The Complete If I Break Series

by Portia Moore

  I can feel her eyes on me, and it makes things worse.

  She turns down the music. “Are you ok?” She asks, her eyes studying me.

  “Yes,” I tell her confidently. This is the first time I’ve had to tell myself to be confident, something that was once natural. Having to direct myself is a feeling I don’t like. “Why?” I ask, already knowing the answer. If I’m noticing things myself, it’s not surprising that she has too.

  “You just seem a little unlike yourself, no pun intended.” She laughs, and I can’t help but grin.

  “It’s still me,” I tell her and she chuckles picking up on my joke.

  Her head turns toward the window, her eyes following the glitter of the city lights. I remember when Cal first brought us here. I knew then he’d never want to leave, he was addicted to the city the moment he entered it, just like he became addicted to her the moment he laid eyes on her. I’ve felt at home in each place that we’ve lived, which has been many over the years, indifferent to wherever we called home. It wasn’t until she became a part of our home that my indifference was harder to hold up.

  My plan was to do something nice for her, something that would allow her to get away from the life we’ve dug for her. To give her time outside of the world she’s closed herself in. Whether she liked it or not was an afterthought. If she did, it would be good because it would keep her happy here in Chicago, which I need her to be so I can keep a close watch on what the Crestfields owe us. If she didn’t like it, I’d come up with another plan. The goal is always to keep everyone’s agenda in line. Balance is the key. After yesterday something has changed, so slight that any other person wouldn’t notice, but I noticed a shift has happened. It’s subtle, but shifts change the balance, and it’s so important for things to be even with me, neutral is always best. We pull up in front of the restaurant, and I open the door for her and give the valet driver my keys. I extend my arm and when she takes it, I can’t help but notice how good we fit. I also notice the lingering gaze of the valet worker on her as we make our way to the entrance. We’re immediately seated, and in one of the best sections of the restaurant—one that overlooks the lake and is close enough to hear the live band but not drown out conversation. Our order is taken, and I order a bottle of her favorite red wine, one that’s on the sweeter side. It’s not my favorite but tonight isn’t about me. I feel a pull in my stomach, more like a knot, ones that are usually reserved for Chris, but I ignore it.

  “You usually don’t like for me to drink.” She looks at me with playful eyes and an amused grin on her lips.

  I tear my eyes away from her beautiful lips and remind myself to focus. “There’s a difference between drinking for pleasure and in moderation and drinking for courage or numbness,” I take a drink of my water. She frowns slightly and her eyes narrow on me, reminding me of how she usually looks at me.

  “Do you always have to be so serious?” she asks, a hint of annoyance in her tone but her expression is amused.

  My eyebrow raises. “I didn’t know that I was always serious.” I chuckle, and she rolls her eyes and takes a drink from her glass.

  “Not always, not when you’re interacting with Caylen, you’re not so…” She looks up as if trying to find a word that wouldn’t offend me, and it’s adorable.

  “Uptight,” she giggles, and I can’t help but smile.

  “See, when you smile… it’s like magic.” I can’t say I’m not taken aback, and she looks down shyly.

  “Or in your words, it’s enthralling,” she mimics my voice. “See, I know big words too,” she winks.

  I can’t help but laugh again. She blushes, and I can tell the wine has started to swim through her blood stream, but she’s also pacing herself.

  “When did you read Harry Potter?” she asks after our appetizer is brought out. My eyes look at hers, and they’re a little squinted but they smile at me. Her chin is rested in her palm and a lazy smile is on her lips. I have never seen her look so easy going with me.

  “Reading was my way to escape.”

  “What were you escaping from?”

  I lean back in my seat and look at her, knowing that she’s never wanted pretty lies or half-truths, and I’ve never been one to give those, but it would be a lie to say I don’t miss the easy smile that was just on her face. I understand why Chris would tell a half-truth to keep the smile there, because the expression she holds now is one with a somber sincerity.

