Perfectly Broken

by Prescott Lane

  “No, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “I just want us to get back to how we used to be. I’ll explain some things to Reed, and....”

  “It’s just too hard to see you with him.”

  “But if he understands what you mean to me....”

  “He won’t.”

  “But maybe with a little time, he ....”

  Griffin clenched his hands. “It’s not about Reed!” he barked, startling Peyton, then composed himself. “I mean, I love you.”

  Her heart stopped. “I love you, too.”

  “It’s not the same,” he said sadly. “I just always thought you and I would end up together. But something was always in the way. First it was the age difference, then I went off to college. Then you had boyfriends. Then you were attacked. And that was the worst night of my life and the months that followed were no better....” His voice trailed off.

  “Griffin?” she whispered.

  “All those nights I spent holding you, do you remember that?”

  “I wouldn’t have made it through without you.”

  He shrugged. “And then I moved to Chicago, and life moved on. And now there’s Reed. I guess I just always hoped we’d one day finish what we started in the pool house.”

  “Our friendship goes way beyond that,” she said. “I just want us to be close.”

  “I just can’t. Not anymore.”

  She felt him slipping away. “Can’t what, Griffin?”

  “I can’t be your friend. It’s just too hard.”

  “Griffin, please don’t.”

  “Make Reed take good care of you.”

  The phone went silent, and Peyton lowered her head to her knees, another person in her life now gone. She felt a hand on her shoulder and released a sharp cry, pulling Quinn into a deep hug, letting go of the man who saved her.

  * * *

  Over the next few weeks, Reed and Peyton spent as much time together as possible and did their best to keep life relatively simple and drama-free. He kept the daily appointments she scheduled on his calendar, and if he ever picked her up from work, she made sure to have a slice of his pie waiting for him. And in between appointments and work, he helped Bret with the house, and she helped Quinn with the wedding.

  In quiet moments, Reed counted his blessings — for Peyton, for the engagement of their friends, for his mother leading him through the twists and turns of life. But he knew more were coming; in fact, he could see one off in the distance. The season’s first hurricane had just formed in the Gulf, and thankfully it appeared to be a small one – nothing like the bigger one blowing through his mind and heart, churning his entire body, telling him to be brave.

  He’d held his tongue his whole life, as a teenager too afraid and scared to say anything, and as a man deciding it was better to keep his distance to avoid confrontation or upset his mother. But he couldn’t hold back any longer. He didn’t want to, either.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  THE WIND WHIPPING her hair, Peyton stood on a ladder and leaned against her shop. She wore a white tank top and tiny cut-off jean shorts, with a sexy pink tool belt dangling around her waist. For a storm so small, a tiny Category 1 hurricane set to slam into the coastline, it hardly seemed worth the effort to board up her windows. But over the past few years, New Orleanians had learned all too well that it was better to be safe than sorry.

  Reed got out of his Range Rover across the street and tilted his head to take in the view — from above and behind. He made a mental note to ask about the new wardrobe. The past few weeks, they’d spent so much time naked that he hadn’t gotten around to asking what had inspired the change.

  A college-aged kid walked beside the ladder and tilted his head to look up. Reed rolled his eyes and walked across the street. “Move along, dude! You’re blocking my view!” The kid lowered his head, embarrassed, and scooted away down Magazine Street. Peyton turned around and winked at Reed, walking towards the ladder. “I thought I was taking care of this.”

  He held the ladder, as Peyton hammered another nail. “Just finished,” she said. She wiped some hair out of her face and started down the ladder.

  “I thought I was the handyman,” he whispered, hugging her from behind and pushing himself against her.

  “Why do you think I did this myself?” she teased. “I don’t want to tire you out.”

  He flipped her around, holding her in his arms, as Julia walked out of the shop, smiling at both of them. “Hi, Reed.”

  “Hi, Julia,” he said without taking his eyes off Peyton.

