Ruin You Completely

by Calia Read

  Ruin You Completely

  Dedication

  Prologue

  PART I

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  PART II

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  PART III

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Forty-Eight

  Forty-Nine

  Fifty

  Fifty-One

  Fifty-Two

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2015 by Calia Read

  All rights reserved.

  Ruin You Completely is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Cover designer:

  Regina Wamba from Mae I Design

  Editor: Lori Sabin

  Interior design and formatting:

  Christine Borgford from Perfectly Publishable

  Fia Simone,

  Dongsche dost in Mathias sei Gschicht Lehm einghaucht host. Dost imma do woast zuam iebasetzn uhnd fia jede frog die i ghobt hob. Des Buach weah goa nix ohne di.

  K A T J A

  G A R M I S C H, G E R M A N Y

  “Katja! Someone’s here for you!”

  I lifted my head from the sheet music in front of me. “Who?”

  “I don’t know. Some American man.”

  There was only one ‘some American man’ that I knew. I froze completely. It couldn’t be him. Not him. Never him.

  “Coming,” I shouted.

  Him.

  That was his name in my mind; hearing his real name felt like someone was gripping my heart, twisting it this way and that. And then I remembered everything. Every single detail of my time with him—the very things I wanted to forget.

  My hands were shaking so bad I had a death grip as I walked down the stairs.

  This might not be him, I told myself. It could be just ‘some American man’ that my Opa knew.

  But that was a lie and I knew it.

  Through the thin, vertical frosted glass on the door I could see the beginnings of a broad shoulder. My stomach sank. There was no reason for him to come back to Germany. I hadn’t heard from him once since being back. And I hadn’t reached out to him either. Even so, my pride was wounded—shredded to ribbons and scattered all around me.

  You’re working yourself up. Calm down.

  In a nervous gesture I twirled my silver band around my finger and stopped short in the middle of the hall, staring at the door, as if I could will him to turn around and walk away, but there was a bright ray of sunlight streaming through the window. It was like a blinker, flashing directly at me. “Look here!” it says. “I found her.”

  “Why are you standing there?” I turned and found Brigitte leaning against the doorframe, wiping her hands on her apron. “Answer the door.”

  She wouldn’t be saying that if she knew what was on the other side.

  I looked back on my time with Mathias Sloan as an experience—one that couldn’t be dodged or ignored. He swept into my life like a hurricane, destroying everything in his wake.

  Because of him I learned that there’s a learning curve to love. Because of him I realized that there’s always that one person that destroys and sends you back into the world to fend for yourself. And it doesn’t matter how hard they hurt you. Whether you like it or not, the scars on your heart spell out their name.

  You will always remember them.

  I knew I had to get this over with. Swallowing loudly, I opened the door. He turned around. And there he was. All six feet three inches of him.

  Mathias Sloan.

  His hands were tucked into his jeans. His dirty blonde hair was cut short. A five o’clock shadow appeared on his face. I remembered what that stubble felt like against my neck.

  Tension was etched in his hazel eyes. He looked haggard, like he hadn’t slept in days.

  But it didn’t matter what he looked like; my heart beat against my chest, begging to burst, and reach for him.

  “Hi,” he said deeply.

  I gripped the doorknob so hard, my knuckles turned white. I tried to force words out of my mouth, but nothing would come out. I just stood there, staring at him with wide eyes.

  “Can we talk?” He nudged his head toward the cobblestone street behind him, and when he turned, the sunlight reflected on my ring.

  I quickly put my hand behind my back, but it was too late.

  His voice faded into nothing and his eyes clouded over. For a second, I saw fear. A flash of anger. And then, something that I never thought I’d see from Mathias: hurt.

  Thousands of questions appeared in his eyes. The last thing I wanted to do was answer him; the longer I stood there the further I drifted from my fury.

  “I’m marrying him,” I blurted out. My voice was shaking. I knew if I stayed here, so close to him, I would crumble and I would be back at the beginning.

  Mathias took a step back, as if I’d punched him. He stared at me with hurt and accusation. “What did you do, Katja?”

  We had our chances.

  We had our time.

  We were over.

  Our bridge burned and Mathias Sloan was the one to light the match…

  “You’ll have to be careful,

  My otherness

  Will spoil you

  Ruin you

  After me, all else will taste

  Redundant.”

  ~Warsan Shire

  M A T H I A S

  2 YEARS AGO

  “You want me to do what?”

  I stared at the man across from me skeptically.

  Tobias calmly repeated his words. “I want you to be my enkelin’s piano instructor.”

  When Tobias contacted me last week, saying he was flying in from Germany for business and wanted to speak to me, I never thought he would ask this of me. His granddaughter’s piano instructor? No way in hell.