  “There were days, when Cal felt at his darkest and Chris was hidden mainly when Gwen was sick. I read over 300 books that year, all different genres from fiction to biographies, even a few of Gwen’s old romance novels. There were no books that helped me escape more than the magical world of Hogwarts.” I give her one of the smiles she called magic, but the one she gives me is what casts the spell, one that I thought I was immune to.

  “Okay, I have a very serious question for you,” Her voice has only a hint of a slur, her expression is serious, but there is a playful glint in her eye.

  “Where would the sorting hat put you?” She maintains her serious façade, and I can feel the smile stretch on my face. I take a moment to pretend to ponder even though I already have an immediate answer.

  “Ravenclaw,” I tell her, and she bursts out laughing. She looks as if she’s going to ask another question but decides against it, but I already know what she’s thinking.

  “Christopher would be a Hufflepuff and Cal a Gryffindor.”

  Her eyes widen in surprise.

  “I thought you’d have said Cal would be in Slytherin.”

  I shake my head and chuckle. “That would be if you were talking to Chris.”

  The rest of the dinner goes even better than I imagined. She shows a side of herself that she hasn’t shown me yet. She’s playful and funny and reminds me how intelligent she is, keeping up with me in any subject I bring up. We keep things light, and she doesn’t ask me questions that I assumed she would have about my sessions with Helen, or the work I’ve been doing with the Crestfield Corporation. I think she’s grown accustomed to not getting answers to the questions she really wants and has trained herself to not ask. Or maybe it’s that she’s enjoying the night so much that she doesn’t know if I’ll give her answers she wants to hear. When we’re back in the car she sings along to the music inviting me to join in, and when I decline, she swats me playfully.

  “Since it’s so late, do you still want your surprise tonight, or would you rather wait until tomorrow?” I ask.

  “Tonight,” she smiles brightly. “But only if it’s a good one.”

  I try to contain my smile, but I’ve been failing miserably at that tonight. We pull in the back of a building. We’re only a few blocks from home. I get out of the car and open the door for her. She looks at me curiously.

  “It’s this way,” I tell her. She takes my hand and steps out of the car. I try to hide my surprise when she doesn’t let it go, but I know that she’s a little tipsy and her feet must hurt from the shoes she’s wearing, so I don’t read too much into it. When I walk to the back entrance of the building and put in the security code, she looks at me more perplexed. I open the door and hit the lights, revealing a large, empty space.

  She looks at me a little confused. Her eyes then land on the package in the middle of the floor. “What is this place?” Her eyes take in the vaulted ceilings and hardwood floors. It’s about 2600 square feet in total, 1600 on the first floor and the remainder on the second. There are large windows that look out on to the street.

  “Whatever you want it to be,” I tell her, and she stops mid-step and turns to look at me her eyes wide with emotion.

  “What?” she asks.

  “I thought it could be an excellent space for an art gallery,” I say with a slight shrug. I hear her breath catch, and her mouth falls open.

  “You bought me a gallery?” Her voice is shaky, and I start to wonder if she’s upset.

  “Well, it’s not a gallery yet… I saw the potential of it. It’s in t
he center of the art district, but it could be whatever you want it to be or if you don’t want it, we could sell it for a steal. I just thought of you when I saw it.” I start feeling almost apprehensive now.

  “You bought me a gallery?” This time she’s smiling, but there’s joy oozing from her tone even though her eyes are teary.

  “It’s not a big deal. It's something you should have had already.” I mean every word of it. She had dreams when she came into our life, dreams that the weight of our problems suffocated, and it’s a crime that someone as smart and ambitious as she was became so stifled by us.

  “I don’t know what to say.” She clutches her chest as if her heart would fall out if she didn’t.

  “It’s something that Calvin always planned on doing for you but other things took his attention. Christopher would have done it if he had the means, and it only makes sense that I do what they would carry out if circumstances hadn’t intervened.”

  She looks down at the floor her expression fighting between pained and ecstatic. A moment later she marches toward me and grabs my hand. She looks up at me as if seeing me for the first time, her eyes pierce through mine before she stands on her toes and presses her lips gently against mine.

