Perfectly Broken

by Prescott Lane

  “OK, no problem,” Bret said. “Another time.”

  Peyton breathed a sigh of relief then shifted her focus back to whatever Quinn was babbling about.

  * * *

  Reed hung up and massaged his temples. His head throbbed, but Bret’s giddy voice helped sober him up. And the realization he was in no condition to accept Bret’s unexpected invitation also helped. He wondered whether Peyton had encouraged Bret to invite him and whether she was disappointed he declined. He hated himself for missing an opportunity, for not going to see her, but knew he couldn’t. Bourbon Street had left its mark.

  “I just need a couple minutes,” Heather called out from the shower.

  Reed sat up in the bed, his shirt off and pants undone. He knew better than to try to stand right away. He dropped his elbows to his knees and hung his head low. His best friend, annoyingly, was on top of the world, surrounded by friends, getting married, while he was in some random hotel room, drunk off his ass, totally limp. It was hard to be happy for Bret, envying what he had – something until recently Reed didn’t know he wanted or even existed for him.

  Reed got up slowly, sucking back a twinge of vomit trying to escape. He braced himself on a chair by the hotel desk and closed his eyes, waiting for the dizziness to stop. He waited and waited,which turned to hoping and praying. His whole body ached, and he reached for his neck. At least the ceiling fan had stopped spinning, if it ever was in the first place. When he opened his eyes, they landed on the room service menu on the desk. He was hungry but didn’t feel like talking on the phone. His eyes moved to a local New Orleans magazine sitting beside the menu.

  His breath caught. A pair of baby blue eyes stared back at him, a girl so beautiful, without any need for make-up, her long, brown hair curled loosely, a strand perfectly positioned to cover her scar. He slowly picked up the magazine, cradling it in his hands, staring at her, seeing her locket and, of course, her apron. He sunk into the chair, wondering whether he was dreaming, and slowly opened the magazine.

  He came upon an article written by Quinn highlighting successful young women in New Orleans, interspersed with photos of Peyton’s shop and her pies, among other photos of other women that Reed didn’t know and didn’t give a damn about. The feature on Peyton went through her charity work, the loss of her family, and how she learned from Gram to bake and run a successful business. He closed the cover and ran a finger across her face, remembering the way she felt, how she tasted, how she moved.

  He wished she was still with him. He wished she was holding him. He wished for one more kiss. He wished he told her he loved her more often. He did tell her a lot, but there was always time for more. And he wished he’d gotten a few more licks on Griffin’s pretty face, too. But more than anything, he wished he would’ve just told her about his father. He didn’t know how to do it or what to say and was embarrassed and worried how she’d react, especially with her own past, afraid he’d lose her if he said anything at all – or happened to use the wrong words. He hated he lost her without even bothering to try. He couldn’t accept she was gone — that his father’s past had fucked his present.

  He wanted to make things right with her but had no idea what to do – a strange predicament for an architect used to drawing up plans and fixing problems. One thing he did know was that banging Heather wasn’t a good first step in getting back with Peyton, if that was even possible — especially with Griffin now holed up at her house.

  Heather called out again from the bathroom. He couldn’t make out what she said and didn’t care. He put on his shirt and zipped up his pants. I’m not this guy anymore. He walked out of the hotel room with the magazine under his arm. He wanted to run to see Peyton but knew he had to be patient — again. He couldn’t bombard her with phone calls. He couldn’t rush it.

  New Orleans was such a small town. She’d have to see him eventually.

  * * *

  Peyton stepped out of the shower and wiped the steam off her mirror, finding dark circles under her eyes. She hadn’t slept in weeks. Breaking up with Reed had taken its toll. And searching for an apartment with Griffin had taken a toll, too. They must have looked at ten places just today.

  During the apartment search, Peyton enjoyed Griffin’s company as usual but at times felt she was on a bad episode of House Hunters. While Peyton saw potential and more with every place, Griffin always managed to find something wrong — the color of the wood floors, the stain on the cabinets, the lack of a view, the thickness of the granite countertops. More than once, the real estate agent referred to them as boyfriend and girlfriend, and Griffin never flinched or bothered to correct the agent’s misunderstanding. Peyton found that odd but assumed he was just so used to being in a relationship that he hadn’t even noticed.

  Her feet hurt from all the walking around, up and down stairs, in and out of parking lots. She rubbed both of them, thankful for a night at home just to relax, knowing Quinn’s engagement and wedding plans soon would occupy her time. She threw on a pair of oversized cotton pajamas and headed downstairs to find Griffin in her kitchen. She paused in the doorway to watch him.

  He knew exactly where everything was. He looked completely at home. No wonder it seemed he found problems — however ridiculous — with every apartment. He had no desire to move out. In fact, since returning from Chicago, he’d hardly ever gone out, never dating, spending most of his time at her house. That’s where he wanted to be. And that was perfectly fine with Peyton. With Gram gone and Quinn engaged, the house seemed more quiet and empty than ever. Griffin could stay as long as he wanted.

  “Sorry it was such a long afternoon,” he said, sensing Peyton behind him.