  “What do you think?” Tobias asked.

  “No,” I replied instantly.

  Tobias wouldn’t be deterred. He leaned back in his chair and fixed the cufflinks, as if he had all the time in the world. Even though he was in his early seventies, with a bald spot, wrinkles cornering his eyes and lips, he wasn’t to be underestima
ted; his mind was as sharp as a whip.

  “This would be a perfect job for you,” he said.

  Maybe a long, long time ago. If I’d been asked the very same question ten years ago, then my answer would’ve been a resounding yes. But a lot can happen in ten years. Success, dreams, and hope can abandon you, reminding you that those three together have a very short shelf life. When they leave, they tear you in two, taking one half and letting you keep the other.

  With my fingers steepled together, I thought over my words carefully. “Again, I’m going to have to say no.”

  Tobias frowned. His laser sharp focus never drifted away from me. “I should give you some time to think about this.” Thanks to his German accent, everything that came out of his mouth sounded harsh, like a demand.

  “I don’t need time. The answer is no.”

  Before he could say another word, I quickly spoke up. “I came here because you’re close friends with my grandparents and that’s it.” I stood up and dropped my napkin onto the table. “There’s nothing to think about. I have to get back to work.”

  “Do you love your job?”

  I snorted as I reached for my wallet in my back pocket. “How many people in this world can say that they love their job?”

  “Not enough,” Tobias replied. “But I’m giving you that opportunity. You can’t tell me that working in the agriculture industry is your passion.”

  “It pays the bills,” I bit out and tossed a fifty on the table.

  Tobias just smirked.

  “Get your granddaughter a professional instructor.”

  “She’s had professionals.”

  “If they can’t make something out of her, what makes you think I can?”

  “She already is something. But she can be better. If she had the right instructor she would be something this world hasn’t seen in a very long time. I want her to have a following so large that she plays in sold out venues.”

  “All I’m hearing is what you want. Not what she wants.”

  “I assure you, she wants the same thing. So will you please sit down and listen to what I have to say?”

  I didn’t move. Silverware scraped against plates and the hushed murmur of voices was all around us. Tobias had picked out the restaurant, an opulent place where the lights remained dim and the curtains were pulled back to let in natural light. Tables were covered in white, wrinkle-free tablecloths. I had to meet a client in fifteen minutes. In fact, I was running late.

  Yet, I sat back down.

  “I’m giving you the chance to live out your dream,” he said.

  Fuck.

  My eyes closed. He had me by my throat. Tobias found the one single thing that could capture my attention.

  “You never got your chance to have that final performance and so here’s your chance. You miss playing, don’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “So teach Katja everything you know. Everything that you wish you could’ve done. Re-correct her mistakes and sharpen her strengths.”

  I had to admit, his words painted an alluring picture.

  “I know you have the passion for this.”

  It had been years since I’d sat behind a piano and played. Years since I’d stared at the ivory keys. Years since I’d heard the first few notes ring out.

  Years since I’d been myself.

  That very reason prompted me to ask the next question. “How long has she been playing?”

  A satisfied look flitted across Tobias’ face. “Since she was a child.”

  That was something, but not enough for me.

  “She needs that push,” Tobias elaborated. “Katja needs someone to drive her past her limit and really test her talents.”

  “And you think I’m the one that can push her limits?”

  “You’re a Sloan,” he said, as if it explained everything.

  Not even fifteen minutes ago, I was absolutely certain my answer would be no. But now I was starting to doubt myself. I let his words sink in. They played with my mind, and soon I started to toy with the idea of uprooting my life to go all the way to Germany, just to be a piano instructor.

  Insanity. Yet I stayed.

  “When do you expect me to be there?”

  “In two months—which gives you plenty of time to pack, give notice to work.”

  Clearly he’d thought this through. And it became clearer by the second that I hadn’t, because the very idea of leaving everything I knew didn’t sound scary.

  It sounded … nice. A breath of fresh air.

  “How long would I be there?”

  “Six months.”

  I lifted a brow.

  “This year the Reisenauer showcase will be hosted in Munich in December at the Cuvilliés-Theatre. Katja was selected, among other top pianists, to compete. She needs to stand out above everyone else.”

  “What’s first place?”

  “€ 30 000.”

  My brows rose. Not bad at all.

  “This could be her ticket to something great,” Tobias said after a beat.

  “If I agree to this,” I started out slowly, “you would have to pay. A lot. I’m not uprooting my life for nothing.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Tobias muttered in Bavarian.

  He pulled out a small, white sheet of paper. I watched as he quickly wrote down some numbers and slid the paper across the table. I looked down at the amount.