  I freeze. I didn’t expect this reaction. She pulls back looking me in the eyes before leaning in again and this time when her lips touch mine, I pull her closer. She tastes like mint with a mix of the wine she had earlier. Her hand travels up my chest and to my hair as her fingers comb through it. It’s happening so fast, and I can feel the blood rushing through my body, but I pull away.

  “I don’t want you to feel obligated to do this,” I tell her and she looks at me almost offended but then a slow smile spreads across her face. She slowly takes a few steps away from me and pulls the dress over her head. She’s standing in front of me and my chest feels like a train is trying to escape it. My composure isn’t anywhere near as strong as I thought it would be.

  “I want my husband to make love to me.” Her lips are slightly parted, her eyes hooded, her expression so seductive, but her tone is the most innocent thing I’ve ever heard. She’s like the white rabbit—unknowingly leading me down the hole—but it's she that doesn't know how deep the hole goes or how hard the fall is going to be. I tell myself it’s the wine, but I can’t help myself from walking toward her. I should feel guilty but when I kiss her neck, the moan she gives me in response keeps me going, and I’ve never craved someone as much as I’ve craved her.

  “Are you sure?” It takes all of my strength to stop and I ask, giving her one last chance to back out.

  “Stop being so uptight.” She teases as she starts to undo my pants, and when she says that it unleashes every reservation that I’ve had. I pick her up and kiss her how I’ve wanted to kiss her since the day we stood in that shower, before she realized it was me. I kiss her the way I wanted to yesterday, when she sat mesmerized at my feet. Her taste is addictive, her touch almost healing. The look on her face when we become one, unimaginable. As I go deeper inside of her I feel as if I’m falling into deep ends of water, and I’m afraid because for the first time in my life I’m in unchartered territory. This feeling is foreign; not being completely in control, knowing the outcome of this may not result in the best circumstances for us. This could cause problems. It will cause problems, but I fix the problems… I’ve fixed Cal’s, I’ve fixed Chris’s, and I’ll fix this. They need me; it’s not the other way around. They’ll understand.

  They’ll have to.

  Was last night just a dream? Hazy memories of lips on my neck, stomach and other places that throb run through my mind. Fingers touching, as if they were given a road map to each secret place on my body. When I open my eyes I don’t see the high vaulted ceilings I saw last night, and my back isn’t stiff from doing all sorts of wild things on the hardwood floors. Could it really have been just a dream?

  It had to be because in real life I wouldn’t seduce Collin. The restrained, calculating, perfectly put together Collin didn’t unleash himself and remind me of his counterparts more than I ever thought possible. He didn’t help me come apart time and time again in the space he bought for me to open a gallery. No that didn’t happen. It couldn’t have. But when I look over and see the white dress from my dream neatly folded on my dresser, I catch my breath.

  It did happen.

  I hear the shower running and swallow hard. How did I get from there to here? That wine must have been super strong. No, I can’t blame it on the wine.

  I was lonely, and I wanted him. Is that so wrong? I wanted my husband’s touch, his kiss, to feel him inside of me. Am I a bad person for that? Shit, I feel like this is déjà vu again. I cautiously get out of bed and walk over to the bathroom door, which is closed. I listen to the water running, and open the door to see the shower is clouded with steam. I’m apprehensive as I open it this time. I’m almost shaking with nerves at the thought of it opening and it being another person. Instead, the door opens for me.

  “You’re welcome to come in.” He smirks and stands back for me to come in. I let out a small sigh of relief because I am not prepared to be attacked or shouted at for what happened last night. As I step in the shower, I’m immediately enveloped by warmth, and it melts my apprehension away. I sit on the bench in the shower opposite of him, and we’re both quiet.

  “Good morning.” He smiles, but it’s almost bashful—a look I’ve never seen on him.

  “Good morning.” I wear my own shy smile even though we’re both sitting in front of each other completely naked. If I didn’t imagine what we did last night and it’s all real, we’re beyond being bashful. I rest my head back on the tile and let the water drip down my skin. The sound of the water is relaxing and calming, but what I really want to hear is his voice, for him to say something.

