Pieces (The Breakaway #2)

by Michelle Davidson Argyle

  Pieces

  A Breakaway Novel

  Michelle Davidson Argyle

  Rhemalda Publishing

  “Pieces will take you on an intense, emotional ride ... truly the mark of a great piece of fiction.”

  —Zoe Winters, author of Dark Mercy

  “Just as compelling as book one, this is a series readers won’t be able to put down!”

  —Haley Hagen, book reviewer at YA-Aholic

  “Pieces had me enthralled as I went on my final journey with Naomi, watching as she made her own journey to try to put her life together.”

  —Jodie Lane, book reviewer at Books for Company

  Other works by Michelle Davidson Argyle:

  Monarch

  2011

  The Breakaway

  2012

  Bonded

  2012

  Published by Rhemalda Publishing

  P.O. Box 1790

  Moses Lake, WA 98837

  http://www.rhemalda.com

  Pieces

  Copyright © 2012 Michelle Davidson Argyle

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by Diane Dalton

  Cover art by Melissa Williams

  http://mwcoverdesign.blogspot.com/

  Author photo by Meg Hall Photography http://meghallphotography.blogspot.com/

  ISBN: 978-1-936850-85-3 (Paperback) 978-1-936850-86-0 (ePUB)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2012955340

  Visit author Michelle Davidson Argyle at

  http://www.michelledavidsonargyle.com

  QED stands for Quality, Excellence and Design. The QED seal of approval shown here verifies that this eBook has passed a rigorous quality assurance process and will render well in most eBook reading platforms.

  For more information please click here.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  PIECES IS the story I’ve had in my head since the day I finished The Breakaway. I always had an idea of what Naomi would do after she escaped her kidnappers, but I wasn’t sure anybody really wanted to read about it. To me, it was a story involving college and other boyfriends—far from as exciting as a kidnapping. After The Breakaway’s publication, however, I quickly discovered how much readers were dying to know what happened. Their passionate response to the book helped me break my promise never to write a sequel or companion novel for The Breakaway. I started planning Pieces and realized how important this story is in the completion of Naomi’s character arc. Thank you, readers, for your emails and messages about wanting a sequel. If it weren’t for you, Pieces would never have made it out of my head and onto paper.

  I also want to thank my publishers, Rhett and Emmaline Hoffmeister, and my editor, Diane, for taking on Pieces in such a small timeframe. Not only have you encouraged me to write what is close to my heart, but you are always there to cheer me on when things get hard.

  Thank you to every reader who has ever sent me a message of encouragement about my writing. Your words and opinions are cherished.

  Also, a big thank you to my husband, Adam, for all of your support. You make me whole. I love you!

  To Olivia and Jessica

  for cheering Naomi on from the beginning

  Contents

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  XIII

  XIV

  XV

  XVI

  XVII

  XVIII

  XIX

  XX

  XXI

  XXII

  XXIII

  XXIV

  XXV

  XXVI

  XXVII

  About the Author

  I

  April

  “WHO IS THAT WOMAN YOU KEEP DRAWING?”

  Naomi looked up from her sketchpad and smiled. On Wednesday mornings, Finn was the waiter at the Java Lounge café. He had surfer hair—thick, wavy brown locks swept across his forehead. It fell into his face whenever he looked down. Naomi wondered how he kept from running into the tables. Somehow, he never did.

  “Well?” Finn asked, leaning closer to look at her drawing.

  She slid her arm over the entire picture. She and Finn always talked when he brought out her order, but he had never asked her about her drawings before. It was new territory for their casual friendship. “She’s a character from a novel.”

  “Oh?” He leaned even closer, the carafe in his hands tipping dangerously close to her sketchpad. “Which novel? Is it one you’re writing?”

  She inched the sketchpad away from him. A smirk crossed her face. “You know I don’t write. It’s a scene from a favorite book, that’s all.”

  The smell of the coffee in the carafe was stronger than the regular smell of cinnamon rolls, flaky pastries, and whipped cream drifting through the Java Lounge in the mornings. The coffee was straight black. It reminded Naomi of waking up in the mornings at the house where she had been held captive for a year. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will the memory away. It was over. Over. But she could never get the house out of her head. Their house. Eric’s house. She didn’t know what to call it, even two years after her escape. They had made coffee every morning, so coffee would always remind her of them. She decided from now on she would call it the house and leave it at that.

  Finn tried to peek at the sketch. She decided it wouldn’t hurt to show it to him, and lifted her arm from the paper, allowing him a good view. It was the beginning outlines of a woman walking into the ocean.

  “You’re really good,” he said in a voice filled with awe. He straightened, but stayed rooted to his spot. “Why are you choosing film instead of art as your major?”

  She laughed. “You don’t think film is a form of art?”

  “Of course it is! I’m just looking at your sketch. It’s so good.”

  She looked at the sketch, beaming. The reason she came to the Java Lounge was because it was a place where people left her alone. That was, until she met Finn. She liked the way he was genuinely interested in speaking with her, but she was surprised at how great it felt when he complimented her art.

