Broken

by A. E. Rought

  “Who’s that?” Bree asks.

  I have to swallow my heart back down before I can answer.

  “Alex’s dad.”

  “What!” she hisses.

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  What are those two doing together? Why would a man like Alex’s dad have anything to do with a guy like Josh?

  If we leave the cover of the dumpster, they’ll see us. I strain to hear anything more than the creak of Josh’s trunk. Then I slap a hand over my mouth to stop the gasp when he lifts the stiff body of a dog from the shadows of the vehicle’s rear. Disdain is evident on the haughty face of Alex’s father when he opens the tailgate of his SUV. Josh puts the body on the plastic sheeting, then wipes red smears of animal blood down his pant legs.

  Alex’s father produces a wallet from his suit coat, and pulls money out. After the cash changes hands, things get stranger.

  Josh says something, stabs a finger toward town, then waves his arms. He’s all fire, even at this distance. Alex’s dad is the opposite. He’s cold, unflappable in the face of Josh’s fit. Then, he takes a step toward Josh, towering above him. His face darkens, and he jabs a finger repeatedly into Josh’s chest. Then, seemingly for emphasis, he chucks Josh under the chin with his wallet.

  For a moment Josh stands defiant, fists balled at his sides. Then the fire bleeds off. He hangs his head and walks away.

  “Now that,” Bree whispers, “was the height of weird.”

  “Yeah.”

  One more messed-up piece in the puzzle that’s becoming the Franks men. Brilliant surgeon and jealous loser baseball player into something wrong to the point of money is strange. Fragments of my old boyfriend’s ghost inhabiting my new boyfriend is the kind of weird I’m not sure I can handle, though.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Mom stands at the front door, hands on her hips, hair clip sliding toward certain death on the floor. The pinch of her lips and cock of her hips says she’s not on the same planet as pleased, and has punishments loaded and ready to fire. She watches Bree turn the corner in Jason’s Bronco.

  “With Bree?” she asks. Her tone says she already knows the answer.

  “Yeah.” Why lie?

  “I think I liked it better when Alex was coming over every day. At least he got you home on time.”

  I liked it better, too. “Sorry, Mom.”

  “That’s a word that loses its magic after a while,” she warns. “Please don’t wear it out.”

  “I won’t.”

  Thanks to class syllabuses, I have all my class assignments, so no scrambling and calling people to find out what the homework was. Problem is, I don’t have any of the worksheets the teachers made for me because of my cast. I try to pretend it’s any other day and I’m just late and not late after having ditched, too. Mom watches, arms crossed while I put my books out, fumbling with my pink cast. She lets me get everything settled, then walks to the kitchen saying, “School called, by the way, reporting that you were absent. I told them you had a doctor’s appointment in Grand Rapids about your hand.”

  She knows.

  I can’t even meet her over-the-shoulder gaze.

  “Welcome to being grounded for the rest of the month, Emma Jane.”

  That’s fair considering the shame spiral I’ve been on.

  “And Alex called.”

  My heart slams so hard at the mention of his name I have to catch my breath. I miss him so bad already that it hurts.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “The same thing. And that you were grounded.”

  My ‘Mom is awesome’ comment of this morning comes to mind. I think awesome could be upgraded to amazing—except for the crazy over-protective streak.

  I spend the rest of my night doing schoolwork, getting a shower and thinking over what’s happened in the past two days. The jittery sense of wrong rattles around my bones, twists my thoughts and emotions into a sick snarl. I yearn to see Alex, to hear his voice, feel his fingers stroking my hair. I feel as strongly for him as I had for Daniel. Maybe more. After seeing his episode on the catwalk and what he said last night, I think the intensity stems from his odd connection to Daniel. Regardless of Bree’s reasoning, it still feels so impossible.

  By nightfall, I’m a heartsick mess. It doesn’t matter if Alex Franks is all kinds of wrong, I still want to be with him.

  #

  Wednesday disappears in a sucking black hole of misery. Alex and I can’t keep our gazes from each other. I want to run to him, throw every aching thing at his feet and beg him to still love me. I can’t take that first step. Neither can he.