  “Yesterday was interesting,” he says, his voice serious with only a hint of amusement. I fight myself from letting out a nervous chuckle and swallow my nerves instead.

  “Was it?” I ask back through barely veiled sarcasm, mimicking his usual tone. I wish there wasn’t so much steam, that I could look at him better, not that if I could see him it could cause me to read him any more accurately. I want to know what he’s thinking‚ but according to him he’s an open book. Suddenly it’s like my wish is granted, and he appears through the steam and my eyes drink him in, every perfect curve on his body, solid muscle, sculpted and hard. Even after all of these years, I fall in lust with him all over again when I look at him. I pull in a much-needed breath when he kneels between my legs and pulls me so that our chests are touching. Our heartbeats pulse against each other, mine speeding like horses trotting and his steady. He takes my hand and brings it to his mouth and kisses the inside of my wrist, while his eyes stay on mine. My heart rate is climbing higher and higher as his fingers trail up my thighs. This feeling is familiar, the rush of it, the suspense, the teasing. His lips crash into mine and he doesn’t let them go. A wave of heat passes through me, and I feel like I’m tumbling through time again, one year, two years, three years... I’m lifted up and my body is pinned to the wall of the shower, his body pressed against mine. His mouth is kissing my lips, down my neck and stomach. I’m lifted and pushed higher, and I gasp when I’m on his shoulders.

  “What are you doing?” I laugh as I grab his hair holding on. He looks up at me with a twinkle in his eye. “Trust me,” he says before his tongue dives inside of me.

  “You’re going to…” My thoughts drown out. Words slip from my mind as his arms lock on both sides of me and my hand digs into one of his arms, while the other digs into his hair. Emotions and memories collide and crash against each other. I feel high, on a drug that I haven’t had in such a long time. The feeling in the pit of my stomach starts to spread throughout my entire body. It’s all so eerily familiar. After all the time that’s passed, should I still feel this way? Is this regressing? Is this a good thing? It hits me all at once, throws me over a cliff, I’m light-headed, I’m weightless…

>   When I come down literally and figuratively, he lifts my chin so our eyes are locked, and I feel anxious, excited, nervous like he’s a stranger but knows me in the most intimate ways possible. I catch my breath, and a smile stretches across his face and with it, my heart does the same.

  “I want to know you.” I run the tip of my fingers lightly across his chin. His eyes squint a little at me, and I realize how ironic my statement is. “You know what I mean,” I giggle feeling my cheeks heat up.

  His lips rest against mine, they’re light and strange and familiar at the same time. “I’ll tell you anything.”

  “Anything?” I ask. It’s almost too easy.

  He’s inside of me.

  “Everything?” I ask breathlessly.

  He pulls back from me searching my eyes, and for a moment I think he’s irritated, but it’s a flash that disappears in an instant.

  “Who are you, Collin Scott?” I fight through a moan.

  “Crestfield,” he says before covering my mouth with his.

  A beast let out of its cage. I wonder if that’s what I’ve done. The seemingly refined man who wears meticulously put-together suits, well-mannered and well-spoken, reserved, is a complete beast in bed. It seems so contradictory, it was supposed to be different. I thought he’d be careful, slow, and attentive. That’s how he was when he made love to me on the floor of the space. The space for my gallery, the gallery he bought for me, it’s still surreal to think of it. But here, in the shower and in our bed, there is no more carefulness, nothing unsure about his movements in any way. He’s wild and completely sure of everything. No quiet confidence, more like screaming. It reminded me so much of Cal but different in so many ways.

  “What are you thinking?” His body is stretched out over the bed and completely magnificent.

  I smile at him and roll on my back to look at the ceiling.

  “Nothing.” I lie holding a smile from spreading across my face by trapping my bottom lip between my teeth. The light from the window is shining in on us, highlighting his face, and his smile is beaming, his hair is messy, and he looks so much like Cal but wearing a smile like Chris that it’s scary. This man with so many faces, I have to remind myself who’s staring back at me.