Shatter

by Lola Taylor

  If he didn’t know any better, he was starting to get the impression she didn’t like him, didn’t want him here, or maybe both. She was a hard girl to read. “Well, I was wondering if you could tell me what happened to Amy’s fiancé.”

  “Nice try.” Becca smiled tightly. “But I’ve sworn to carry that secret to my grave. Next question?”

  Damn. “Okay, well then, can you tell me about Nathan?”

  “That I can.” She took a sip of her water. “He was the drummer for her fiancé’s band before they split. He comes from old money. His family is pretty deeply rooted in politics and several big businesses. Needless to say, they have a lot of power, so he’s used to getting his way. Guess that’s what made him such a dick.”

  “Do you know why he’s so angry with Amy?”

  Becca sighed. “He blames her for what happened,” she said carefully. “Not her fiancé’s death as much as the demise of the band. He thinks she ruined his career, but in reality, he’d already been doing that himself by being verbally abusive, irritable, and unreliable. Half the time he didn’t show up to rehearsals, and if he did, he was so drunk he could barely play. And when Nathan gets drunk, he gets angrier. The guy has rage problems.” She speared more salad. “He’s a bit of a narcissist. Gets it from his father, who’s the same way, or so I hear from the women who have dated him. He never accepts responsibility for his actions, but always looks to blame someone else.”

  “Sounds like a great guy.”

  Becca’s eyes turned frigid. “He’s an asshole. I’ll never forgive him for what he did to Amy.”

  “She has a restraining order on him, right?”

  Becca nodded. “Supposedly, he’s been behaving.” She frowned. “Until now.”

  “I wonder what made him decide to bother her all of a sudden.”

  “That was probably because he couldn’t find her until now.” She promptly snapped her mouth shut.

  Oh, no, you don’t. She couldn’t dangle that carrot in front of him and not expect him to go for it. “What do you mean?”

  “I…I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “But you did.” And needless to say, I’m not letting this go.

  Becca tapped her foot, staring at what was left of her salad. She took a deep breath. “After her fiancé died, Amy wanted to forget. To start over. Part of it was her therapist’s idea. She changed her name, changed her whole identity. She literally vanished.”

  “So, Nathan didn’t know who to look for.” The fact he could have been trying to hunt her down this whole time bothered him. What’s more, why did Amy feel the need to go to all that trouble? What was Becca not telling him?

  Just when he was about to ask, Becca sighed deeply. “Ames has been through so much.” She stared at all the pictures on the wall. “She really just needs to find someone nice to take care of her, to love her the way she deserves to be loved. A person can only stand so much hatred before it warps them.”

  Wasn’t that the stone-cold truth? He looked again at the wall. “You and Amy must be really close. You have a lot of pictures of her.”

  Becca stared at the wall awhile before she answered. “She’s my family.” She smiled.

  “You don’t have anyone else? Grandparents? Aunts, uncles?”

  She shrugged. “My mom’s family disowned her when she married my dad. They said he was no good for her. He didn’t come from a very nice background. Both of them were only children.” She clucked her tongue. “So, no. There’s no one else. My mom died, and my dad’s not around either. It’s just me and my little brother.” She looked at the wall again; her eyes softened. “And Amy.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your parents,” he said gently.

  “Don’t be. Even when Mom was alive and Dad was out of jail, they were never around. Mom was too busy with her painting career, which was starting to take off. She got really popular right before she was killed in a skiing accident, leaving me a bunch of money. So it worked out, I guess.”

  Scott didn’t know what to say. Who said shit like, “My mom dying worked out, I guess”?

  He stared at the picture of her family. They looked happy, normal even.

  So why weren’t there more pictures of them?

  Becca cleared her throat as she stood and stepped in his line of vision, her arms crossed. She made a point of glancing at her watch. “I’m sorry to be a drag, but I have to kick you out soon. My lunch break’s almost over, and I have to be getting back to the office. Traffic is a bitch during lunch hour.”

