Broken by Love (The Basin Lake Series Book 2)

by Stephanie Vercier

  He doesn’t answer, but his tortured expression tells me I’m right.

  “What is it?” I insist, beginning to worry that’s it’s something big.

  “I don’t want to talk about it here,” he says, emotion strangling his voice, cold puffs of air clouding his face.

  “Then where?” I ask. “Do you want to go home?”

  “Maybe,” he says, stopping, turning to me with his hands on the sides of my arms. “Emma, you know that I love you, right?”

  “Of course I do,” I say, putting my hands around his waist. “That’s why you can tell me what’s bothering you. You can tell me anything.”

  He swallows hard and licks his chapped, cold lips, then appears to steel himself. “We have to break up,” he says, his eyes wide and intense.

  Break up?

  “What?” I shake my head and let out a nervous laugh. “John, don’t joke about that.”

  “I’m not joking, Emma.” His voice is low, maybe even resigned… it sounds so unlike him. “I want to be here for you… as a friend… but we can’t be more than that. I’m so sorry. I hadn’t wanted to do this before Christmas, but I have to.”

  I take a step back and push his hands off of me when they don’t automatically slide away. “This is very cruel,” I tell him. “I don’t know why you’d do this, but it’s not funny.”

  He closes his eyes, swallows again and then looks at me like he’s just been told he has a week to live. “It’s not a joke, Emma. I just don’t… I don’t think I can be the man that you need in your life. I’ll only disappoint you.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but I feel like I’ve been sucker punched in the gut and can’t catch my breath.

  “I will always be here for you,” he continues in pressured speech, taking my arms again and looking at me with desperate eyes. “You can come to me for anything, but I just can’t marry you. I can’t be your husband.”

  “This isn’t happening,” I say, my voice lurching and my body stumbling toward the wall of the department store behind us.

  “Emma… god… I don’t want to hurt you.” He’s crying, or at least I think he is. I’m just not sure because none of this seems real.

  “It’s because of Mr. Thatcher, isn’t?” The question pushes through the momentary fog of my mind, the only logical answer to what he’s doing to me… to us.

  “No… no… that wasn’t your fault,” he says, dragging one hand across his face while he holds the other tight to my shoulder.

  “I’m going to see him,” I say, angry and tearful. “Jennifer’s mother is arranging it through the courts. There’s more you don’t know, John, but I guess it’s for the best I never told you… never let you in for you to just do… this.” I hate that I’m crying, that all I want to do is roll into a ball on the street and shut the world around me completely off.

  “I want to know. I want to know everything, Emma, but I’m not the man who can make it better for you. You have to understand.” John pulls me back to him, holding me against his body, his hand cupping the back of my head, his voice ragged and full of emotion.

  I’m too weak, too hurt to extricate myself from his hold, hating him for this but not wanting to be away from him, wanting to bury myself into his chest and for him to tell me he’d had a sudden loss of sanity. Somehow, with my body collapsed into his, he is able to walk me back to his SUV and take me to his house in Wallingford. He tells me to take a warm bath, and like a robot, I do, making the water as hot as I can stand and then just staring at the clear water and my naked body beneath it.

  When the water finally cools and he knocks on the door, worried perhaps, I dry myself off and collapse on his bed. He holds me close to him and whispers things to me that I try to ignore because none of them are good for us.

  It’s a miracle I slept through the night, that I didn’t find refuge at my mom’s or my dad’s. It’s even more surprising that John would have wanted me here after he’d essentially dumped me. That gave me hope, enough so that I beg him to reconsider. I cry and torture myself with faith that he’ll change his mind, but he doesn’t.

  “I’ll always be a friend,” he repeats for what seems like the hundredth time. “You can always count on that.”

  At some point in the afternoon, after we’ve both ditched school for the day, I realize that my fight for John is futile. I slide a T-shirt and leggings on and start throwing my clothes and belongings into any box, basket or bag that I can find.