  “Thanks,” she said after an awkward pause. “Film seems more practical, that’s all. It combines a lot of different art mediums I love.”

  He nodded slowly, as if he had to chew on her words for a bit. He had a dimple in his left cheek that made him look lopsided in an endearing sort of way, and a wicked-looking yin and yang tattoo on his left bicep. It was partially hidden by his T-shirt sleeve, but the longer Naomi looked at the tattoo, the more she realized Finn’s skin was the sweet color of caramel.

  “Did you apply to any art or film schools?” he asked. “There’s one in California—USC. It’s supposed to be really great. I have a few friends going there.”

  She tried not to shudder at the mention of California. Jesse was in California, in federal prison. She would wait for him to get out—that was her promise to herself. Five years was his total sentence. It was a short amount of time for what he had actually done, thanks to his plea bargain and obvious desire to change. The others hadn’t been so cooperative. Eric, Evelyn, and Steve had received much longer sentences, between fifteen and twenty-five years. Naomi had no trouble thinking of them as kidnappers and thieves, but Jesse was different. He had set her free. The first two years of his sentence had been torture for her, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get through the rest.

  Finn wa
s watching her, waiting for an answer to his question.

  Her mouth dropping open a little, she leaned away. “No, I was thinking about Berkeley at one point, but Harvard just ... happened. The program here isn’t bad.” Her voice was beginning to sound edgy and defensive. She shut her mouth before she said anything stupid.

  Finn shrugged. “Well, Harvard is great no matter what you do.” He looked at the sketch again. “So why is she walking into the ocean?”

  She frowned. “I know it looks like she’s trying to drown herself, but I keep trying to fix it so she doesn’t look like that. In the book, she dies.”

  Finn was quiet. His blue eyes were focused on the sketch and Naomi wondered what kind of judgments were forming in his head.

  “So you want to change the end of the book?” he asked.

  “I want to draw her happier, that’s all. I haven’t managed it so far, but I’ll get there.”

  He nodded, looking confused, until a man called out to him a few tables down. He was lifting his coffee cup for a refill.

  “Be right back,” Finn said, and hurried off.

  Sorry he was gone, Naomi picked up her pencil to begin drawing again. She felt a hot blush creep up her cheeks as she noticed her racing pulse. Finn always made her feel this way when he talked to her. Falling for him was not what she had planned when she had decided to open herself up to a harmless friendship. She needed to get through the next three years without attaching her heart to anyone. She wanted Jesse and nobody else. But perhaps a friend wasn’t so bad ... as long as she kept her distance.

  When Finn returned, she looked up to see his expression set firmly with determination.

  “So, we’ve been friends for a while,” he said, swallowing. “I mean, you know, every Wednesday when you come in. I mean ....” He winced and started over. “If you aren’t busy some night, would you want to get together for a drink or something?” He held up his free hand. “Just as friends if you want.”

  She opened her mouth. She really enjoyed his company, but he didn’t know about Jesse. She wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “I can’t drink yet, legally,” she said, and inwardly cringed at using the dumbest excuse she could possibly think of to get out of a date, even if he wasn’t going to call it a date. “I don’t turn twenty-one until May.”

  “Beginning or end?”

  “Beginning.”

  “That’s in two weeks. Close enough. We can meet at my place so nobody asks for ID. I live off-campus.”

  She laughed. “You think I’m going to fall for that?”

  Pulling a sarcastic expression, he replied, “Are you really that staunch about the legal age limit?”

  “I didn’t used to be.” She looked away and rolled her pencil back and forth across her drawing. This was why she usually avoided talking to people. She should have known her friendly conversations with Finn would eventually lead to her past. Everything stemmed back to the kidnapping, to the one thing she couldn’t mention. Ever. It was as if the center of her life was that single year of being held captive, a force as strong as gravity, constantly pulling her back to the memories, the emotions, the house, the smells, the food. Even now, the coffee from the carafe, the way Finn stood over her like Jesse always had, waiting for her to give in, made her palms sweat. He was the kind of guy she might have been drawn to if Jesse had never happened. Her counselor’s words repeated in her head. Don’t be afraid to let your past and present come together to create something new. Don’t be afraid ....

  But she didn’t want her past and present to come together. She didn’t want to date Finn, even if he did have gorgeous eyes and skin and a wicked tattoo. Oh, hell, who was she kidding?

  “I’m sorry,” she said with an apologetic glance at him. “I can’t date anyone right now.”

  Finn shrugged. Naomi expected disappointment to fill his eyes, but he seemed fine. In fact, he seemed pleased. He was probably the kind of guy who loved the chase. “Alright, as long as we can still be friends.”

  “Of course!” The last thing she wanted to do was lose him. The truth was he was her only friend outside of Jesse. The only other person she could possibly consider a friend was her housemate, and that was pushing the definition. Becca was studying law. Since she was rarely home, they hardly ever had meaningful conversations.

  “Good thing, then.” Finn gave her a warm smile and left to refill somebody else’s coffee cup.

