Unbreak Me Page 4

  “Are you seeing anyone, Maggie?” My mother’s voice is low, the whisper reserved for talk of scandal—like premarital cohabitation and non-procreative sex. “Are you even trying to find love? Or do you intend to continue fornicating with random men outside the sanctity of marriage?”

  “So if I were married I’d have your blessing to fornicate with random men? Maybe I should reconsider my stance on marriage.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I’m batting zero on the New Me plan.

  “Margaret Marie!” Mom’s scowl is so fierce, it threatens to bust through the Botox. “Watch your mouth this instant! I do hope you still go to confession.”

  “Maggie’s on a spiritual journey, Gretchen,” Granny defends.

  I frown. That’s what Gran says about her crazy clients, and I don’t want to be categorized with them.

  “You need to let her find her own way,” Granny continues. “But Maggie, your aura does seem terribly dark. You should come to my office sometime this week and we can do a cleansing.”

  “My aura can’t help it, Gran. It feels fat in anything but black.”

  Granny grins. “Clever girl.”

  I’m quickly reaching my fill of family togetherness.

  “So, Maggie,” Aunt—Sally? Sophie?—asks, “you’re getting married, right? When is your wedding, again?”

  The other aunt shoots the first a hard glare. “Don’t you remember?” Then to me, “Did it bother you to see him marry someone else, dear?”

  I grit my teeth.

  “It must be hard to see someone you once planned to marry fall in love with your sister.”

  As if mentioning her summoned the devil, Krystal bursts into the room, bringing the hot breath of Indiana summer with her.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late!” she says, waving a hand in front of her red-tinged cheeks.

  A bright-eyed blonde claps her hands. “Of course you’re late after your wedding night.”

  Krystal smiles at her friend and shakes her head. “Will and I never made it official yesterday. It just didn’t feel right to let someone else control our day. We appreciate everything you all did this weekend, and we hope you’ll join us when we try again later in the summer.”

  The chatter screeches to a halt. Damn it. Now they’re all staring at me.

  My sister Lizzy comes over to stand by my side.

  “I’m so happy for you both,” I manage, but I can’t bring myself to exhale until they stop looking at me.

  When everyone finally returns to their conversations, Granny leans over the table. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, Gran. It really doesn’t bother me. My relationship with Will is over, and I’m okay with that.”

  Granny nods, but it’s clear by her expression that she’s unconvinced.

  “You’re really okay?” Lizzy whispers this time.

  Across the room, Hanna gives me a pitying half-smile.

  “Okay, no,” I admit. “I’m not fine. But only because I don’t want people looking at me like Hanna is right now.”

  One of Krystal’s friends is asking about her wedding night in a stage whisper as clear as her wriggling eyebrows. “We’re going to wait until it’s official,” Krystal says with a hand pressed to her chest.

  “That’s my girl,” my mom says with an approving nod.

  I stifle the urge to snort. Maybe Krystal hasn’t had sex with Will, but she’s no virgin.

  ***

  “You need to settle a bet for us,” Lizzy tells me as our server settles three chocolate martinis on our table. “Was that Asher Logan you were dancing with at the wedding last night?”

  “It wasn’t,” Hanna says. “Though he’s a dead ringer for him.” She hums and—

  “Did you just lick your lips?” I narrow my eyes at my sisters. I can’t remember if he ever told me his last name. “How do you know Asher?”

  Hanna’s jaw drops. “No way!”

  Lizzy hides her smile behind her martini. “Apparently they’re on a first-name basis.”

  With a French-tipped nail, Lizzy tucks a long lock of blond hair behind her ear. Tonight, she’s dressed to kill in a pale pink strapless, show-off-the-legs-that-go-for-miles dress. Next to her, Hanna is dressed a bit more modestly in a black capris and a lavender sweater set. She’s as drop-dead gorgeous as her twin, if in a different way. Since good daughters spend time with their family, martini night with the twins is part of Operation New Me. So far it’s been my favorite part of my ill-conceived plan.

  “I just met him last night,” I explain. “How do you know him?”