  Peyton smiled, shaking her head at him, before ducking under his arms to finish up outside with Julia. He put the ladder away then returned to his truck for a sack and box. When he came back, he gave Peyton a glance to hurry up. She saw Reed disappear into the shop, wondering what he had up his sleeve. But she couldn’t escape Julia, droning on and on about school and her latest dates, and seeking advice on whether she should audition next season for The Voice. Peyton finally ushered her along, reminding Julia that a hurricane was coming, then walked inside the shop, her little bell jingling.

  “Lock the door,” Reed called out from the kitchen, finishing up placing a few lit candles.

  Peyton turned the lock and spotted a box on the table with a note on top. Put only this on. She lifted the lid and smiled. A minute later, she opened the kitchen door, wearing only a hot pink apron covered in rosettes. She gave him a slow spin, showing off a little bow tied near the small of her back.

  “Pink flowers are now my favorite, too,” Reed said, his heart racing as she stood before him, his dream coming back to him, the one when he couldn’t get to her. But now she was right here. It wasn’t a dream. He leaned back on the island. “Bake for me.”

  Peyton slipped past him, turned on by his instruction, and reached up to a shelf for an already-baked pie shell, her ass tightening as she stretched. Reed watched her move effortlessly, comfortably, like she’d baked without clothes a thousand times before, her smooth skin glistening in the candlelight, her cheeks with just a hint of blush. She shaved some chocolate from a bar then licked the melted chocolate from her fingertips.

  Peyton bent across the island for some pralines, and Reed came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her. She took his hands and placed them underneath hers, both stirring the pie filling together, the movement of their hands — strong, tender, slow, fast — just like how they’d made love so many times. The warmth of his breath fluttered down her neck, and she closed her eyes to take it all in, thankful she didn’t need to see to make his pie. She knew it all by heart. Reed stepped back, and she turned around, finding him pulling off his shirt. She gently bit her lip, ready to devour his washboard stomach.

  He stepped out of his shorts, and her eyes widened, his dick hard before her, pleasantly surprised he’d forgone the usual boxer briefs. She dipped her finger in the pie filling and held it out. He slid her finger in his mouth, closing his eyes, and sucked down on her. He gave her a crooked smile for teasing him before lifting her up on the island, its cool metal no relief for her flaming skin. She reached down to him, feeling him grow even harder with her touch. He undid her apron, pulling it over her head, watching her breasts rise and fall as she panted, wanting him.

  He liked having a woman who didn’t need him — but really wanted him, and for more than just one night. In truth, he didn’t think Peyton needed a damn thing from him: she could board up her own shop, run her own business, have her own place, and do just about anything else she put her mind to. To Reed, he needed her more than she needed him. But she wanted him, all of him, and didn’t apologize for it. It was sexy as hell.

  He wanted her, too. He pushed her down on the island then put his fingers in the pie. “I’ve wanted to do this for months.” He rubbed the pie filling on her chest, slowly, sweetly, lathering her flat stomach, too. “My buffet.”

  Peyton arched her back. “All yours.”

  He swooped down to her breast, pulling her nipple i
nto his mouth, hard, sucking off the pie filling. She arched again and let out a sharp scream, as Reed continued to lick and suck her, one breast then the other, until her chest was clean and she slithered on the metal island. He pulled her up until her legs were in a straddle and spread wide. She reached for him and slid him inside, her muscles tightening all around. He picked her up, holding her ass in his hands, and rammed her against the refrigerator, thrusting into her, pushing so hard she could do nothing but hold on and enjoy the ride.

  Then he slowed down, feeling how wet and open she was, making sure she felt every hard inch of him. He removed one hand from her ass and inserted a finger into her mouth, her tongue stroking him. He pulled his finger out and reached around behind her, rubbing it against her backside before placing it inside. She stopped breathing for a second but quickly relaxed into him. He held his finger there while still moving his dick in and out of her, then he moved his finger a touch further inside, filling her up even more, feeling her build again, her entire body tightening, knowing she was ready to come.

  “Let me hear you, baby,” he begged, as she finished and panted his name. “I want to hear all of it.”

