Broken by Love (The Basin Lake Series Book 2)

by Stephanie Vercier

  EMMA

  “I thought that things were going so well,” Jennifer says as she pulls a baking sheet full of Christmas cookies out of the oven.

  “So did I.” I’m sitting at her kitchen counter, still sickened whenever I have to admit that John and I are over, my ring finger naked, my heart a void.

  “And there’s nothing you can do to save things?” She looks nearly as heartbroken as I do as she uses a spatula to move the cookies onto a plate.

  “If there was, I’d do it. But how can I keep begging a man to be with me when he’s made it clear he doesn’t want that?”

  “Except that he told you he still wants to be in your life, right? I mean, he still cares.”

  I sigh. “Yeah, well, I can’t just be friends with him. I’m not that much of a glutton for punishment.”

  “Cookie?” She gives me a half smile and hands a still warm, gooey chocolate chip cookie over.

  “Sure,” I say, taking a quick bite and then setting it down. Eating is the last thing on my mind.

  “This probably isn’t the right time to bring this up, but Mom is still in contact with Detective Marshall, and Mr. Thatcher is interested in meeting with you.”

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Okay. I guess that’s good because I really just need to get it over with, even if it’s going to be so much harder now.”

  “Because of John?” she asks delicately.

  “Yes. I know it’s infantile, but I’d planned on telling Mr. Thatcher that I was with someone that truly loved me, someone that hadn’t broken my trust.” I’m on the verge of tears, but I clear my throat and pinch the skin of my arm hard enough to keep from losing it.

  “I’m so sorry.” Jennifer comes around the counter and wraps me in her arms. “But you’re going to get through this. Men come and go, but friends are forever, okay?”

  “Okay. Thank you. I’m so grateful you’re back in my life.”

  “Me too,” she says before heading back to the oven to put another batch of cookies in. She’s so happy doing it, this baking and organizing and making her family’s kitchen the hearth of the home. I can easily see her as a mother someday, kind and patient and fun, helping her little kids bake cookies, passing Christmas traditions down to them that they’ll then give to their own children.

  “I wonder if I’ll ever have kids of my own.” When I was with John, I’d imagined that in our future. He was so gung-ho about it, not seeming to have any qualms about starting as soon as possible.

  But now, without him, the idea of children is like a foreign concept.

  She wrinkles her nose. “Well, you sort of do, don’t you?”

  “I can’t count that,” I say, rather stoically if I do say so myself.

  “I’m not sure it has to be counted or not counted. It just is. Biologically, you are a mother.”

  “Mr. Thatcher didn’t want to be a father. Maybe I’m just like him.”

  “I don’t think so, Emma. Just because you weren’t ready at sixteen or seventeen doesn’t mean you won’t be at twenty-six.”

  “But what about him? I wish it didn’t bother me so much, but he turned his back when he’d had just as much a part in creating that life as I did.”

  “He might not even know why, or maybe he regrets his decision now, but whatever it is, that’s his burden to carry.”

  I wipe at my eyes, so tired of the back and forth that’s been going through my head for years. “It’s just I don’t even know what I need from him anymore. There probably won’t ever be an answer good enough… about any of it.”

  “I think you should write it all down,” Jennifer says with resolution. “All of your thoughts and feelings about having been pregnant and not being able to be a mother then are for you to process, but Mr. Thatcher is the only one that can answer for himself. Will you feel better just for asking even if he doesn’t tell you what you want to hear?”

  “Maybe.”

  He terminated his parental rights without even talking to me. Everyone had a different answer as to why he’d done it, either he didn’t care or cared too much. Some saw it as a gift while others considered it a burden that would present itself at some future date. But for as impossible as I knew it would be for he and I to be together, I’d somehow wanted the product of our relationship to know that, from a distance, love emanated from Mr. Thatcher, the biological father.

  If he couldn’t do that, couldn’t even offer a letter or a note to his offspring, a testament of love from a very imperfect man, then what did it say about him? If he couldn’t love a child he’d created, could he have ever really loved me?

