Shatter

by Lola Taylor

  “I’m serious.” He held up a hand, stopping Scott from interrupting. “Think about it, man. You’re gonna wreck this girl’s life. If you really love her like I think you do, you’ll let her go.”

  Then he left, leaving Scott sitting there with what felt like a block of ice in his chest.

  After Becca hung up, Amy stared at her phone for a good long minute. Becca never hung up on her. Ever.

  Has the whole damn world gone crazy?

  After Nathan left, she couldn’t go back to sleep. Hell, she’d grabbed a butcher knife and sat on her couch, facing the door, waiting for someone to break in, but it never happened.

  Still, the knife had remained glued to her hand.

  Eventually, her restlessness and anxiety had won out, and she’d begun to pace. Just what the hell was she going to do? Nathan had made a clear threat on Scott’s life. But he hadn’t on Becca’s…

  Nuh-uh. No way could she get her friend involved with that psychotic son of a bitch. She had to figure out a way to solve this problem on her own. She stopped in the middle of her living room, knife in hand as she thought.

  The thing about running is that you eventually grow tired of it. She thought she wouldn’t, that running was the safest thing she could possibly do. There was a certain comfort in it. Now that she had something worth fighting for—Scott, her life, her future—she found she was so damned exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally.

  Did she really want to spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder all the time? Did she always want to live in fear of Nathan finding her and finishing what he started? What if she had kids? Would she be terrified sending them to school every day, afraid Nathan would abduct them to get to her?

  The more the wheels of her mind spun, the quicker her fear drained, replaced by burning anger.

  Nathan had taken so much from her over the years: her freedom, her love, her happiness.

  Thing is, she’d let him. Her therapist had said that she could only conquer her fears when she wasn’t afraid of them anymore. Amy had thought that sounded like a load of BS at the time, and she’d never really understood it.

  Until now.

  Sometimes fear faded on its own as you grew braver. And other times, like right now, you could only overcome fear when another emotion took its place.

  Anger.

  “That cocky prick.” Amy seethed, grabbing her phone and her purse. “I’ll show him.” She stomped to the door, not even really sure where she was going but knowing she couldn’t sit here any longer. “He won’t know what hit him.”

  She grabbed the knob, twisted, and flung the door open.

  Her determination dried right up as her eyes widened.

  A woman and a guy holding a camera stood right outside her door. The woman’s fist was poised, as if she’d been about to knock. She was dressed sharply, with a pencil skirt and blouse, cute round-toed pumps, and super curly hair. Her makeup was camera-perfect. A lanyard hung around her neck, from which dangled a badge that read Channel 8 KHTV Correspondent.

  A rock dropped to the pit of Amy’s stomach. No. No, no, how did they find me?

  The reporter blinked, recovering first. “Are you Miss Julia Gray?”

  A chill shot straight to her core, rendering her speechless. Her feet turned to lead.

  “Oh my God!” the reporter whispered to her cameraman. “It’s her! It’s actually her! We’re live in five, four…”

  “THREE, TWO, ONE.” The reporter pasted on a smile. “I’m Camille Braxton, live here with KHTV. Thanks to an anonymous tip, we’ve just located longtime missing fiancée of rising rock star Michael Stone. If you recall, two years ago she disappeared after the brutal murder of her intended. Julia, can you please tell us how you’re feeling now? What have you been doing?”

  “I…I…”

  A door opened, and a second later, a muscular arm slipped around Amy’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, but did I hear you call her ‘Julia’?” Scott’s eyes narrowed on the reporter.

  Her eyes roved Scott head to toe and then back up again, mouth agape. Blinking and shaking her head, she said, “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Well, you must be mistaken. Her name’s not Julia. Now, if you’ll please see yourselves out before I have to call security. This is a private building.”

  The reporter frowned. Scott stepped in front of Amy, crossing his arms, and gave the reporter a heavy look.

  Face turning red, she whirled on her heel and snapped, “Come on, Simon! Stupid story is a bust. Crazy tippers, giving us false information…” She prattled like an insolent child the whole way down the stairs and out the door, her poor cameraman following behind.

  Scott sighed and turned around. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” Amy breathed. Her voice trembled a little. “Now I am, thanks to you. I just…she surprised me.”

  He raised a brow. “Care to explain what’s going on? I thought I heard them call you the lead guitarist of Leviathan 5’s fiancée.”