  Thursday morning all of my intentions to talk to Alex jam in my throat and leave me speechless. Instead of striding to the Bree Bench, wrapping me in his arms and kissing me, Alex pauses a few feet away and meets my gaze.

  He’s raw, his eyes are circled in bruise-dark flesh, his cheeks look sunken and hollow. Still, the wonder on his face hurts to see and reminds me of why it’s there. Some of Daniel’s thoughts are now Alex’s dreams. Did I hurt him too badly when I told him I needed to think? Or did I hurt him when he said he loved me and I couldn’t even think enough to say it back? Can he see the regret in my eyes?

  My lip quivers. Tears burn past my defenses. Alex gives me a melancholy nod, hangs his head and walks away while new whispers take life.

  “Emma and Alex broke up.”

  “She saw him flip out on the catwalk and dumped him.”

  On and on.

  A rumored-over, super-short relationship with the high school emotional wreck and Alex is back to being talked about like an outsider. Lips press into flat lines, faces take on looks ranging from pity to totally closed off to him. Jason Weller, however, claps him on the back and leads him toward the doors of Shelley High’s dingy halls.

  Every girl daring enough to talk to me wants to know what happened. Odd Ally Rhodes verbally defends me in third hour. After escaping the Ugly room, I stand in the stuffy air of the empty catwalk and watch Alex walk beneath. The wind plays with his hood, pushing it off and exposing his face and scars to the light. He’s not perfect, damage and hurt lie just beneath his scars and he’s still the most beautiful guy I’ve seen.

  As if he feels the weight of my stare, Alex looks up. Our eyes meet. The connection hits with the force of a Mack Truck, my chest tightens, a sad smile curls my lips and tears blur my sight. I press my hand to the glass, fingers spread in a pleading gesture. His lips turn down, then rise to mirror my sad smile.

  I can’t stand this anymore. Daniel’s echo and Josh’s fiery other are conspicuously absent when I run across the red carpet. I ram the door with my shoulder, burst into the hall and charge down the stairs. Anticipation builds, pressing in my heart and limbs. The lunch queue is long, Bree in her normal spot at the head of the line but Alex is nowhere to be seen. Hushed voices follow, snaking person to person as I hurry to my best friend. Her lips turn down immediately, and she drags me into a hug.

  “The poor boy isn’t right,” she whispers. “I didn’t say anything, but he just looks broken.”

  “Where is he?” Alex couldn’t have disappeared already. I just saw him minutes ago.

  “I haven’t seen him since first hour.”

  “I need to talk to him.” I hate the panicky edge to my voice.

  “He’ll be around. Give him a while. He probably feels rejected.”

  I didn’t reject him. Sure, I sent him home, and told him I needed to think, but how can he blame me?

  After a trip through the food service room and choosing a bland lunch I know I’m not going to eat, Bree and I sit at the Thespian Crowd lunch table. Seeing Jason and Bree so wrapped in each other cuts in a way I never thought it would. My best friend’s happiness only makes me want the ignorant bliss Alex and I had a few days ago. I could’ve lived with the similarities and been happy. Can I ever be happy knowing they come from memories he shouldn’t have?

  The rest of the afternoon drags by like a wounded animal. Shudd
ers of movement, lingering pain, hopes for an end. I stand at the door to Dune Ecology dreading another hour trapped in a room with Josh.

  I know what he did Tuesday. I kept my mouth shut yesterday—the truth boils in me, hot and acidic over the icy loss I feel without Alex.

  The last thing I want to do is talk to Josh.

  “Hey, Gentry,” he calls when I enter the room. “Can I talk to you?”

  “Depends on the topic.” Distance spreads between us as I walk across the room to the seat by Asia. “Are you wanting to discuss your douchebaggery of late, or what you were doing Tuesday afterschool?”

  His eyes widen to saucer size and his face blanches. Not a good look on an honest-to-goodness redhead. The color drains from his neck making his chest hair redder where it peeks from the neck of his Alex-wanna-be hoodie.

  I lean back on my hip, putting distance between us and readying a thornier question. Mr. LaRue puts an end to it though, calling the class to order.