  Peyton walked into the kitchen. “Nothing better than a nice shower after a long day.” She saw Griffin had set out her favorite snacks.

  “What made your shower so nice?”

  Peyton threw a dish towel at him. “You are disgusting.”

  “Figured we could have a movie night,” he said, picking up the snacks. Peyton smiled and followed him into the den. He set everything on her coffee table – candies, popcorn, chips. “It’s a Peyton buffet.” She suddenly burst into tears. Griffin moved towards her, to comfort her for whatever was happening, but she held up a hand not to touch her. He looked down at the table. “Did I forget something?”

  “No.” She sniffled a few times then wiped her face. “God, I’m a mess.”

  “Reed?” he asked.

  She nodded slightly. “I’m sorry.”

  Griffin exhaled and opened up his arms, waiting for her to come to him, and after a moment, she did, melting into his body. After her breathing slowed, he hoisted her up so their eyes met, and he gave her a little shake. “No more tears.”

  “I’m OK,” she said, trying to wiggle out.

  “I don’t believe you,” he teased and began to twirl her around. “I’m not putting you down until I see you smile.” Peyton tightened her lips, trying hard not to smile, as Griffin shook her a little more and continued to twirl. “Don’t force me to sing to you.” Peyton tightened her lips a bit more, leaving Griffin with no choice but to belt out his silliest version of “Big Girls Don’t Cry.”

  Peyton couldn’t hold back any longer and burst into a huge laugh. “OK, OK! I’m smiling! Put me down!”

  Griffin gently placed her on the ground, smiling himself. “You can thank me later,” he flirted with a wink.

  “For what?”

  “For changing your mood.” They sat down on the sofa in front of the coffee table.

  “I’m kind of low on cash at the moment,” she teased. “I’ve got this house guest that won’t seem to leave, and he eats up all my food.”

  “I’m sure I can think of some other way.”

  “A payment plan?”

  “I was thinking something with a little more personal attention,” he teased, as Peyton leaned back and stuck her feet under his legs. Griffin stretched out, too. “I can do this all night.”

  “Really? All night?
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  “All night,” he assured her.

  “I’ve also got quite a large stamina.”

  “I’m quite large myself.”

  She pretended to throw up. “Jesus, you win! Way too much information!”

  “You wanted to know,” he said, shrugging.

  Peyton smirked. “I already knew.”

  “Huh?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Remember when I walked in on you changing in the pool house?”

  “You said you didn’t see anything.”

  “I lied,” she said.

  He took her hands, pulling her up beside him, and started to rub them. “That pool house holds a lot of secrets for us.”

  “It does.” Peyton watched his hands move — carefully, delicately — over hers. It wasn’t the hot jolt she’d felt with Reed but a slow, steady warmth she knew wouldn’t burn.

  “Maybe we should go back there sometime,” he said with a laugh, his cute dimples showing.

  She laughed, too, but wondered if there was a seriousness behind his offer. For the first time since the pool house, she wasn’t sure of his intentions, his hands still rubbing hers. She felt her pulse skyrocket, her heart beating out of her pajamas, unsure the exact reason — whether because Griffin felt something for her or because of Griffin himself. She frankly didn’t want to know. “You always take good care of me,” she said.

  “I always will. And I’m just down the hall if you need me.”

  She gave him a shy smile and released his hands, reaching for her locket. “What are we watching tonight?”

  * * *

  After stumbling back from the hotel, Reed took a shower to sober up some more and get rid of Heather, too. He wanted her scent, her touch, her breath, her kiss — everything about her — off his body and out of his mind. He didn’t want her anymore. He had no use for her anymore. And he didn’t want to remember.

  He finished up then took a seat in the den without turning on a single light. It wasn’t the time for light. Plus, the darkness helped his eyes, the pounding in his head, the pain in his heart. He called the one woman he could always count on, a woman who drove him crazy but took care of him like no other. She’d done it for as long as he could remember — way before Heather and the rest. She showed up at his door in minutes, dressed in her pajamas.

  He flicked on a light. “Mom?”

  Marion tossed her purse on the ground and pulled her son into a hug. “Did you think I was going to get all dolled up?” She looked him up and down, with a disapproving eye. “Besides, you look like crap.”

  “I don’t know what to do, Mom. I screwed things up with Peyton.”

  “I know,” she said, walking with her son to the sofa, an arm around his shoulder. “You’ve been a mess for weeks.”

  Reed rubbed his eyes. “I just need to know how to make her forgive me.”

  “Forgive you?” Marion looked at her son curiously. “Well, I guess that depends what you did.”

  “I didn’t do anything!” he insisted like a schoolboy in the principal’s office.

  “Then why am I here in the middle of the night? And why are you nursing a hangover?”

  Reed looked away. “Because I didn’t tell her about Dad. And she found out. Now she thinks she can’t trust me — because she’s shared some horrible things with me and I held back.”

  “I see,” Marion said, pausing to gather herself, having dreaded this conversation for 15 years. “What all did she find out?”

  “I had told her about his affairs, and....”