  The girls giggle.

  “How do we know Asher Logan?” Lizzy asks.

  “Asher ‘Sexy Beast’ Logan?” Hanna adds.

  I fold my arms. “That’s what I asked.”

  The girls exchange a look.

  “She’s clueless,” Lizzy mutters.

  “He was only the hottest lead singer in the history of rock bands,” Hanna says.

  “But Maggie was always more into that angry chick music.”

  I wave a hand in front of them. “Hello. Quit talking about me like I’m not here.”

  Lizzy narrows her eyes. “You really didn’t know?”

  “All I know is that he is the Rich Dude who owns the house next door to Mom.”

  “Shut up!” Hanna’s eyes go wide. “Asher Logan lives next door to Mom?”

  Lizzy’s eyes light up. “I take back every bad thing I ever said about New Hope.”

  “If the Asher I was dancing with last night is the Asher you’re talking about, then yes, he owns the house next to mom’s. But I don’t think he lives there, or if he does I don’t think he has for long.”

  Lizzy downs her martini. “This is so huge.” She waves to the waitress. “I’m gonna need another.”

  “We need details,” Hanna says, leaning forward.

  “I met him at Krystal’s wedding. He was down by the river and I thought he was a lost wedding guest.” I snort, realizing for the first time why he was really there. “But I guess he was just in his own backyard.”

  Hanna grins. “Yeah, because Mom’s backyard is right next to Asher Logan’s backyard. God, this is epic.”

  Lizzy waves her hands excitedly, urging me to share more. “So you met at the wedding. And then?”

  “We talked, danced. We ran into each other after the reception was over.”

  “Where? Did Maggie go out carousing?” Lizzy presses her palms into the table. “It’s finally happened. Hell froze over.”

  I roll my eyes. “I hardly went out carousing. He caught me swimming in his pool and…things happened.”

  Hanna wilts. “If you tell me you got to have hot pool sex with Asher ‘Sexier Than God’ Logan, I may never forgive you.”

  “Right, but that’s just it. We didn’t have sex. We messed around, and then I took him back to my place for breakfast and took off my clothes.”

  “And this is a problem because…?” Lizzy quirks a brow. “You’re not thinking of changing your naughty girl ways on us are you? Has Mom’s constant harassment finally broken you? Because, seriously, Maggie—if Asher Logan is in the picture, now is not the time.”

  “No. He rejected me. Told me he wanted to get to know me.”

  “Oh,” the girls chorus. Judging by the disappointment on their faces, you’d think they were the ones left high and dry.

  “Yeah. What the hell?”

  Lizzy throws back her head and laughs, a full-stomach laugh that has everyone in the bar looking at us.

  I scowl. “It’s not funny.”

  She’s doesn’t even attempt to stifle her damn giggles of delight. “Yes, yes it is.”

  Hanna nods. “It kind of is, Mags.”

  “It’s not like I go after one-night stands often, but the few times I have I’ve never been denied. Now I know how guys must feel.”

  “Maybe he’s gay,” Lizzy says.

  “That would be a tragedy,” Hanna whimpers.

  Lizzy nudges her. “Don’t be so narrow-minded. Gay boys deserve hot men too.”

  I roll my eyes. “He’s not gay. Trust me. His attraction was physically evident.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Lizzy props her chin on her hands. “How’s he measure up?”

  I groan. “Why the hell do you think I took him back to my place and stripped down to my skivvies while he was trying to get out the door?” If I wanted Asher to distract me, I was successful because I can’t stop thinking about him.

  I smile into my chocolate martini, wondering if the girls would be offended if I tainted “Martini Night” with a beer.

  I am nothing like my sisters. They do things like have makeover parties and martini nights. They ooze femininity from every pore, from their hair to their designer jeans and Gucci heels. Me? I’m all about comfort and practicality. My favorite outfit consists of worn Levi’s and a ribbed tank top, and I’m convinced that heels are medieval torture devices. The girls primp and fuss, and make semi-annual shopping trips to the Big Apple, whereas I have discovered I can make a twenty-dollar dress from Target look damn good.