  Josh glares daggers from across the room. Asia eventually squirms under the weight of it. I refuse to satisfy him with a response. He is a creep, a liar, and he doesn’t intimidate me. The next time I catch him staring I lift my cast in a slow, obvious motion, and then rub my chin in the same spot I’d punched him and dropped him to the pool table at DarkHouse.

  At the end of the hour, Josh storms up to me, “Whatever you think you saw, you’re clueless. And, trust me, you aren’t going to like what happens if you keep on with Alex Franks.”

  “You once warned me off from Daniel, too. Look how that turned out.”

  “Exactly,” he growls and slams his books onto the desk by me.

  I refuse to cower. He can’t hold my gaze. With a snarled expletive, Josh snatches up his books and stomps out.

  “He’s such an ass,” Asia whispers.

  Enough to make you sick, I’m tempted to say. Then I consider who I’m speaking to. Asia, sick and Fifth Hour isn’t a pretty combination. “Total ass,” I agree.

  My next hour lags behind the slow clock hands. Opening books is the closest I get to paying attention. Alex is my only thought.

  Surely he’ll be at our lockers after school. He always is.

  I think my heart stops when I see Alex standing at his locker, watching me walk down the main hall. My mind shuts down, and I let my need for him rule. The rabble and push of bodies can’t move fast enough. My body thrums with an echo of the energy his touch holds.

  Neither of us speak. I drop my books to the floor, security deposit be damned, run the last few feet and launch into his arms. Biting thoughts die, doubt shrivels, and for a moment everything is right. I bury my face in his chest, mine hitching in silent sobs. He smells of leather, and lightning and Alex. Tingles spill across my skin like warm oil when he loosens my braid and buries his face in my hair.

  “God, Emma,” he whispers against my neck.

  His heart thunders in his chest, and I can’t stop the memory from rising. It doesn’t beat for me, Emma…This heart has always been yours. Can I ever hear that sound again and not remember? Will Daniel always haunt me through Alex?

  “What is it?” he asks, his grip loosening. “Is it what I said?”

  “It’s just…” I turn away from the hurt in his eyes and open my locker. “Well…God, Alex, it’s a lot for me to process.”

  “A lot for you to process?” A sharp, edgy note sours his velvet tenor. “What about me? Do you have any idea what it’s like?”

  “Do you have any idea what it’s like for me?”

  “I know what you went through, Em,” he says in a defeated tone. Crashing and banging of books in his locker echo in mine. “I can’t believe it, but it’s here inside me and I hate that I’m causing you more pain.”

  With that, he slams his locker and plunges into the tide of bodies surging through the doors before I can gather my wits, forget about my books. I stand, numb and blinking, staring after Alex’s disappearing form.

  What just happened? How did it all go wrong so fast?

  Why do I feel worse? Like a selfish, whiney brat…

  Then I realize, since Daniel died, it’s all been about me. My loss. My hurt. My inability to get over him. Finally someone comes along who makes my heart sing, and when things get dark and difficult, I whine about myself again.

  Heart dragging behind me, I drift home for another lonely night thinking about Alex and Daniel, and all the twisted ways I suddenly feel awful. Renfield greets me at the door, and doesn’t complain when I bury my face in his fur and cry. Mom doesn’t bother me, either. She brings dinner to my room, and a towel for me to dry my cat. I wish she had a towel for my soul.

  #

  Friday is a special Hell.

  No Alex—surely at home, getting his weekly booster. And a massive two-hour Pep Assembly takes up most of the afternoon. The Shelley High Ravens were going to the championship game and every one has something to say about it, from the coach to the principal to the local news channel. Then we’re released early.

  Long shadows of a November afternoon stretch across the quad. The Bree Bench is empty, and the quiet walk home gives me time to formulate a plan.

  Probably not the smartest plan, but I can’t stand the distance between me and Alex.

  Saturday, Mom and dad leave for one of his plentiful job conferences. Before walking out, Mom suggests I stay home and get some rest.

  Rest is the last thing on my mind.

