Flawlessly Broken (Broken #2)

by Anna Paige

Without looking away from my glass I told him in a surprisingly steady voice, “Clay, she’s doing even better than I am at this point. Let it the fuck go.”

  “Anything you say, Spence.” He watched me for a second longer and nodded toward the quickly-emptying bottle, thankfully changing the subject. “If we’re turning this into a bachelor party, we’re going to need more bourbon.”

  “Lots more,” I added. “And one of those luggage carts to wheel our asses to our rooms later.”

  Brant slipped back into the booth, fresh bottle in hand. “I thought we should stay ahead of the game so I grabbed a fresh supply,” he announced wryly.

  Great minds think alike.

  Heaven help the Hilton tonight.

  Talia

  HOW THE HELL did I manage to get a hangover from two glasses of wine? That shouldn’t be possible, right?

  Despite my initial intentions, I’d had very little to drink. After only one glass of wine, I’d felt myself beginning to slip back into my melancholy, so I stopped drinking, fooling Gina into thinking I was keeping up by barely sipping my second glass while she chattered on and kept us all laughing.

  All in all, it hadn’t been a bad evening.

  I peeked one eye open and took in my surroundings. Light, bright and blinding, streamed through the window sheers in my bedroom, making my head thump painfully.

  My stomach was in knots that felt like a den of boa constrictors writhing and squeezing, the discomfort so acute I even felt it in my chest. What the hell? I thought back to the night before and did another quick inventory of what I’d done. Nope, just those two glasses, so it couldn’t be a hangover. I hadn’t eaten, so food poisoning was out.

  Then why did I feel like hammered shit?

  My mind flashed back to the last time my head hurt this much, the morning Spencer scared me while I was in the shower and I’d fallen, banging my head.

  Spencer.

  Oh God, the boa constrictors shifted to squeeze my heart so hard I fully expected it to burst. I pulled the covers over my head and curled up on my side, willing the pressure to subside so I could breathe.

  This was no hangover. This was regret. Deep, consuming, caustic regret that was going to eat away at me for as long as I lived.

  My head hurt from all the crying, both before and after going to the club. Ali had taken back her old room—texting Clay that she was staying with me for the night—and as soon as she’d turned in, I’d broken down. I cried for hours, knees hugged to my chest in the middle of my bed, alone.

  I was alone. Again.

  I’d gotten used to it over the years—chosen it—but Spencer had changed all that, and now I felt so adrift I wasn’t sure I’d ever make my way back.

  Come Monday, Ali would be gone and I’d be rambling around the apartment like a damn ghost, trying not to drink myself into a stupor. And I’d thought the stress of seeing Derek again had been bad. What I was feeling now was so bone-deep and eviscerating that I genuinely feared I might shatter into a million pieces.

  And it was all my fault.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  “T? You awake, hon?” Ali’s soft tap at the door made me groan. I could barely move, much less have a conversation.

  The miserable sounds I was making must have penetrated the door, because she slowly opened it and stepped inside.

  “Aww, sweetie. Hiding under there won’t help anything.” The bed shifted as she sat down beside me and touched my shoulder through the comforter. She squeezed gently and tried again. “Talia? You’re going to have to come out of there sometime, and I kind of need it to be now because we have somewhere to be.”

  I grasped the edge of the comforter in one hand and folded it back to reveal one puffy, squinting eye. “We do?”

  Her smile was full of sympathy, but her voice was firm as she nodded. “Yep. We do. Soon. So get your butt in the shower. I already have the coffee made and there are ibuprofen on the kitchen counter. All that crying last night probably has your head thumping this morning.” Of course she would know. How could she not? Even if she didn’t hear my sobs, she knew me better than anyone else, and she saw the devastation in my eyes even when I was trying my best to hide it.

  “You’re not going away until I get up, are you?” I groused, trying to tug the covers back over my head.

  She snatched the blanket completely off as she stood, rolling it up against her body with a stern expression. “Nope. I’m not letting you fall into old habits. No wallowing. Not today. Today is going to be a great day, if you will kindly get your ass out of that bed and trust me.”