  Naomi picked up her pencil and continued drawing. After a moment, she snuck a glance at Finn. He was a nice guy. He didn’t steal jewelry. He didn’t kidnap people. He turned around, catching her gaze. A smile spread across his face as he passed by. When he was gone, her shoulders slumped. He really was great, but at the same time, it was sad how low she had set the bar for “nice guy”.

  II

  May

  CLASSES WERE ENDING SOON. NAOMI SPENT as much time as she could at the library, studying for exams. She skipped going to the café two Wednesdays in a row, knowing if she saw Finn again she would give in to meeting him for a drink or a movie or hanging out. Something other than their happy conversations while she ate her almond cake and drank her iced tea. On the third Wednesday, her birthday, she woke up and stared at the clock. Eight-thirty. Sunlight filtered through the half-closed blinds, falling across her nightstand where her phone sat covered in a thin layer of dust from the past few days. She hardly ever took the phone with her. She never called anyone and nobody called her, except for her mother.

  “How are your classes, honey? Are you meeting nice people? Have you met with your counselor this month?”

  As much as she had grown to love her mother recently, their relationship still felt awkward, a child learning how to walk, always falling and skinning its knee. The awkwardness wasn’t a problem as far as Naomi was concerned. At least she knew her mother loved her now. At least they could talk to each other.

  She picked up her phone and brushed off the dust as she thought about the dimple in Finn’s cheek. Then she thought about Jesse and his red hair and all his freckles. He was so not her type, but her heart beat faster every time she thought about him. She wanted him to hold her. She wanted to belong to him. He was strong and knew what he wanted—to change for the better. He had turned himself in after setting her free, and that was no small matter. She didn’t know anything about Finn. Compared to Jesse, he was probably boring.

  But even boring sounded good right now. It was her birthday and nobody cared. Jesse cared, of course, but there was nothing he could do sitting in a cell. He wasn’t even allowed to send her a card or letter. Her mother might call her later. Becca might bring home a cupcake or something, if she remembered. Last year they had stayed up all night watching old 1980’s sitcoms and eating French silk pie from the Java Lounge. That was because Naomi had told Becca it was her birthday. This year, she didn’t feel like reminding anyone.

  She remembered her birthday with her kidnappers. Jesse had given her an iPod. That was the same night Eric and Evelyn’s father had died in prison of a heart attack. That was the night she had started falling in love with Jesse. She recounted the kidnapping events to her counselor, a woman named Stacy Richards, every third Friday of the month. When she talked about the memories, they sounded ridiculous.

  “Your situation was not normal,” Stacy said the last time they had met. “Most kidnap victims are physically abused. These people wanted to ... adopt you, in a way.”

  “They wanted to keep my mouth shut,” Naomi answered, annoyed that Stacy was confused. She wasn’t supposed to be confused. She was her counselor. She was supposed to know everything.

  “Oh, I understand that, Naomi. In fact, I think it’s excellent progress that you answered my comment in such a way. It shows you’re understanding the situation for what it was.”

  But no matter how much Naomi spilled her fears and thoughts to Stacy, it never felt real. So many counseling sessions over two years. Everyone wanted to fix her, but she wasn’t sure she was even broken.


  She brushed off the last of the dust from her phone and stared at the date glowing on the screen. Her birthday. Twenty-one. She was no longer in the awkward teen years and no longer in the limbo age of twenty. A serious adult now. Adults felt alive and important, and whether Jesse was here or not, she needed to feel alive, to share her feelings with someone outside of Stacy. She needed a friend. Someone. Anyone. Her life had become—or maybe it always had been—pathetic and lonely. The only time she had ever felt otherwise was with Jesse, and all he was at the moment was a memory.

  Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she looked at her backpack stuffed with books and papers. To hell with all of it. Her class started in an hour, but for the first time in two years she didn’t want to go sit in a classroom. She wanted to go to the café to see Finn.

  “GOOD MORNING,” Finn said after she sat down and pulled out her sketchbook. Her heart pounding, she looked up and stammered, “Almond cake and—”

  “Iced tea, of course,” he finished for her. Today he wore a faded blue T-shirt and a pair of jeans ripped on the left knee. Somehow, this worked with his personality and the surfer hair. She had asked him at one point if he surfed, and he had laughed. “Only once, but the water was freezing, even with a wetsuit. Not sure I’m a fan.”

  He was smiling at her. “Anything else you want to order?”

  She kept her attention on his eyes, avoiding the coffee carafe in his hands. She wouldn’t let her memories ruin what she wanted right now. She suddenly wondered if her two-week absence had lessened Finn’s attraction to her, but as quickly as she asked herself the question, she noticed a sparkle in his eyes that put her both at ease and on edge. What a fine line this was. She valued his friendship, but keeping it on the friend level was going to be difficult.

  “No,” she said, trying to smile.

  She looked at her phone sitting next to her sketchpad. If her mother called about her birthday, she didn’t want to miss it. She wasn’t sure if that was incredibly sentimental or incredibly naive for someone turning twenty-one.