled inside, only to be told they were sold out of roses. He didn’t know whether to be mad at the shop — a florist without flowers, like a burger joint without burgers — or at Valentine’s Day itself. It was such a bullshit “holiday,” if that was even the right word. He never attached any deep meaning to the day — just a corporate event likely invented by ugly broads, obligating their whipped guys to run around to stores they’d never go to otherwise and spend money on chocolate crap and stupid hearts.

  It was all so dumb and embarrassing. So Reed never bothered to participate. But now he felt he needed to. He stopped at another florist shop, and it, too, was out of roses. It had no pink flowers, either. He cursed under his breath then thought about jewelry but decided it was too early in their relationship for that. He briefly considered the pearl thong they’d seen near Poydras Home but knew — as far as Peyton was concerned — it was too early in their relationship for that, too.

  He sat at a stoplight and grabbed his neck. Castration even before sex? He tried to tell himself Peyton, thankfully, wasn’t like Quinn at all, so he shouldn’t have to worry about that. Still, she was tender-hearted and would be disappointed if he didn’t at least have some flowers. She’d expect at least that. And he didn’t have any — or anything else. He fired off a quick text to her. Happy Valentine’s Day.

  Then he quickly tried to stop the text from going, realizing how totally lame — and late — it was. He couldn’t stop it. It finished sending. Idiot. He drew a deep breath then pulled into traffic, speeding to her house, when his phone rang. “Hey, baby, I’m on my way.”

  “Glad to hear it,” a sultry voice replied. “I thought you’d been avoiding me.”

  Reed’s lips tightened. “Uh, Heather, I’m running late. What do you want?”

  “You, silly.”

  “I told you I’m seeing someone.”

  “You don’t see people,” she said. “You screw them — in a good way — and then you leave. Besides, we always spend Valentine’s Day fucking each other senseless. It’s the only thing that makes this day bearable.”

  “Not this year. I actually forgot it was Valentine’s Day.”

  “You forgot?” Heather snarked. “Must be a real special girl you’re seeing.”

  “She is. I’m sorry if you’re alone.”

  “I don’t want your pity. Who is she?”

  “I’ve got to go,” he said and turned off his phone.

  * * *

  Peyton shook her head after reading his text, assuming he was as unaccustomed to celebrating the holiday as she was. She tried to remember the last Valentine’s Day she’d spent with a boyfriend. She couldn’t remember any, and if there was one to remember, it wasn’t memorable. She looked forward to seeing Reed tonight, even if he apparently wasn’t going to do anything memorable, either. She bent down to put on her flats, knowing Reed would arrive any minute. And then it hit her.

  She’d put on bowling shoes the last time she spent Valentine’s Day with a man. It was years ago, and not a boyfriend, but Griffin had taken her out to Rock ‘n’ Bowl, a New Orleans institution showcasing local artists playing swing, cajun Zydeco, and swamp pop, as well as traditional jazz and brass fare, and everything in between. Griffin had reserved a lane, a fabulous, creaky one, and proceeded to order every possible kind of junk food from the bar — pizza, burgers, chicken tenders — everything appropriately served in the shape of a heart. She’d always assumed Griffin himself had cut the food that way – no bartender or short-order cook had time for that – and he’d done it just to make her smile, to make her laugh, on a day she had no business doing so.

  After bowling, and on full stomachs, they brought back some classic dance moves — the running man, the cabbage patch, and the robot while a rhythm and blues singer belted out the likes of “The House of the Rising Sun” and “Born on the Bayou.” They laughed so hard – the singer did, too – that Peyton’s side hurt the next morning.

  There was no romance that Valentine’s Day, but it was fun. And Griffin, as always, made her feel special.

  * * *

  Reed pulled up under the magnolia tree and saw Peyton holding a white box outside her front door, with several other boxes spread around on the porch. I hope she didn’t get me something. She flashed him a smile over her shoulder. With each step towards her, he could feel the weight of the work day, of Heather, of Valentine’s Day, all floating away. Reed seized her in his arms, lifting her off the porch. “I missed you.”

  “Bad day?” Peyton ran her fingers through his
hair.

  “Not anymore.” He kissed her tenderly and gripped her ass. Then he stepped on a white box, slipping slightly. “Shit!”

  “You destroyed one of my pies!”

  Reed looked down at his shoe squashing the box. “Damn, sorry.”