  No.

  In reckoning with my own truth, that’s probably something I’d answered for myself a very long time ago.

  JOHN

  “I’m so glad you finally relented, Jonathan. You’ll see that I was right about Emma,” Mom says, gloating in her wingback chair in my parents’ living room.

  She’s in her element here, surrounded by opulence, the house that she allows only the privileged few into, or the few hundred come Labor Day or Fourth of July as long as they all have money and can benefit our family in some way.

  “I didn’t come here to thank you for removing the most important person in my life, Mother.” I’m sitting across from her in a chair that is designed to be lower than hers just as all the furniture in this room is so that she can lord over all of us like a queen. “I’m here to tell you that my relationship with you is severed.”

  “Severed? And what do you mean by that exactly?”

  I shake my head. As if she really needs it to be spelled out after what she’d pushed me to do. “After today, I don’t want to see you… I don’t want to speak to you… not ever again.”

  She laughs haughtily. “You’re being melodramatic, Jonathan. I realize this will put a strain on our relationship, but just like with Alicia, you’ll see that I was correct, that I only have your best interest at heart. And I’m sure that Madison is going to be—”

  “I spoke to Alicia,” I say in a numb monotone that doesn’t change even when I see a flicker of worry cross my mother’s face. “She’s getting along, no thanks to you. Having a private investigator tail a fifteen-year-old girl and then making sure the pictures he took would surface all over the Internet… that was pretty low, Mom. I can only imagine what you’d have done to Emma.”

  “Employing extreme measures for the sake of my children isn’t something I regret,” she says without a hint of remorse.

  I laugh, finally some emotion breaking through my numbness. “You think what you’re doing is for my sake? You could have dealt with me instead of Alicia, made me face up to my own behavior. But you’re all about punishing someone other than your own precious son—”

  “Oh, stop, Jonathan. Really, let’s not turn this into some sort of self-flagellation.”

  “I won’t stop. I should have confronted you a hell of a long time ago. And I’m not like you. I don’t care about what Emma did or if the entire world knows about her past. My heart would break for her, for any embarrassment she’d endure, but it wouldn’t change a thing I feel about her, and I’d have done everything in my power to protect her.”

  “Quite an unrealistic sense of romanticism,” she says, her face contorting into annoyance. “I did you a tremendous favor. Even your father agrees.”

  “Then I don’t want to see him either for as long as he does.” I get up, looking down at my mother. She thought there wouldn’t be a price to pay for what she’d done, but she’s wrong about that. “And if you think this somehow means that I’m going to get back together with Madison, you’re going to be disappointed.”

  “You’re just too young and naïve to see how right she is for you,” she says, standing from her chair. “Too young and—”

  “Would you stop? I’m not too young. I spent seven years of my life with a girl you handpicked for me, and I think I’ve learned a thing or two about relationships from that.”

  “There isn’t an
ything wrong with selecting the perfect girl for you,” she says defiantly. “It’s like picking the best schools or—”

  “The perfect girl for you, not me,” I counter, not allowing her to finish. “And if I was ever naïve, it was in believing you’d let me be happy for once in my life.”

  “Oh, that again!”

  “I’m just going to leave now.” She’s just going to grow more annoyed the longer we argue, and I’d rather not see her completely lose her shit before I’m safely out of the house. I turn away and begin my exit, quickening my pace with a sense of empowerment in caring less that I may never step back into the house I was raised in again.

  “You’re being ridiculous!” Mom calls after me, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she follows me out.

  “No. I’m just finally being smart.” I open the door and mentally block out her pleas for me to reconsider. Once safely in my SUV, I allow myself a moment to feel the victory of telling her off, but it’s a moment that fades quickly. As I’m driving away, I find myself wishing I could go on driving forever… to a place where I wouldn’t hurt… to a place where I wouldn’t miss Emma.