  “You still got more action than I did,” Lizzy says. “I was trying to hook up with that groomsman. You know, Will’s friend from college?”

  Hanna snorts. “He’s not into girls.”

  Lizzy frowns. “A tragedy.”

  “Gay boys deserve hot men too,” Hanna says, parroting Lizzy’s words right back at her.

  “I guess,” Lizzy pouts. “Did you see Krystal’s eyes today? I think she cried a lot last night.”

  “Poor thing,” Hanna says. “Who do you think did it?”

  Probably by some bored kid with nothing better to do with his Saturday. “I don’t know. I figure it’ll remain a mystery.”

  “Hmm,” Lizzy says, “like the mystery of who stole those fraternity boys’ clothes the night they went skinny dipping in Lake Lemon?”

  I can’t help but smile at the memory from my first semester at Sinclair. All those beautiful men searching for their clothes in the moonlight.

  “Or the mystery of how the Sigmas all came down with stomach cramps after outing your friend Ed?”

  Her implication clicks into place in my mind and I lift my hands, palms up. “You think I did this?”

  The girls shake their heads, saying “Oh, no! Not us” in unison.

  “Why would I want to ruin Krystal’s wedding with a stink bomb?”

  “We don’t think you would,” Lizzy says. “It’s just…”

  “There’s been some talk,” Hanna finishes.

  “And your name’s been mentioned,” Lizzy says.

  Hanna pats my arm. “It’s no mystery how much you hate weddings.”

  Translation: Everyone knows how much I must hate seeing Will marry Krystal.

  “We’d hate weddings too if—” Lizzy cuts herself off.

  Hanna finishes for her. “You know.”

  “I do”—I soften the truth—“dislike weddings, but not because—”

  “Of course not,” the girls chorus.

  “I would never—”

  Lizzy holds up her hand. “You don’t have to say anything else. I guess it just occurred to Hanna and me…”

  Hanna nods. “…With the talk and all…”

  “…How insensitive it was for Krystal to ask you to be in her wedding after…”

  “You know,” they say together.

  “It’s fine. I’m the one who canceled the wedding. I don’t have any hold on Will.”

  “Was it weird?” Lizzy asks in a whisper. “Being a bridesmaid in Will’s wedding?”

  Hanna bites her lip and watches me.

  “So, Asher’s some sort of rock star?” I ask to change the subject.

  Lizzy huffs, unimpressed by my non-sequitur, but Hanna’s drawn in by more talk of the sexy rocker and gapes at me in dismay. “The lead singer of Infinite Gray?”

  “Infinite Gray?” I frown. “Isn’t that the band that put out the song ‘Unbroken?’” I listened to that song on repeat during my sophomore year of high school, but then…I don’t remember anything else. One-hit wonders? “A rock star,” I mutter, trying to fit it all into place. There was something familiar about Asher—those eyes. This must be why.

  “Former rock star,” Lizzy corrects. “The band dissolved after their first tour. Same old story—hit the big time too young and got caught up in booze and drugs.”

  “I heard,” Hanna says, “that he beat the shit out of some dude in a bar last year and got tried for aggravated battery.”

  My jaw goes slack. Now I really do want that beer. Aggravated battery. “Really?”

  Hanna bites her lip. “No one but Asher knows what really happened that night. I’m sure he’s a nice guy.”

  Right. Because nice guys get charged with aggravated battery all the time.

  “Doesn’t matter anyway, right?” I shake my head and force a smile. “He’s had that house for, what, five years? And this is the first time we’ve seen him around? It’s not like I think I’m going to see him again.”

  Chapter Four

  William

  The best part of living in a small town is that everyone knows everyone. This is also the shittiest part of living in a small town, a fact I’m reminded of every time I take my grandmother to her bi-weekly salon visits.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay,” Cecilia says as Grandma gets situated in her chair. “It’s just terrible what they did to your wedding, Willy.”

  I cringe but don’t bother to correct her on my name. Cecilia has been calling me Willy since I was a toddler. If my red-cheeked embarrassment didn’t stop her when I was a teenager, a polite objection isn’t going to stop her now.