  “We really have to stop making out on my porch. My neighbors are going to start talking. It’s a lot of old people, too.”

  “Let them,” Reed said, removing his foot. “Probably the most action they’ve seen in awhile.” He bent down to salvage the box, but there was no hope. “What’s all this?”

  “This,” she said, “is Valentine’s Day.”

  “So you’ve got a bunch of pies?”

  “I always take pies to Ronald McDonald House on Valentine’s Day.”

  And I always bang Heather. “You do that by yourself? Is that safe?”

  “It’s fine.” She’d survived greater trauma than delivering pies to the less fortunate. She handed him some boxes to load up his truck and followed with her own handful.

  “I thought you might be mad about tonight,” Reed said, his eyes turning soft.

  “Why would I be mad?”

  “Because I have nothing for you for Valentine’s Day?”

  “What are you talking about? You sent me that awesome text five minutes ago.”

  “I just couldn’t wait to tell you!”

  “It was so romantic,” Peyton teased.

  “I honestly forgot the whole thing.”

  “I know that. It’s fine. We haven’t been seeing each other that long.” Peyton winked at him. “I don’t have a gift for you, either.”

  Reed wondered where this girl had been his whole life. After a second trip back to the porch, they finished loading up the truck and headed out towards Ronald McDonald House.

  “Why do you feel the need to do this? You run your own business, take care of your own house, are always there for Quinn’s drama, and take care of Adelaide. Don’t you think you give enough?”

  She glanced at Reed. “Gram always told me: ‘when you have nothing else to give, give a little more.’”

  “That’s not how I grew up.”

  “You told me your mother does all kinds of charity work.”

  Reed stopped at a red light. “Yeah, but my dad is a different story.” He hated stopping in such a rough neighborhood, so many desolate, dilapidated houses, with no other cars around. He turned on his phone just in case. “I can remember my dad walking in the Quarter with me one day. I was only about ten. He held out a hundred dollar bill to this homeless guy laying on the ground. He dangled it in front of the guy for a few seconds. The guy reached his hand out for it. The guy had such a thankful look on his face. I think he was in shock, too, like he’d never seen such a large bill. At the last second, my dad pulled it back, telling the poor guy if he wanted money, he needed to get up off his ass and earn it. Then my dad laughed. We walked away. I turned to look back at the guy, crumpling back down to the ground. It was awful. My dad said it was a good lesson for me. He said it was a good lesson for the homeless guy, too. I had my mom bring me back the next day with my piggy bank — I maybe had ten bucks or so. We looked around for the guy for like 30 minutes, but we never found him. He was gone.”

  The light turned green, but Reed didn’t move a muscle. He just stared down the shitty road, fully lost in his past, apparently haunted by it. Peyton was used to the smooth guy who seemed to always get what he wanted. She’d never seen this side of him; she wondered if anyone had seen it — so well-hidden by his handsome face and charming smile. He has demons, too. She touched his hand. Reed forced a tight smile and hit the gas.

  * * *

  Reed left Peyton inside and made a trip back to his truck, returning with boxes in each hand, carefully navigating the front stairs towards the sunny yellow house. He reached for the front door knob and tried to turn it without ruining another pie. He cracked the door open then opened it a bit wider with his knee.

  A familiar face came to the rescue, with an hourglass figure framed in dark jeans, a crisp white top, and a khaki trench coat. “Reed, what are you doing here?”

  He almost dropped the boxes in shock. “Mom?”

  “Let me help you.” She kissed him on the cheek and took two boxes.

  “What are you doing here, Mom?”

  “I’m on the board here, remember? I brought roses for each room. What do you have here?”

  “A bunch of pies that....” Reed paused, a huge smile over his face, seeing Peyton come out of the kitchen. “Mom, this is Peyton.”

  Mom? Peyton nearly died.

  “Peyton, nice to see you again,” his mother said.

  Reed raised an eyebrow. “You two know each other?”

  “Not exactly. But I’ve seen Peyton here several times before. I just never knew her name.”

  “What a small world,” Peyton said, feeling slightly underdressed compared to the AARP chic. “Nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Langston.” Peyton saw Reed got his looks from his mother, both with steel blue eyes and a full head of hair, though Marion’s now was mostly gray except for a few dark streaks.

  She looked sweetly at Peyton. “Please call me Marion.”

  A moment of silence followed, with the three of them looking at each other, Reed and his mother holding Peyton’s boxes. “We need to put these somewhere,” Reed said.