  “Not enough.”

  I slid the paper back.

  A string of curse words escaped his mouth. Tobias crossed out the first offer and wrote down another, folded the piece of paper back up, and handed it to me.

  This had the amount I was thinking.

  I nodded and pocketed the paper.

  “What’s your granddaughter’s name again?”

  Tobias’ eyes narrowed, as though I had insulted him. “Katja Schwartz. You met her when you were a child.”

  I could count the times I’d visited my grandparents with one hand, the last visit being almost seven years ago. In all of my memories of Germany, not once was there a Katja.

  I shrugged.

  “How old is she?”

  Tobias hesitated. “She’s nineteen.”

  It could be worse. I could be teaching a twelve-year-old, or someone younger. But even at nineteen you’re still growing—ever changing and discovering who you are. Who was to say that when she was my age, she’d still want to play professionally?

  My thoughts must’ve been written into my features; Tobias narrowed his eyes.

  “And you have an issue with that?” he asked.

  I leaned forward in my seat. “I don’t, if you don’t. But I’m telling you now. She has to take this seriously. I’m not a babysitter, Tobias.”

  “I’m glad you see it that way,” he replied stiffly.

  There seemed to be nothing else left to say, so I scooted back my chair and stood. Tobias held up a hand. “There’s one more thing.”

  He glanced around the room, as though people were listening in on our conversation. “Your relationship with Katja is to stay professional.”

  It was impossible for me to not smile. “She’s nineteen,” I laughed out. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

  Tobias didn’t smile back. His blue eyes turned to ice.

  My smile disappeared. “I’m twenty-six. What do you think I’m going to do?”

  “What men do best,” he muttered before he slipped back to Bavarian.

  But I understood his words perfectly: You would ruin her.

  I didn’t reply; the very idea that I would go for his granddaughter was repugnant. I didn’t have to see her to know that.

  “Do we have an agreement?” he asked.

  I shook his hand. “We have an agreement.”

  Tobias gave me a firm handshake and stood from his chair.

  Before he could walk away, I said one last thing. “Just so we’re clear. You tell her nothing about my past. Okay?”

  Tobias frowned, and for a sec
ond I thought he was going to disagree, but he finally nodded. I knew that he’d keep his word.

  “I’ll be in touch with your itinerary in a few weeks.” He stood and gave me an approving nod. “You’re not going to regret this, Mathias.”

  As I watched him walk away, the words replayed in my mind: You would ruin her.

  What in the hell did I just agree to?

  M A T H I A S

  MAY 2011

  Three flights, one four-hour layover in Heathrow later, and I was finally in Germany.

  My eyes were heavy as I waited with the rest of the tired passengers for my bags. As I stood there, I questioned myself for the umpteenth time about my decision. Even now, I couldn’t explain what made me say yes.

  It was spontaneous. Abrupt.

  Nobody was more surprised than my family. My dad and stepmom, Jayni, both stared at me as if I’d grown a second head. My younger brothers, Thayer and Macsen thought it was some kind of joke.

  They all asked me if it was really worth dropping everything in the States.

  My answer was yes.

  To have the chance to teach what was once my passion was intoxicating.

  I reminded myself that I’d have my job waiting for me when I got back home, and then I’d never have the thinnest thread of what-ifs lingering in my head ever again.

  When I spotted my bags, I quickly snatched them off the carousel and left baggage claim, brushing past people of all races. English, German, Hangul. Their words, spoken in their own language, traveled behind me. Some people were like me, alone, with their rolling suitcases trailing behind them. But most people were greeted with hugs and smiling faces.

  It didn’t bother me; all I could focus on was getting to Garmisch. I stopped by the car rental business situated right next to the exits. My German was good on most days. But, with no sleep? It was fucking awful. I was barely able to communicate with the lady behind the front desk. She ended up calling Tobias, who had reserved the car. When she talked to him, she nodded and looked me up and down. My patience was waning. Fast. She asked for my international driver’s license. I showed her, and then she finally handed over the keys, and in broken English, welcomed me to Germany.

  The car was parked right outside the exit where cabs waited, the drivers standing together smoking and talking loudly in German. A bus drove by and exhausted people like myself lingered on the sidewalk, carrying their luggage or waiting for their ride. I tossed my bags into the back seat of the silver BMW and made my way to Munich. One word could describe driving on German roads: insanity. Cars weaved in and out of lanes. Horns honked. Construction work that had one lane closed. At stoplights I looked around. I knew I was home. I could feel it. It was a sense of belonging as I saw the bustle of people hurrying across the crosswalk, or when I looked at the modern, high-rise buildings mixed in with old architecture.