  “What are you doing?” John asks, sitting up in the bed we’ve been crying and arguing in for most of the day.

  “Packing,” I return like he’s an idiot.

  “No…” he jumps up from the bed. “You can stay here, as long as you want. I’ll find somewhere else for me.”

  “Where? Like with whomever you’re moving on to now? Is it that girl Shannon or are you going back to Madison?” I choke back tears in asking, even if I don’t believe John is really dumping me for another girl. But it’s just the idea of it that makes me sick, makes me want to find those girls and kick their asses.

  “There isn’t anyone,” he says, his face drained of color and his expression flat. “It’s just a bad time for us. Too much is on our plates, and I can’t give you what you need, but I won’t ask you to leave this house.”

  “Oh, please, John,” I say, getting angrier by the minute. “Don’t act like a martyr. You’re breaking up with me, and you really think I’d stay here with your friends?”

  “I wish you would,” he says. “There’s no sense in uprooting you.”

  I laugh. “You’ve already done that… torn my roots out and cut them to bits.”

  “I’m so sorry.” He tries to put his arms around me, but I push him away.

  “Don’t! Don’t touch me, John. Right now, I really hate you, which makes no sense because I love you so much. How can I hate a man I love with all my heart?” I suck in some air as he watches me, his eyes shifting from numbness to sorrow. “This won’t be the first time I’ve felt that though… not the first…”

  “Emma… god damn… I hate this…” He’s dragging his hands over his face and through his hair, and I know he’s hurting, but he’s not hurting enough to fight for us. For him to break this off means he’ll eventually be happier or that things will be easier than they are with me.

  “I’ll get Denny to help me get the rest of it later,” I say, lugging as many bags as I can, throwing on a pair of boots, a coat and putting my hair up into a ponytail. I probably look like shit, but I couldn’t care less.

  “If you insist on leaving, then let me drive you. Let me help you.”

  “No,” I say with determination, heading down the stairs and just catching Denny, Stephen and Angela who are in the living room watching TV and having dinner.

  John, in a T-shirt and sweats, is on my tail, and Denny gets up from the couch. “What’s going on?” he asks.

  “Can you drive me to my mom’s condo?” It’s Angela that I turn to, grateful to have her here.

  “Umm, I guess?”

  I’m standing by the door now, refusing to turn around to look at John who I can hear… breathing.

  “I’ll do it,” Denny says, grabbing his coat and keys.

  “The hell you will,” John says to his friend. “If anyone is going to drive her, it’s going to be me.”

  I turn, so pissed off, so fucking hurt. “You are not taking me anywhere,” I tell John. “You made your choice, now let me make mine… in peace.”

  Again, John is dragging his hands through his hair and looking like he might explode, looking like he might change his mind about us, might realize that he’s being an idiot. And I’d probably take him back, rush into his arms and be grateful he’d come to his senses. But that doesn’t happen, and I’m not sure it ever will.

  “Fine,” he says in a low growl of acceptance.

  It’s the last thing I hear from him before I’m out the door, wondering if I’ll ever see him again and how I’ll feel when I do. If it hurt
s as much as it does now, then I never want to set my eyes on his face again.

  I sit in a kind of stunned silence as Denny drives me to Mom’s condo downtown.

  “So… you guys broke up?” he asks.

  “Apparently. John doesn’t think he and I are a good idea right now.”

  “I was afraid this would happen,” Denny says with a death grip on the steering wheel.

  “You knew it, huh?” I ask, wondering how it was possible that I’d missed any signs that John’s love for me was fleeting, that I’d only been a stop on his journey and not the fulfillment of it.

  Denny looks over at me briefly, the gray light outside casting a dull paleness over his face. “He’s my best friend, and I was honestly rooting for you guys, but I’m not totally surprised he caved to his family. You realize they never approved of you, right?”

  “I think that’s the understatement of the century,” I say, feeling numbness creep into my heart. “Maybe they know things about me I don’t want them to. In their eyes, all I am is trash.”