  “I think it was that Maggie,” Grandma says with a knowing nod. “She didn’t want to see you marrying her sister.”

  “Grandma.” My voice is hard, making Grandma’s shoulders drop, her face go sad. “Maggie wouldn’t do that,” I say, softer now, because as much as I hate the way she talks about Maggie, I know it’s all out of love for me.

  Grandma shakes her head. “That’s what you said when I told you about the rumors back in high school. Then the truth came out. It always does. Poor Ann Quimby’s whole life was torn apart by the girl.”

  “Mom, she’s the county prosecutor now and has a new husband and children. I think she survived.”

  Gran turns to Cecilia and whispers, “Boy’s got no sense when it comes to that little girl.”

  Cecilia shakes her head and combs her fingers through Grandma’s hair.

  I let out a slow breath. “Grandma, I have my cell. Just give me a call when you’re done.” I head to the door before they have a chance to say anything else about the wedding or Maggie or gossip that should have died years ago.

  When I hit the sidewalk, I’m swarmed by the greetings of the bookstore patrons next door. They’re sitting out on the patio, sipping coffee and sharing “local news,” more easily recognizable as gossip.

  “So sorry to hear about your wedding, Willy,” Mrs. White calls.

  I close my eyes. God damn do I hate when people call me that. “It’s okay,” I assure her, forcing a smile. “What matters is that we have each other. No stink bomb can change that.”

  “Of course it can’t, and Krystal’s mother tells us you’re opening an art gallery in the old Beatlemeyer building.”

  “He is?” the woman across from her croons. “Well, that’s what we need around here. More young people investing in this town. Putting roots down. Good for you, young man. Not like all those snotty college kids running away as soon as they get their degree.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “We’re lucky to be in a position to do it.”

  I excuse myself, but I don’t turn to my car. The Curl Up and Dye sits just three blocks off campus and I need the walk to clear my head.

  New Hope is simultaneously a young and aging community. The largest population is our community of seniors who lived and worked in this little town their whole life. Our second largest population comes from Sinclair, a small liberal arts college that families all over the country spend a small fortune to send their spoiled, privileged children to. In between, there are a few of us staying for jobs at the college or family ties or, in my case, both.

  I can’t leave Grandma. The woman raised me and she doesn’t have anyone else. So I’m here with Krystal, and we are going to make the most of it.

  My steps slow as I approach the county library and my breath catches in my throat.

  At a seat by the window, Maggie sits with her laptop open, headphones on, and a soft smile on her lips. My feet stall under me as she leans toward her screen and her smile grows.

  Suddenly, she turns to the window, and our gazes lock through the glass. Her smile falls away.

  My chest is heavy with regret and longing and…fuck, I’m angry. She’s the one who left. She’s the one who called it off.

  So why does she look at me like I’ve broken her heart?

  ***

  Maggie

  I might as well be sixteen again, I’m so obsessed with Infinite Gray.

  I made a little trip to my local library to use their internet access—because Operation New Me means I can’t steal it from my neighbors anymore—and now my hard drive is loaded with the band’s album and a couple dozen half-nude pictures of Asher. The more I listened to the album, the more the memories came back—my ceiling fan spinning above my bed, my heart frozen in my chest, that low, mellow voice crooning from my MP3 player as I did my damndest to sink into my numbness and disintegrate into nothing.

  “Come back and break me, don’t let this go unspoken. I’m numb when I’m whole and you left me unbroken.”

  And the pictures? Dear God. If I had been the kind of teenager who watched music videos instead of the kind who broke her father’s heart, I never would have forgotten that face or body. Turns out half-naked pictures of a rock star dubbed “Sexy Beast” are plentiful. Thank you, Internets. But there still weren’t enough. Not when you consider how when I close my eyes I can feel his muscles flexing under my fingers, still taste his salty skin on my tongue.

  I pack up my laptop and head to the parking lot with a sigh. I just wasted half a day obsessing over a rock star who will never sleep with me. Maybe I am sixteen again.