  “Tell me about it.” He rose and went toward the door. “And don’t worry about it. I appreciate you having me over at all.”

  Becca followed him to the door and opened it for him. He paused on the threshold. “Look, I know you’re her best friend, and you feel obligated to keep her secret. I get that it’s not yours to tell. But I’m telling you, I’m falling in love with this woman, and I want to do anything I can to protect her. So, if you know anything at all that will help me help her, please tell me.”

  Becca pressed her lips together as she studied him. “You’re not joking, are you?”

  “No,” he said firmly.

  She scrutinized him a few seconds longer. With a resigned sigh, she said, “January 14th, 2013. Michael Lewis.” She shrugged. “There. Now I won’t be lying to Amy when I tell her I didn’t tell you what happened.”

  “Thank you.” Scott nodded. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you helping me.”

  Becca smiled sadly. “I think I kind of do.”

  He didn’t linger after that. Becca had to get back to work, and so did he. Parting ways, he walked toward his car, deep in thought.

  Something nagged him at the back of his head. Michael Lewis, Michael Lewis. Why does that name sound so familiar?

  He turned the corner, not really paying attention to where he was going. A teenager in a Metallica hoodie slammed into him. His hood fell back, exposing dyed black hair and a swollen eye of nearly the same color. His lips were uneven, probably due to the fierce cut that parted his bottom lip down the middle.

  “Hey, why don’t you—” The teen stopped abruptly and stared at Scott’s face. His eyes slowly widened as he took in the small lion head symbol tattooed right below Scott’s left ear. “Oh my God, it’s really you! You’re Scott the Lion Meyers!”

  Scott’s gasp gave it away. No one had called him that in years; it was a name he’d purposely avoided in order for it to be forgotten.

  The teen looked like a kid at Christmas. He smiled so widely that the cut on his lip broke open. “Man, you’re like a legend around the circuit. You’re the whole reason I got into fighting, man, like, my frickin’ inspiration!”

  Scott tensed. “If I’m your inspiration, then you need some serious help, kid.”

  “No, really, you’re my hero. You’re a motherfucking badass! No one was able to beat you. Oh my God, wait until Ghost hears about this. He’s been saying how he’s going to get you back in the circuit—”

  Scott grabbed hold of the kid’s shirt and slammed him up against the side of the building. “If you breathe a word of my name to Ghost, I’ll hunt you down. Do you understand me?”

  The kid still stared at him like he was a god. “Oh, man. No one is going to believe me.” He reached into his hoodie pocket, pulled out a phone, and held it up to Scott’s face. Scott grabbed it just as the flash went off.

  “Hey!” the kid said indignantly.

  “Where is it, where is it,” Scott muttered. He quickly skimmed through the photos. The picture was blurry, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Deleting it, he tossed the phone back to the kid.

  “What the frick, man!” the boy yelled, examining his phone. “What’s your problem?”

  “Forget you ever saw me,” Scott growled as he walked past him as quickly as he could. “And get the hell out of the circuit!” he called over his shoulder.

  He didn’t look back to see whether the kid followed him. His agitation, not to mention paranoia
that Ghost was going to pop out of a shadow and grab him, made him anxious.

  It wasn’t as if he had any reason to be. He didn’t fight for money anymore. He’d survived the circuit, had clawed his way out of that shadowy world of deceit through sweat and blood. Sure, he could probably have paid off his debt faster by fighting, but that would only tangle him up further with Ghost.

  In the circuit, you never worked for yourself. You were always another cog in Ghost’s money-making machine.

  No, Scott was through with that shit for good. No way in hell would he be dragged into that drug-hazed hell again.

  He couldn’t do that to Amy. He wouldn’t.

  He knew if he had any chance at holding on to her, he had to become the kind of man she deserved.

  Walk the line. Play it straight.

  And pray to God nothing else happened to screw things up.

  AS PREDICTED, SCOTT didn’t see much of Amy for the rest of the week. As the gala approached, she withdrew into her “artist cave.” There was no telling how many brain cells she’d killed from inhaling paint fumes.