  I still had one eye closed against the harsh light but managed to meet her gaze with the other. “Best fucking bitches?”

  “Best fucking bitches.” She nodded, reaching out a hand to help me up.

  Because that’s what best fucking bitches do.

  “WHY ARE WE heading to the airport?” I looked at her suspiciously as she drove my Jetta like she stole it, weaving through traffic like a mad woman. “And slow your ass down before you get a ticket. What’s the hurry?”

  “Someone,” she shot me a look that suggested I was that someone, “slept half the day away and took and inordinately long shower, so we have to hustle if we’re going to make it on time.”

  “On time for what?” I persisted.

  She just grinned.

  I was starting to get a sneaking suspicion. “Oh, shit. Please tell me your mother isn’t flying in from some international shopping spree to join us for lunch or something.” I put a hand to my head. “Because I seriously need something stronger than ibuprofen for that.”

  “No, it’s not the mother from hell, thank goodness. She’s off somewhere with Holden this weekend, plotting world domination between Botox appointments.”

  Nice try at misdirection. “So then are we going somewhere? Because I need to know things like that up front.”

  “Nope.” She considered a moment, brow pinching in thought. “You did take the entire week off, though, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but that has obviously changed and I plan to go back as soon as you leave on Monday, so don’t be getting any ideas for spontaneous travel.”

  She laughed, making the turn into Reagan National Airport, and began the long, torturous task of finding parking. It was a Saturday, and the beginning of spring break for most people, to boot. Packed wasn’t the word for it. The Washington and Lincoln memorials were visible as we circled, both looking small and solitary across the Potomac. Despite the fact that beaches got the majority of spring breakers, the area was in for a huge influx of travelers and that was great for Canary.

  I always liked it when someone came in for the first time as they passed through. It made me proud that they had so little time in the area and they chose to spend some of it in my restaurant.

  The magazine feature would probably send a lot more people our way, as well. I supposed I had Derek to thank for that, among other things. If he’d contradicted me on that sidewalk yesterday, I would have been screwed. Not that I didn’t end up screwed anyway, but having to give my real reasons to Spencer right there on the street would have been far worse.

  Wouldn’t it?

  I shook off thoughts of him and sighed in relief when Ali whipped the car into an open spot, snagging her messenger bag from the back seat as she flung the door open. “Come on, slowpoke. The plane has probably already landed,” she tossed over her shoulder as she got out, leaving me wondering once again why she refused to tell me what the hell we were doing there.

  I hurried along behind her until we got inside and she checked the flight list.

  “What flight are we looking for?” I scanned the list absently, having no clue how to be useful with no information to go on.

  She grinned widely and turned to me, eyes sparkling. “We made it. Their flight just landed and they should be de-boarding now.”

  “Who, dammit? Will you please tell me what the hell is going on here?” I was two seconds from stomping my foot like a petul
ant two-year-old.

  Her hand snaked into her messenger bag and removed a small blue gift bag—the sight of which immediately made the air whoosh out of my lungs—and held it out to me. “You’ll see. Take this and by the time you finish looking through it, they’ll be here.”

  I stared at it like it was going to explode in my hand and she shoved it at me with an annoyed grunt.

  Giving in, I took the bag by the handles and moved to sit down on the nearest chair. I sat it on my lap and wiped my hands on my jeans, nervous. My hands shook as I reached inside and grasped the contents, a stack of cards or maybe more tickets, I wasn’t yet sure. I pulled everything out and sat the bag on the empty seat next to me.

  I already had tickets for the wax museum and several exclusive, ticketed exhibits and shows for next week—courtesy of the earlier gift bags from Spencer. This bag was filled with gift cards, hundreds of dollars’ worth of cards that matched each venue and could be used in all of the various cafe’s and gift shops. There were others, too. One to Corduroy at Mount Vernon. One for Sushi Taro. There were thousands of dollars’ worth of cards in the stack and the more I saw, the more confused I became. I looked over at Ali and blinked stupidly. “What the? I don’t understand.”