  “And?”

  “I didn’t tell her about the other stuff, but she saw it online.”

  “And?”

  “And she was horrified!”

  Marion took a deep breath. “Well, now Peyton knows. She knows your father has a bad reputation.” She raised her eyebrows. “But you have quite a reputation yourself.”

  “I can’t believe you’d say that. This is not about me. This is about Dad who....” His mother held up her hand, and her son immediately shut his mouth.

  “You don’t need to tell me what your father has done. I haven’t lived with my head in the sand.”

  Reed shook his head. “But why did you stay with him?” She ran her fingers through his messy hair and smiled. “You stayed for me?”

  “There were more hearts on the line than my own.”

  “You stayed with that bastard because of me?”

  “Don’t use that language, Son.”

  “Do you have any idea what it was like to be his son? To have him hit on my friends’ moms, my teachers? How can you sit here and defend him?”

  “I’m not defending him. Believe me, I’ve called him worse things — much worse in fact — but I don’t want you to have hatred in your heart.” She took his hands. “Not for him, not for anyone.”

  He lowered his head. “I hate that you stayed for me, Mom.”

  “You think staying for you was a mistake? I don’t regret that for one second.” She tilted up his chin. “I thought long and hard about divorcing your father, but then I would’ve had to share you. I didn’t want to be away from you for one second, much less every other weekend or, God forbid, half the time.”

  “But he humiliated you, Mom?”

  “Part of me, yes. But he couldn’t touch another part — I was proud to be your mother. And the last thing I wanted was to give your father more influence over you, to dig his hands any deeper into you.”

  “But I turned out like him.”

  “Oh baby, you’re nothing like him.” She watched him shake his head. “You think I don’t know you, but I do. I know your first time was with Heather when you were 16 after your school dance.” His eyes shot to hers. “I know that until Peyton, you still found time for Heather on occasion.”

  “Mom!” he pleaded.

  “I also know about Sara, Alyssa, Jamie, the Stevens twins ....”

  “Mom!” Reed gripped his neck then hid his face with his hands. “Please stop!”

  She shrugged. “I also know you love Peyton, and that you’d never treat her the way your father did me.”

  “Never.”

  “There you go.” Marion smiled. “That’s why I stayed.”

  “But why do you stay with him now? I’m not a child you have to protect anymore.”

  “The Catholic Church doesn’t condone divorce.”

  Reed rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you had grounds for an annulment.”

  “Maybe — or maybe I’m just comfortable with my life. He’s trying to do better — at least with me.” Reed opened his mouth, and she held out a finger again. “This is really none of your business, but your father and I went to counseling for years.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

  “Like?”

  “I know what people have said behind my back and what they still say. As far as I know, your father has been faithful to me since that horrible mess. I’m not stupid. I know he’s a terrible flirt. I know he has a wandering eye, so I had to protect myself.”

  Reed wrinkled his face. “How?”

  “I made him sign a postnuptial agreement.”

  “What?”

  “I went to a lawyer after I found out about his affairs, when everything came out. I made him sign it or else I was divorcing him. It’s got a strict mistress clause. He signed the house over to me, and the clause says if he’s caught cheating again, I will get 3/4 of our assets. Cheating is anything to do with another woman including computer affairs, sexting, porn.” She chuckled slightly. “Hell, the man isn’t even allowed to get a massage from a woman.”

  “Wow, you have him by the balls.”

  “I had to protect myself if I was going to stay married to him. I had to protect you, too.”

  “Me?”

  Marion sighed. “I never expected to be telling you any of this. I made him put money in a trust for you. I didn’t want him to be able to use you against me. And I didn’t want to feel l
ike I couldn’t take care of you.”

  “I have a trust fund?”

  “You do. In the event we divorced before you were 22 or out of college, then the money went directly to you. Since we stayed together, it’s being held as part of your inheritance.”

  “How much?” Reed asked, his head spinning.

  “None of your business.”

  “So Dad never wanted a divorce, either?”

  “No, never.”

  “Then why was he such a shitty husband and father?” Reed cried. “Why is he still such a jerk to me?”

  “Reed!” Marion barked. “Your father loves you and loves me.”

  “He loves himself.”

  “He does,” she said with a laugh, “but he also loves us as much as he’s capable of loving another person.”

  “And that’s enough for you? You deserve so much better.”

  Marion put her arms around her son. He was still very much her little boy, the one who used to insist he’d live with her forever, the one who used to ask why he couldn’t marry her, the one whose tiny hand she held walking in the French Quarter. “Look, I’ve made my own bed. I’ve done what I thought was right.” She’d said enough. She couldn’t make her son accept her choices — just as she couldn’t make her husband remember Valentine’s Day. “But enough about me. I came here to talk about you and Peyton.”

  “How can I get her to forgive me? How did you forgive Dad?”

  “Back to him again, huh? And who said I forgave him? It’s a work in progress — every single day. And he can make it difficult, so damn difficult.”

  “That’s not very encouraging.”

  She took his hand. “Son, you can’t convince her to forgive you. You can only hope she loves you enough to try.”