  I pick up the house phone and the phone book, and call the local hospitals asking if Dr. Franks is working. The very friendly receptionist at Mercy Hospital suggests calling the local clinic. Rather than have our house number show up on their caller ID, I dig my cell phone from the drawer in the kitchen and turn it on. Buzz after buzz tell me I have text messages. When it’s finally silent, I use my cell to call the clinic and find Dr. Franks scheduled to work the afternoon shift. When the lady on the phone asks “What is this call concerning?,” I hang up.

  Establishing a window of opportunity for a possible breaking and entering is never a good answer to give an adult.

  The texts are all from Alex. Temptation burns in me to read them. But I’d rather hear what he has to say face to face. I select to Delete All and click to confirm.

  In my room, I riffle through my desk and find the receipt for the new locker door with Alex’s information. With the ghost of boyfriends, dead and living, hanging in my closet I change into my camouflage pants, tight thermal knit top and black fleece hoodie again, then I tie my hair into a ponytail, high and tight, the kind Alex would pull free if he could.

  I plan on giving him a chance—to play with my hair and to listen to me apologize.

  No matter what has happened, I can’t get past missing him.

  I just hope he feels the same.

  The garage is empty, Bree doesn’t have a car, and Jason’s Bronco is too loud for anything stealthy. Heaving a sigh, I set off for a hike toward the snooty neighborhoods by the lake, in the gated community where you need pass codes to drive on the road.

  Clouds scud in, darkening the sky to match my mood. Shadows on the ground stretch and warp the farther I get from home. Near Lost Valley, the straight orderly streets turn and twist, rolling up and down small hills. Bent Pine Drive gives onto Black Oak Lane, and the gate that’s supposed to keep interlopers like me away. Well, ones that drive cars, anway. I’m on foot, and find trespassing here too easy. I trail the brick fence back into the woods a couple yards, and slip through the gap between the stone and the wire fencing.

  Black Oak Drive leads downhill towards the swamp and the only home on the street. Estate is more fitting, a large stretch of property, completely enclosed by a high fieldstone wall. Showing above the barrier, far off near the skeletal trees spins an old windmill, the dull blades chopping the air. Looks like a prison, I think. It’s not a place to welcome things in, more a place to keep them out.

  Big black wrought iron gates stand at the mouth of the drive. Backing the iron scrollwork are stained boards of
teak, completely obscuring any view inside the property.

  Everything about the Frank’s property screams GET OUT.

  A chill crawls up my spine, sharp claws puckering my skin. Somewhere inside the fence, an animal cries. Maybe it’s the damp lake air, or the unsteady rhythm of my heart, but the animal cry doesn’t sound natural. It’s just your nerves, Emma, I chide myself.

  Do I really want to go in there?

  When Alex needed to talk, he came to my house. I need to talk to him, apologize and make him understand how much I care. I pull my cell phone from my pocket, and open up the messaging program. I scroll through contacts to Alex’s name, select then send him a text, telling him I’m at the gates. Waiting only makes the creepy feeling worming through my guts worse. The breeze moans and the sky looks like it could open and pour at any minute.

  I send him another text:

  If you don’t come out, I’m coming in…

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Anxious energy scrapes my nerves raw. I check my phone, make sure it’s getting a signal.

  Three bars glow in the service indicator. Alex just isn’t answering.

  The clouds darken to storm warnings above me, and wind wails in the tall White Pines close to the big lake. Sandy soil gives under my Converse soles when I sneak up to the gates. Testing them is as futile as trying to escape what Alex has done to my heart. Black. Imposing. Unmoving. Giving up on patience, I pace the fence to the left, then right until I find a gnarled oak tree with enough knots on its trunk for me to climb.

  Halfway to the top of the fence, another spine-chilling wail freezes me in place. I catch a breath and clutch the trunk. Focusing on small, quiet movements, I shimmy further up. Finally, in the lower branches, I can see the estate beyond the barrier.

  The property spreads toward the dunes of Lake Michigan in the distance. Green grass rolls within the fences, studded here and there with trees or shrubs. Small white-sided outbuildings huddle near the main house, probably storage sheds, though one looks like a garage, with the driveway feeding into it. Behind the big manor house, the property turns nightmarish; a small river cuts a swath through the estate with a wild, dark band of trees beyond its bank.