  Every night, she came over and talked about her work. Scott let her, not having the heart or the time to do any more digging on the significance of January 14, 2013 or Michael Lewis. She’d rarely been completely happy these past few weeks, so he didn’t want to do anything to kill it. He enjoyed the sparkle to her eyes and the fire in her voice as she chattered endlessly about the various techniques she’d employed in each piece, showing him painting after exquisite painting in her apartment.

  There was no mention of Nathan or anything else related to what had happened to her. Scott was so thankful to have things back to normal, not to see fear in her eyes when she looked at him, that he’d dropped the subject of her attacker altogether, though he hadn’t stopped keeping an eye out for the creep. Crazy stalkers aside, Amy seemed stressed out enough as it was, what with the impending gala.

  Not that she had anything to worry about. At the event, everyone bragged about her work. It was held at the downtown art museum, a massive three-story structure filled with every kind of artwork imaginable. The main exhibit, which rotated visiting artists every month, was completely booked for her. Her mom had helped arrange the venue; apparently, she knew the curator.

  Scott felt a little underdressed among the high-fashion elite who attended.

  Amy catered to high-class clientele with her modern, and slightly tragic, pieces. Scott knew she got the bulk of her income off her prints, but she did pricey commissions, too. Overall, she was doing very well, and was starting to make a name for herself after a rather lengthy hiatus.

  He didn’t need to ask to know why she had stopped painting. His sweet Amy was stronger than she realized. It hurt him to know what she’d lost, which made her comeback all the more miraculous. Once darkness like that touched people’s lives, they sometimes couldn’t dig their way back to the light.

  His chest swelled with pride as he watched her chat up the large crowd that had attended the gala. She looked beautiful, wearing a lavender gown that complemented her fair skin and hair. Her eyes sparkled with happiness, and her smile was the brightest he’d seen in a while.

  The punch bowl, appropriately labeled since it could knock the breath from you it was so stout, had become his best friend throughout the night. Nothing helped him tolerate a crowd of rich snobs like cheap spiked Kool-Aid.

  He sipped his glass as he looked around, body slightly tensed from being on the alert for any prowlers—aka Nathan.

  Soft lips pressed against his cheek, and he grinned as Amy threaded her arms through his. “Enjoying yourself?”

  “Oh, yeah. Lots.”

  She snorted. “Very convincing.”

  “Hey, as long as you’re having fun, I’d tolerate anything for you.”

  Amy’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Including buying tampons for me, if I really needed them?”

  “You want regular, super, or shark bait?”

  She laughed and shoved him. The warmth and admiration shining in her eyes as she gazed at him made his heart flutter. Had it ever done that with Erika? Hell, had it ever done that with anyone?

  “There you are!”

  They both turned as Becca, wearing a sleek black gown and diamond jewelry, waltzed over to them and wrapped Amy up in a big hug. “I’m so proud of you,” she gushed, rubbing her back as they embraced. “Your mother would be, too, if she could come.”

  Amy smiled as they parted. “Thanks, Becca. It means the world to me you came.”

  “Of course.” Becca touched her arm and squeezed. Her eyes, glowing with admiration, flitted over to Scott and immediately cooled. The corners of her mouth seemed to tighten. “Scott,” she said with a curt nod.

  His brows rose. “Hi, Becca,” he said warily.

  She looked at him from head to toe, as if sizing him up, and then she turned her back to him and engaged Amy in conversation.

  What the hell? Having pursued plenty of women, he could tell when a woman didn’t like him. And with Becca, it was written all over her face. Or rather, in the way she clearly cut him out of the conversation with her body language.

  Was it something he said at her apartment? Was she angry with him for prying for details about Amy’s past?

  He heard Becca say, “You have to show me your paintings!” right before she looped her arm through Amy’s and tugged her away. If that wasn’t a “fuck you” to him, he didn’t know what was. She might as well have extended the middle finger.

  Odd.