  “Of course,” Peyton said, leading them to the kitchen and holding open the door. Marion passed first, then Peyton mouthed to Reed, “Oh my God!”

  Reed replied with a sideways smile, thinking it was only fair she met his mother so unexpectedly, since he had the pleasure of meeting Gram on their first date. He set his boxes down and suddenly felt an urge to make clear that Peyton wasn’t just one of the usuals, knowing his mother took more pride in her Tulane degree than in her former Miss Louisiana crown. “Peyton owns a pie shop on Magazine.”

  “I know. She comes by all the time with pies for our guests. I love the margarita pie.”

  “I brought that one,” Peyton said and held up a box. “But I left out the tequila, so it’s family friendly.”

  “Well, I might just swipe a slice later,” Marion said, “and chase it down with a shot of Cuervo.”

  “Mom!” Reed shook his head in embarrassment, as Peyton and his mother laughed.

  Marion could tell Peyton was a good one, not like the others. Her mind and heart racing, she wondered if Peyton could be the one she’d been waiting for — and the one Reed had been waiting for, too. She loved her son but like all Southern mothers, kept a mental checklist of necessary improvements. A good girl was at the top of the list. She ran her hands through her son’s hair. “Still need a haircut.”

  “I’m not your Catholic school boy anymore, Mom. Plus, Peyton likes my hair a little long and messy.” Reed pecked his mother on the cheek.

  Peyton smiled. Gram had always told her to find a guy who loved his mother. If he treated his mother right, he’d treat his girl right, too.

  Marion saw a gleam in her son’s eyes. She’d never seen it before with any other girl. She’d be willing to give on the hair if she could get grandchildren soon, after a wedding of course. “Well, if Peyton likes it, then OK. But you better have something else planned for Valentine’s Day besides this, young man.”

  “Well,” Reed said, his face turning soft, “I just....”

  Marion turned to Peyton. “Have you noticed how he does that?”

  “Does what?” Reed asked.

  “Oh yes,” Peyton said, “I noticed that right away.”

  “Noticed what?”

  “Good,” Marion said. “Don’t let him pull that on you.”

  “Pull what?”

  Marion pinched his cheeks. “The face.” Reed darted his eyes to Peyton, clearly enjoying the sparring match with his mother.

  “I don’t make a face.”

  “You do,” Peyton said, winking at Marion. “Whenever you sense you’re in trouble, you make the most innocent-looking face.”
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br />   “I do not,” Reed insisted. “Besides, you should talk with that pouting little lip of yours.” Peyton stuck out her bottom lip, and Reed pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around her. “Don’t kill me, Mom, but I forgot it was Valentine’s Day.”

  Marion shook her head. “You and your father. He forgot, too.” Reed’s arms fell to his side, and he lowered his head, always hating being compared to his father.

  “I wasn’t upset,” Peyton said. “I like bringing pies over here on Valentine’s Day.”

  “I wasn’t upset, either,” Marion said. “I’ve gotten used to it, I suppose. But make sure my son takes you out somewhere nice to make it up to you.”

  “Is Dad going to make it up to you?” Reed snarked.

  Marion shooed her hands at him. “You know your father. He’s not exactly romantic.”

  “We better get going,” Reed said and took Peyton’s hand.

  “Sure, sweetheart. But you must bring Peyton to dinner sometime soon. Or maybe to the Mardi Gras ball?” Reed squeezed Peyton’s hand. “You’re still coming, right?”

  “Yeah, Mom, I told you I would.”

  “Good, then I’ll get an extra ticket for Peyton.”

  He squeezed her hand again. Please stop talking.

  Peyton felt a lump in her throat, wondering why he’d never mentioned the ball to her, hoping it wasn’t because he didn’t want to take her, hoping it wasn’t because he was already taking someone else. But she wasn’t going to make a scene in front of his mother in the kitchen of Ronald McDonald House. “Oh, that’s OK,” she said, swallowing hard. “I’m catering something that night anyway.” Reed glanced at her, but she looked away.

  “That’s too bad,” Marion said. “I’ll get the ticket just in case things change.”

  * * *

  “I was going to ask you,” Reed said, breaking the ice pulling into Peyton’s driveway.

  Peyton shrugged her shoulders. “It’s fine.”

  “Then why are you pouting?”

  “I’m not. It’s fine.”

  “I don’t want to go myself.” He put the Range Rover in park.