  “You are not trash,” Denny says defensively. “And my offer still stands. If you’d like to give us a chance… once things have settled down, then I won’t allow my parents to tell me who I can and can’t date.”

  The idea of being with anyone else right now is sort of like telling me I’m supposed to find a way to breathe under water.

  “Thank you, Denny.” I push a smile to my lips. “But I’m afraid John has ruined me for anyone else… at least for the foreseeable future.”

  He nods, knowingly. How could anyone be around John and I and not realize how in love we were?

  Were.

  As in past tense.

  But how does a love like that just crumble? I could twist my mind around all over again to try and come up with the answer he didn’t seem able to give me, but I’m tired. All I want is to forget, at least for a while.

  Denny offers to help me bring my things up to the condo, but I decline. “Thanks for the ride, and maybe we can figure out a time for me to get the rest of my stuff, okay?”

  “Whenever,” Denny says. “I hope to see you again soon.”

  I take the elevator up, thinking about the ways in which my life feels over, because what is life without John’s love? What do you have left when your heart has been smashed into bits?

  “Honey? I didn’t expect to see you here,” Mom says, doing her best to hide the fact that she’d been drinking a glass of wine when I enter the condo.

  “John broke up with me,” I say, making a beeline to my bedroom.

  “Oh, honey!” Mom rushes after me, her voice lightly slurred.

  “How long have you been drinking?” I ask, throwing my belongings into a heap in the middle of my room.

  “It’s not what you think,” she begins, trying to come up with a lie I’ll believe.

  “How long?” I insist.

  “A week,” she admits. “Aiden and I got into a fight, and you’re so busy with school and work and John, and I just needed something.”

  “That’s what the meetings are for,” I remind her. “They’re there when you need something.”

  “Well, sure,” she says. “I’ll pour the rest of the bottle down the sink. Will that make you happy?”

  “It would be a start.” I slide into bed and pull the covers over me, turning and wrapping my body into a ball.

  “Emma… I’m so sorry,” she says, sitting on my bed, sliding a soft hand over my hair. “About John and about my drinking. Men are idiots… fools. I can’t say that I’m surprised though. He comes from a rather elitist background, doesn’t he?”

  “Apparently,” I mumble. “Would you mind just letting me be alone for a while?” I ask, not wanting Mom to try to make me feel better by tearing John down.

  “Yes,” she says clearing her throat. “I’ll check on you in a couple of hours, okay? And I will pour that bottle of wine down the sink. I promise I will.”

  “Okay… thank you,” I whisper, then pull the covers over my head and cry myself to sleep.

  JOHN

  There are still things of Emma’s in my room, and I consider hiding some of them in my closet or drawers so I can take them out from time to time and remember what it was like to love someone and count the seconds until I’d see them again.

  And then there is that thing she’d said she was holding close to her heart, the one thing she hadn’t told me yet, something I can’t help but now imagine would have brought us even closer. But she was glad she kept it from me, told me this morning she saw that I could never understand.

  “What is it?” I’d asked lamely, knowing she wouldn’t tell me, not now.

  “It’s pointless, John. You wouldn’t be able to accept it… you’ve proven that to me,” she’d said.

  Denny has already read me the riot act. Angela cussed me out too and, as of twenty minutes ago, had been blowing Emma’s phone up to get her side of the story about what happened between us. I’m even a little surprised by Stephen who tells me in a quiet voice that I’d probably made a giant mistake and should reconsider what’s really important to me.

  “Your family can’t rule your life, you know,” he says and then closes my door, leaving me alone to look at Emma’s things, to pick up a sweater she’d left behind and bring it to my nose, the smell of something clean and fresh and sweet, the smell of Emma.

  I’d like very much to cry, but I only feel a constant catch in my throat, a soreness that must be the pain of my heart breaking. The feeling soon moves to the rest of my body, like an ever growing spider web that is trying to mummify me. I wouldn’t mind being mummified. At least it would put me out of my misery.