  After he knocked back the rest of his punch, he opted for water instead, wanting to sober up before the drive after the gala. They had less than an hour left before the museum closed, but it didn’t look as though the crowd was thinning. If anything, the room seemed more packed.

  All the better for Amy. He didn’t know shit about art, but he figured the more people present, the more money she could make.

  His eyes followed Amy and Becca throughout the room. Becca never took her eyes off Amy, laughing and smiling at anything she said. The way she waved her hands, he could just imagine the praise rolling off her tongue.

  His lips pursed as he casually switched positions in the room, affording him a better view of the pair. They were just about to move on to the next painting when Becca stopped Amy and smoothed out a wrinkle that had gotten snagged on the zipper in the back of Amy’s gown. Amy thanked her, standing still so Becca could fix the fabric. Once freed, her hand lingered at the small of Amy’s back.

  Almost like a lover’s would.

  Scott stared at Becca. The adoring gazes, the thick praise, the casual caresses…

  He retraced his steps in his mind from earlier in the week, remembering the wall of framed photographs in Becca’s apartment. Most of the photos had been of Amy, which he’d thought strange, but now…

  “Oh shit,” he breathed.

  Amy’s best friend was in love with her.

  The chilled gazes thrown his way suddenly made sense, though it was a one-eighty from how she’d acted when he was at her place. She’d at least been friendly to him. Plus, didn’t Amy say Becca had always dated men, though she’d never really settled down with any? Maybe Becca was uncomfortable with her feelings for Amy and wasn’t ready to spill how she’d felt yet until she’d figured things out. He had a few gay and lesbian friends. Some of them had great parents who encouraged them to be themselves, while others not so much. Their parents either scorned them or tried forcing their will on them, telling them how to feel about their sexuality.

  What kind of mother had Becca had? Had she been abused? Is that why she only had one family photo and had made that strange comment about it “working out” that her mother had died?

  He suddenly felt sorry for Becca, despite her curt demeanor toward him. Shitty parenting was something he could relate to.

  Sighing in resignation, he tore his eyes off his Amy and continued to watch the doors and survey the crowd for Nathan. He kept constant vigil the remainder of
the last hour, but the guy never showed. Not even the tingling sensation of being watched bothered him.

  Before long, the museum started to close. They had to usher people out because they wanted to chat up Amy, including Becca. She gave Amy one last hug before she left, not bothering to cast Scott even a cursory glance.

  He watched her go with a sad smile. Sorry, sweetheart, but I think you’re fighting a losing battle. Far as he knew, Amy didn’t go for women, or at least, she hadn’t said as much. Not that he’d minded if she did. He didn’t care what her sexual preferences were. All that mattered was that she was in his life now, and he had no intentions of disappointing her.

  Amy at last thanked the curator and staff before they left. She seemed pleased. “I’m beat,” Amy said as they walked to his car. She had her head leaning against his shoulder, with her arm draped through his.

  “I bet. Rock star. Who knew you were so famous?”

  She winced.

  His eyes immediately narrowed in concern. “Did I say something wrong?”

  She quickly shook her head and smiled, but he could tell it was to hide what was bothering her. “No. You’re perfect.”

  “Speaking of perfect,” he said as they got in his car. “I have a surprise for you.”

  She raised a brow as she buckled her seat belt. “Oh?”

  He nodded. “I have a confession to make—we’re not going home.”

  She blinked. “We’re not?”

  “Nope. We’re going on a weekend getaway.” He looped his fingers through hers and kissed the back of her hand. “Just the two of us.”

  Her eyes warmed for a few seconds before they turned glum again. “That sounds wonderful…but what about Nathan?”

  “Already ahead of you. Trust me, where we’re going, he won’t be able to find us.”

  Amy softly smiled but didn’t say anything.

  She didn’t believe him. Of course she didn’t, and he couldn’t blame her. If he’d been stalked by someone, going so far as to change his name and whole identity, and they still found him, then he’d be a little skeptical as well.