  She leaned in and grasped an envelope from the bottom of the stack, holding it out to me. “Maybe this will help.”

  I took the small yellow envelope, about the size of an index card, and opened it, sliding out the note. It was written in small, precise letters and said:

  For you, precious, but also for him. He needs this as much as you do. I’ll miss you this week but I want you to be free to focus on your guests. I love you, chuckles.—Spencer

  I fought through the tears in my eyes long enough to replace the card in the envelope and look helplessly at Ali. “But I still don’t know who...”

  She pointed at something over my shoulder and I turned, feeling my heart do a one-eighty, ready to burst for an entirely different reason now.

  Running toward me, his smiling mother hurrying behind as his sneakered feet pumped as fast as they could...

  Was Cameron.

  Spencer

  I AWAKENED TO the sound of my phone chirping on the bedside table, my arm shooting out of its own volition to grasp it, despite the near-certainty that it wasn’t a message from Talia. It annoyed the fuck out of me that I would even want it to be, but I did. It was instinct, I suppose.

  Hopeless.

  Masochistic.

  Pathetic.

  I glanced at the screen. It was a text from Ali.

  Ali: The eagle has landed.

  I lay the phone on my chest and thought about that for a moment. I could practically see Talia’s reaction in my mind, and it made me smile despite myself. The phone chirped again and I opened the message to find that Ali had snapped a pic, covertly I was sure. I enlarged it and had to swallow the lump in my throat as I took in the image on the screen.

  Talia was crouching on the floor, Cameron folded in her arms and her head on his ten-year-old shoulder, tilted toward the camera so that you could see her closed eyes and blissful smile. It was the single most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life and I kind of hated Ali for sending it.

  She knew what that picture would do to me, dammit.

  I couldn’t look away from it, not even when another text sounded. I took in every nuance of her expression, the smile on her face one of total happiness. This was what she had looked like hugging Amelia, I knew it. Everything about the photo tore at my heart, the woman and child in it, the child that should be in it, and the man who desperately wanted to be in it. Me. I traced her flowing hair with one fingertip and accidentally minimized the photo, revealing Ali’s last text.

  Ali: No matter what else has or will happen... for this, I love you. And so does she.

  I didn’t reply because I had no fucking idea what to say to that but I was so glad I’d done this for her. For them both.

  I’d gotten the idea from that first night I spent at her apartment, I hadn’t lied to Ali about that. And once I’d set my mind to it, all I’d needed was an accomplice to help me pull it off. Lucky for me, Ali was willing to help and excited at the idea of doing something special for Talia and Cameron.

  After everything went to shit yesterday, the first thing I did when I got my head out of my ass long enough was text Ali and tell her to go on as planned. I knew she wouldn’t let me down.

  I realized with a wince that the note had still been tucked inside the gift bag.

  The more I thought about it, the more glad I was that she’d gotten that final goodbye from me.

  Our separation would be much longer than a week but the rest still applied. I’d still miss her. And, much to my detriment, I still loved her, as well. Always would.

  My phone chirped in my hand again and, expecting something further from Ali, I tried to mentally prepare myself for another picture or heartbreaking text of some sort. I was disappointed to find a text from Clay instead.

  Clay: Heading out for breakfast/lunch/brunch what the fuck ever you call it in fifteen minutes. Get your ass in gear. You’re buying, best man.

  I shot him a quick reply and sat up in the bed, marveling at the tangled covers around me. Apparently, I’d tossed and turned in my alcohol-induced sleep. At least I didn’t have a hangover to go along with everything else, though I was a little fuzzy on the details as the night had worn on. I didn’t even remember coming back to the room, which wasn’t like me.

  I was just stepping out of the shower and—after spying my haggard expression in the mirror—contemplating whether or not to give my beard a trim when someone began banging on my door.

  Fucking Clay. So impatient.