  He slid out of her and carried her back to the island, placing her on her feet, keeping his arms around her waist to steady her weak and wobbly legs. She rested her head on his chest and looked down at his dick, hard and wet, then flashed a mischievous smile before turning around on the island, dangling her ass in front of him, trusting a man behind her like never before.

  He rubbed his hands across her ass. “Bend over.” She did as he asked, her hot breasts smashing into the island. “My God, your ass is perfect.” He pressed a finger back inside, and her breath caught. “One day,” he whispered, “I’m going to have you here.” She reached for her locket, and Reed caught her hand. “Not today, not until you’re ready.” She looked over her shoulder, nodding in agreement.

  He removed his finger and reached his hands between her legs, forcing them wider, feeling her drip onto his fingers. Then he moved himself against her, letting his tip linger at her entrance. He ran his fingers down her spine and watched her body roll, pushing back against him, forcing him inside her. “Fuck me!” Reed groaned then grabbed her hips, thrusting into her hard and fast.

  Peyton gripped the edge of the island for support, certain he was going to bang her right off. She clenched her muscles around him, as he rammed in and out.

  “Jesus, you’re so tight,” he said, grabbing her ass. “You’re gonna make me come like this.”

  He tried to hold back, trying to wait for her, wanting her to finish again — and this time with him. He slid his hand from her hip, reaching around, and moved his finger in small circles. Her head grew dizzy and her legs weakened, on the verge of coming again. Reed gave her a little flick on her sweet spot and thrust from behind one last time, finishing her off and calling out her name.

  Peyton lay on the island, trying to catch her breath, thankful Reed was holding her up. She felt his arms slide under her.

  “You’re sexy as hell,” he whispered, pulling her down to the floor, cradling her in his arms.

  “I’ll wear that apron every time I cook for you, if that’s my reward.”

  “Well, not for a few days.”

  “No sex for a few days?”

  He smiled and stroked her hair. “I just meant we’ll have to be quiet for a few days.”

  Peyton pouted her lip. “I guess it would be rude if Bret and Quinn heard us during the storm.”

  * * *

  The storm was coming, about a day away now, but there was no reason to panic. New Orleans had seen worse – much worse. In fact, at this point, it was just another reason to throw a party.

  The time-honored tradition of the hurricane party was as much a part of the city as a Gospel brunch on Sunday and greasing the French Quarter light poles during Mardi Gras. But make no mistake, the party wasn’t just about getting lit up to calm the nerves, though that was certainly an important goal. It was about getting rid of all the food in the refrigerator before the electricity went out and making the best of a bad situation alongside friends and family. With the alcohol flowing and the lights out for sometimes several days, hurricane parties occasionally could lead to a baby boom nine months later.

  It was Peyton’s turn to host this storm. She actually seemed to host every one of them since her house was the biggest and she had a generator to make things as comfortable as possible.

  “We are so late,” she said, her cheeks still flush, desperately trying to calm her hair while walking towards her front door. “We were supposed to be helping them get the house ready.”

  “We had things to do,” Reed teased. “Besides, I’m sure Bret and Quinn handled it.”

  She looked him up and down, appearing no different than usual. “Why do I look like I just got bent over, and you look like you came from church?”

  They walked inside, and blaring pop music hit them. Peyton yelled out for Quinn, but there was no response, the music drowning out her words. They entered the den, littered with red Solo cups and beer bottles, and found a sight scarier than any hurricane. Reed fell back against the doorframe, laughing his ass off.

  “Shut up, man!” Bret yelled, gyrating his hips and flailing his arms. “You’re messing me up!”

  “You didn’t learn shit from that guy on YouTube,” Reed said.

  Bret extended his middle finger and continued his Dance Central battle with Quinn, who’d so far nearly doubled his score. Bret was going down hard. If Reed and Peyton didn’t know he was playing XBOX and trying to dance – a rigid, highly-individualized interpretation of the Dougie, which occasionally slipped into a bastardized version of the Macarena – they likely would have called the paramedics. Bret appeared to be in the middle of a seizure, or perhaps even on the verge of death.