  “Okay, picture this,” Shannon begins, hovering over my desk during one of our short breaks. “Last minute Christmas shopping tomorrow, fighting against the great horde of procrastinators and then off to the shipping store to pray that I can send everything overnight to Omaha and get it there by Christmas Eve.”

  I’d wanted to drive off the edge of the earth after I’d left my parents’ house, but instead I drove here, to the legal clinic, to the problems of other people that I hoped would make me forget my own.

  “Sounds stressful,” I say. “Since I’ve basically renounced membership in the Mercer family, I’m pretty much off the hook for gift giving.”

  “What do you mean by that?” She furrows her brow and tilts her head to the side.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  She looks concerned for a tick before a slow smile spreads across her face. “Okay… so don’t talk about it. Come out with me tonight and shut your worries down for a few hours.”

  “I don’t think that will help. I should probably just get all this paperwork filed and call it a night.”

  “Are you sure? That sounds so… boring, and kind of depressing.”

  “I’m not opposed to boring tonight, and, as for depressing, not sure I’ll get out of that no matter how hard I try.”

  “Hmm.” She gives me a stern look. “Just let my offer simmer for a couple of hours and let me know if you change your mind.”

  “It’s not going to change—”

  “Simmer,” she says, putting up her hand, grinning and heading back to her desk.

  There is plenty of paperwork to be done since the legal clinic will close down tomorrow and remain closed for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. We’re already on winter break from school, and I should be looking forward to spending the holiday with Emma, but of course I can’t do that, and that reality has been ripping through my guts pretty much nonstop.

  When I wrap things up for the evening, all I have to look forward to is a cold bed and roommates that look at me like I’m insane for breaking up with Emma. Court and Meg have been by the house, and even they seem to think I’ve made a mistake. I get the sense Court feels like I left a giant opening for Denny and Emma to get together while Meg is convinced that it’s all to do with that “asshole teacher,” Mr. Thatcher. I should just tell her that the real asshole is my mother.

  “So, I’ll see you after Christmas then?” Shannon says, stopping by my desk before the lights are turned out.

  “Sure… but… on second thought, I think I could use that night out, if you’re still offering?”

  “You could?” She claps her hands together. “I’m so glad. You’re saving me from a bowl of microwave soup and a night of horrible Netflix movies on my laptop.”

  “A fate worse than death,” I say, trying to be funny and yet in no mood to laugh.

  There are a couple of times I want to turn back on our walk to a bar and grill a few blocks away, but I push through knowing just how empty it will feel to head home to the room once filled with the love Emma and I had for one another.

  Before I can change my mind again, we’re inside what amounts to a half empty pool hall. Shannon mentions food, but all I want is alcohol. With blinders on, I don’t even try to pace myself, and I’m drunk before I can even feel buzzed. When Shannon promises a “pick me up” and leads me into the bathroom, I follow. She offers me a line of coke, and I take it. I’d never pictured this girl from Omaha as doing much more than smoking the occasional joint or drinking to excess once in a while, and yet I don’t bat an eyelash that she has cocaine on her and is snorting it up her nose right along with me.

  “Come back to my dorm,” she coos, dragging her hands along my inner thigh.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I wipe at my nose, my head dually foggy and wired.

  “Oh, come on. They’re going to cut you off here and any other bar we go to, but I’ve got plenty of other stuff at my place.”

  “I should call Emma,” I say, digging my phone out of my pocket.

  “Why would you do that?” Someone bangs on the bathroom door and Shannon bends down to snort the last line.

  “I’ve got to get home to her. She’ll wonder where I’m at.”

  Shannon opens the bathroom door, grabs my hand and pulls me outside.

  “I hope you weren’t fucking in there,” a really pissed off girl with a nose ring says after barging past us.

  “Don’t be jealous,” Shannon calls over her shoulder, and then says, “You broke up with Emma,” to me, leading me through the bar.

  “What?” I shake my head. “Shit… shit… I did, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, so there is no Emma to go home to. But I’m here, so come with me, okay?”

  I’m fucked up and sad enough to agree, grabbing a cab or an Uber, sitting next to Shannon in the back seat while she grips my thigh—I don’t do anything to stop her.