  Denny and Angela had asked me why, and I’d given them the same lame excuse I’d given Emma, that our lives are too crazy, that we’re too young, that if we stayed together, we’d never accomplish what we needed to separately.

  All of it is bullshit of course.

  Court and Meg know about Mr. Thatcher, and I’m guessing Angela does too, but I’m not sure Denny or Stephen do, and it’s not my place to inform them. Emma kept telling me most of today that I was holding her relationship with him against her, that I couldn’t let it go, that I was lying when I told her it didn’t make me see her differently. I’d gone blue in the face trying to impart I’d be a major dick to think any less of her, but she just looked at me with an almost vacant stare, as if she didn’t have the energy to tell me I was already a dick for breaking up with her.

  I could have told her that shattering both of our hearts was in hopes of protecting her, but if she knew that, then she’d have only pushed harder for us, and I knew my mother would push just as hard in the opposing direction. Coming to that conclusion hadn’t been easy, though. In the week since my mother had threatened to expose Emma’s past in whatever way she deemed fit, I’d spent the first half of it convincing myself she wouldn’t follow through or that Emma wouldn’t allow herself to be affected even if she did. But by midweek, I’d grown less sure. Hoping for a clearer answer, I’d found and contacted Alicia, my ex-girlfriend.

  “You finally called to apologize?” she’d asked after I’d managed to get her phone number and told her who I was.

  “I wish I’d had the balls to do it seven years ago,” I’d said.

  “Your mother is a beast,” she’d replied. “I’m guessing you calling me means that you know that now.”

  “Yes,” I answered. “I do. I probably knew it then too.”

  “My parents tried to take legal action against her, you know? She’d done some pretty shady shit, but they hit a brick wall, especially considering your dad’s a lawyer.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’m not sure what else I can say except that I hope you’re okay now, that what my mother did still isn’t affecting your life?”

  At that, she’d laughed. “Your mother is the devil. I realize that I got you into some hard stuff, but you loved it, John. We had some amazing times, and I didn’t deserve what she did. Those
pictures are still floating around, you know? Someday I’ll get married, and my husband might see them… or my kids.”

  “Jesus, I know… I’m so sorry.”

  “Are you really just calling to apologize?” she’d finally asked.

  “No. I’m worried she might do it again. I’m engaged to someone she doesn’t approve of.”

  Alicia laughed. “Then I’d get un-engaged. If you love this girl at all, then breaking up with her is the only right thing to do.”

  I apologized to Alicia again profusely, deciding not to bring up her suicide attempt or the questions I had associated with it, then thanked her for her time and wished her well.

  A few seconds later, I’d felt myself drowning in an overwhelming sense of loss. Then came the tears that I’d grown up being told were a sign of weakness in men. But they came anyway because Alicia’s words had resonated as a true warning.

  If you love this girl at all, then breaking up with her is the only right thing to do.

  I did love Emma, and I was determined to do right by her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  EMMA

  “Something has been seriously wrong with you these past few days,” Burk says to me.

  I’ve been trying to stay busy and keep my mind occupied, organizing and reorganizing handbag displays. “I just have a lot on my mind,” I say without looking at him.

  I never took the engagement ring John gave me off in hopes of avoiding a question like Burk’s. I’d actually wanted to throw it at John when I’d left his house in Wallingford, but I’d kept it on, knowing that I wasn’t ready to explain to everyone in my life that we’d broken up. When I’m ready, I’ll take it off and give it back, but I’m still not sure when that will happen.

  “If it’s something to do with that gorgeous man of yours, you can tell me. Maybe I’ll have some words of advice for you.”

  “Doubtful,” I say, not wanting to be rude but not needing Burk or anyone else to intrude in my personal life.

  “Try me,” he says, insistent. “I’ve taken enough of those relationship quizzes on Facebook to be an expert.”

  “I’d really rather not.” I set the last handbag in place and excuse myself to the register.