  Moving with the beat, Quinn flashed a smile to Peyton. “God, you two have been at it again?”

  “We have not!” Peyton cried, still fixing her hair with her hands.

  Quinn tripled Bret’s score just as the game ended. “I kicked your ass,” she told him.

  Bret picked up his beer bottle, as the on-screen character — whose dance moves Bret attempted to mimic — shook his head in disapproval. “Fuck you!” Bret shouted at the character.

  Peyton laughed. “It’ll be OK, Bret. Just need some more practice.”

  “I got it for Bret for Valentine’s Day,” Quinn said. “If we have to play XBOX, I figured he could at least learn a thing or two.”

  “I’m glad you guys brought it over,” Peyton said. “It will be fun until the lights go out.”

  Bret took another swig. “I brought my most prized possessions since we’ll be stuck here a few days.” He pointed to a box in the corner.

  “You put your dick in that box?” Reed teased.

  Reed and Peyton walked towards it and found an autographed Saints football, a vintage Playboy from the 1960’s, baseball cards, and a few other items.

  “Quinn, your training has not worked,” Peyton said.

  “There’s only so much I can do,” she replied.

  Bret grabbed his box and moved it away from them, but not before Peyton took out a long cardboard tube. “What’s in here?” she asked, tapping it in her hands.

  “He won’t tell me,” Quinn said.

  Reed swiped it from Peyton. “Is this what I think it is?” he asked. Bret nodded, a devilish smile on his face. Peyton and Quinn exchanged a concerned look. “Do you think they can handle it?”

  “No,” Bret said, as serious as his dance moves, “they’re not ready for this. But then again, no one really is.”

  “Enough of this bullshit,” Quinn snapped and swiped the tube from Reed. “What the hell is in here?” She tore it open and pulled out a poster from the tube. She took off the rubber band and rolled it out in her hands. Then her eyes popped with a touch of sadness and disappointment. She swallowed hard then spoke slowly and directly. “Bret, what the hell are you doi
ng with this?”

  For a moment, Bret was speechless. It was such an awesome poster, the subject of so much analysis and intrigue — by him, by Reed, by folks at the gym and elsewhere. It brought back such good memories. And he hadn’t seen it in years.

  Quinn stomped her foot. “Answer me, Bret. What the hell are you doing with a poster of The Little Mermaid?”

  Bret’s face lit up. “It’s not just any poster. This poster,” he said, pausing for effect, a certain pride in his voice, “is an original.”

  Quinn winced. “An original?” Just when she’d become somewhat used to his penchant for video games, he revealed a soft spot for fairytales. “So, Bret, what the hell are you doing with it?” He took the poster in both hands, inspecting it like a detective at a crime scene. “What are you doing now?” she asked, trying not to laugh – or cry.

  Bret rested the poster on the coffee table and blew some dust from it. “Look closely at the the castle in the background,” Bret said, encouraging his friends to gather round, speaking as if he were teaching a graduate school seminar in archeology. He ran his hand up along the edge of a pillar and then back down, making a semicircle in the middle. “Do you see it?”

  “See what?” Quinn asked then looked at Peyton, believing Bret was pulling some trick on them.

  Reed stepped up and traced the outline himself, slower and more carefully this time. “Do you see it now?”

  Peyton’s blue eyes bulged. “Oh my God!”

  “Isn’t that cool?” Bret cried, so proud of his find from long ago, as if it were the Lost Ark.

  Quinn squinted her eyes, still not able to see it, but after Peyton whispered something in her ear, she shrieked. “Holy shit!”

  Bret smiled. “I know it’s a lot to process.” He gave Quinn a moment to take it all in, to think through it all, to grieve, before starting back up again. “And it’s only on the original artwork,” he continued. “Many later editions and reprints don’t have the erection on the castle — or any penis at all for that matter. It was subsequently removed.”