  “We have to be quiet.” Shannon opens the door to her small, private room in one of the big dorm buildings on campus.

  “Yeah, sure,” I say, dragging my phone out of my pocket and checking the time—11:56. I glance at my texts, unrealistically hopeful there might be one from Emma. But of course there isn’t—why the hell would there be?

  “I could go for another line,” Shannon says, having closed us up into the tidy room. She’s pulling at her nose and searching the top drawer of her dresser. “God damn, where did I put it anyway?”

  “Maybe you don’t need it,” I say, feeling the depressed lull I remember always coming after I’d done coke with Alicia. The high just doesn’t last.

  “Just because I don’t need it doesn’t mean I don’t want it,” she snaps, slamming the drawer shut.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea.” I wish I was at home… with Emma.

  “Of course it is.” She pushes a smile over her face. “I’ve got beers in the mini-fridge. You want one?”

  “I should really just go,” I say, still standing in the middle of the room, sort of bobbing back and forth, a little dizzy actually.

  “Don’t!” She runs over to me and slides her hands down my arms. “I didn’t just bring you back here to do more drugs. Isn’t it obvious I like you? I have since I met you, and now that you’re not with Emma anymore, there isn’t any reason you can’t fuck me. Shit, I get turned on just saying it.”

  I shake my head, my dick responding to her touch, a traitor to my feelings for Emma.

  “Ahh,” she says, sliding one of those hands down to my waist. “I think you want the same thing, don’t you?”

  I close my eyes and sigh. What I want doesn’t really matter any longer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  EMMA

  Christmas Day

  Mom is sober for Christmas, and she tells me Aiden is trying as well. They look healthier for it, their s
kin less blotchy and their eyes less puffy. I don’t know how long this current streak of sobriety will last, but I’m thankful for it as she, Aiden and myself spend the morning opening presents and listening to Christmas music. Then we eat homemade waffles with whipped coconut cream and thick, maple syrup. Aiden, when he’s not drinking, is a pretty decent cook in addition to being an all around better person to my mother.

  Dad invited me over for the afternoon, Liz relenting to the fact that her husband had a daughter long before he met her. So, after helping clean up and watching A Christmas Story with Mom and Aiden, I nudge her and show her the time on my phone.

  “Are you really ready to do this?” Mom asks me once we’re on the road, driving toward Dad and Liz’s house.

  “I think so,” I say. “It’s been forever since I spent a holiday with Dad.”

  “Well, it’s more than that, isn’t it?” Mom asks, looking at the light traffic ahead of her.

  “I suppose.” I snap my fingernails against one another above the presents I’d carefully picked out and wrapped for Morgan and Chad.

  “So much is happening, Emma, and I know you need me to be a real mom, and I’m doing my best to not disappoint you. It’s just that sobriety is difficult.”

  “I know, Mom.” I’ve wanted a drink every single day since John broke up with me. Sometimes I resisted, and sometimes I hadn’t. I wasn’t even sure I was an alcoholic the way Mom was, but I also knew vodka couldn’t solve my problems.

  “Anyway,” she says, turning the corner right before Dad’s house. “I don’t want you to get overwhelmed. This thing with Liz and the kids is new. You know how OCD that woman is, how protective she is of those children.”

  “I’ll be okay, Mom.” The usual feelings of excitement and nervousness hit me as I give Mom a hug and step out of the car. She waits while I walk to the house, a walk that would have been made so much better had John been next to me, sharing this Christmas along with the promise of future ones together.

  But sometimes, as cheesy as it sounds, you have to walk alone.

  The house is warm and cozy, smells of sweet and savory floating from the kitchen. Liz is welcoming but visibly nervous. That actually makes me feel better since I know I’m not the only one. And then there is Morgan and Chad, tiny people who have a huge presence in this house with their little boots by the door, their small jackets hung on pegs and several drawings that they obviously made tacked up to the wall, the first thing a visitor to this house will see.