  I knew it wasn’t Brant. He was too laid back to tell someone they had fifteen minutes and then knock on the goddamn door in ten. Brant would probably wait an hour or more without batting an eye, it’s just how he was.

  The pounding came again as I pulled my shirt over my damp hair and tugged it down, walking barefoot to answer the door.

  “I’m coming, dammit! Pipe down,” I snapped, jerking the door open and staring into the widened eyes of Derek Wheeler.

  What the...?

  I stood there for a moment, just blinking at him, totally thrown off balance by his sudden appearance.

  He looked slightly afraid but somehow determined. It was an odd combination. His clothes looked like they’d been slept in and there were dark circles around his eyes.

  Up all night with the woman I loved, no doubt.

  That thought did it. Finally, anger fell over my face like a curtain, narrowing and pinching my features until I looked at him through slitted eyes. “What... the... fuck... do you want?” I drawled slowly, gritting my teeth. This guy was stupid. Or suicidal, because if he came here to gloat, I was going to break his fucking neck.

  He stepped back and lifted both hands in front of him in surrender. “Whoa, I’m not here to fight. I’m here to talk and I think you’re gonna want to hear what I have to say.”

  “Doubtful. Extremely doubtful,” I snarled from my position in the doorway, crossing my arms over my chest to keep from taking a swing at him. “I think it would be in your best interests to leave. Now. Before I do something that lands me on the six o’clock news.”

  His arms crossed over his chest, mirroring my stance. “I’m not here to serve my own interests. I’m here for Talia and what’s in her best interests. And yours.” He gave me a moment to let that sink in and softened his voice. “I owe her. Just hear me out. If you still want to punch me when I’m done, I’ll stand there and take it, but at least let me say what I came to say before I have to get my jaw wired shut, okay?” When I made no move to invite him in, he dropped his arms to his sides and his eyes to the floor. “Please.”

  Letting him into my room was the last thing I ever thought I’d be doing, but there he was, walking through the door and making his way to the couch.

  Before I could even cross the room behind him
, he started talking in rapid fire sentences. “This is going to piss her off and I know that, but I have to do right by her even if she doesn’t see that it’s the right thing just yet. I can live with her hating me for this, if that’s what happens. I just couldn’t leave without telling you the truth.” He took a breath and started to speak again when I put up a hand and stopped him.

  “You have to slow down before you stroke out. Not that I’d mourn the loss, but I’m curious now and I don’t want you keeling over before I find out what was so important that you risked literal life and limb to come here.” I grabbed a water from the mini-fridge and tossed it to him. “Start from the beginning and dial back on the tempo.”

  He uncapped his bottle and took a long swallow just as there was another knock at the door.

  Shit. Wasn’t I the popular one all of a sudden?

  I opened the door this time to find Brant, clean-shaven and remarkably bright-eyed, considering how much he’d had to drink last night. “What’s up?” I asked, knowing damn well what he was there for.

  “Clay said to give him a few minutes. Gran called and is reaming him out for not coming to see her this weekend, which may take a little while. He flagged me down in the hall, said he would have texted but he’s too busy groveling,” he chuckled. “That little woman is kind of scary.”

  Damn right she was. I smiled despite myself and nodded back over my shoulder, waiting for Brant to sneak a peek at my guest.

  When he did, his brows furrowed and he leaned back, mouthing, “Who is that?”

  “Talia’s ex-boyfriend turned current boyfriend,” I muttered under my breath and cracked my jaw to relieve the tension created by having to utter those words about another man.

  He gave me a conspiratorial look and asked, “Do I need to rent a van and buy some shovels and lye, or do you have this handled?”

  I dropped my chin to my chest as I fought back laughter, my shoulders shaking despite my best efforts. I was quickly learning that Brant didn’t have to say much to make an impact. When I was sure I could speak without laughter bubbling out, I told him, “I got this one, dude. I appreciate the offer, though. But you can help me distract Clay for a little longer in case I need time to find a wood-chipper or whatever? Say half an hour? Tell him I’m on the phone with my sister. He knows how long-winded she is.”