  A sinking sensation started in her gut. No sense in hiding anymore. We’re moving forward, remember? Thing was, she didn’t really want to keep the past bottled up inside anymore. She was tired of carrying the burden of her pain all by herself. And she trusted Scott. He cared about her; she knew it in her gut. She needed to be fair with him and get all her baggage out in the open like he’d done with her.

  “Actually,” she said, voice low, “it’s not so crazy. Come inside. I’ll explain everything.”

  Amy sat beside Scott on her couch, twisting the bottom of her shirt into knots as she thought about what to say. They’d sat in silence for almost five minutes now, an untouched glass of white wine on the coffee table in front of her.

  Scott waited patiently for her to talk.

  Finally, she laughed, her stomach alight with butterflies. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

  He touched her hand and squeezed gently, smiling.

  That settled her nerves a bit, and she gave him a small smile back. She started with the first thing that popped into her head.

  “Some of it you already know, but I’ll go over it again anyway because I think it will… I don’t know, help me tell the story. Put all the pieces together a bit better, so to speak.” She cleared her throat. That wine was looking real tasty right about now. “I grew up in Upstate New York. Like I said during dinner, my dad is a lawyer and my mom is an artist. So is my sister. We’re all ‘artsy.’ Anyway”—she tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear—“their relationship ended in divorce. They never really got along. I can remember sitting up at night, listening to them arguing. He was always telling her to ‘get a normal job,’ since she worked at home as an artist. He never really got the whole freelancing thing. I think it made him nervous. He liked knowing exactly how much he was going to earn every month, exactly when that paycheck would come in, and exactly where every dollar was going. My mom tried a normal job for a few months and hated the rigidity. I think she grew to resent it after awhile.” She smiled sadly. “It was a complete one-eighty from how they were when I was really little. They were so in love. Then he got promoted, making partner, and he turned into a totally different person.”

  “You ever talk to him?” Scott asked quietly.

  Amy shrugged. “Sometimes. He sends a birthday card, and we talk at Christmas. But every time I said I was going to be in the neighborhood and was wondering if I could stop by, he always said he was busy.”

  Scott’s jaw ticked. “Well, it’s his loss then.”

  Amy didn’t know how to respond to that. “I never really knew him that well. Sometimes, I don’t think I ever will. I don’t think he wants to,” she said quietly. “He remarried and has a new family now.” Clearing her throat in the heavy silence, she went on. “After they separated, my mom moved us to another neighborhood and enrolled us in a school for the arts. The change in her, and our household, was like night and day. She seemed so much happier, so much freer. Granted, being scatterbrained, she often forgo
t to pay the bills if we didn’t remind her. There were some scary moments, but I can honestly say those were the happiest moments of my life up until then. Both my sister and I had shown a propensity for art. Our dad, fearing we would want to be artists like our mother, always discouraged it. He told us art was fine as a hobby but not as a profession. Mom wasn’t like that, though. She encouraged everything we did, and we really grew under her wings. By the time I graduated high school, I knew with all my heart I wanted to be an artist. So I went to college for it when the time came. There, I met Michael.”

  “Michael Stone? The Michael Stone?”

  “The one and the same. Though he was called Michael Lewis back then. ‘Michael Stone’ was suggested as a stage name by his record company because it sounded ‘sexier.’” She laughed and shook her head. “I never let him live that one down. Neither did his bandmates. He did, um, some extracurricular activities that earned him the nickname of ‘Michael Stoned.’”

  Scott nodded, still looking a bit dazed. “Yeah. The media talked about that.”

  Amy winced.

  Scott stilled, studying her. “What?”

  A knot formed in her throat, which made it difficult to swallow. “Sorry.” She shook her head, suddenly finding it difficult to put what she wanted to say into words. “It’s just, well, I, um, kind of have a love-hate relationship with the media. And by that I mean mostly hate.”

  Understanding and sympathy shone in his eyes. “Understandable. They didn’t take it easy on you.”

  “They never do. Not if it means getting a good story that will improve their sales or ratings.” Take a deep breath. Let it out. She inhaled slowly and sighed. “Michael and I eventually got engaged. The lead singer of Leviathan 5, Roxanne Duncan, wasn’t exactly thrilled about it. I mean, she was nice to my face, but I heard the gossip. About how she would be so much better suited to become the bride of a rock star, considering she was one herself. Michael was easily as popular as her in the fan polls, and they were both drop-dead gorgeous and super talented. It made sense. The prince and princess of rock.” Amy stared at her hands, feeling small again, just as she had every time some gossip columnist made fun of her “drabness” next to Roxanne’s perfect looks.

  “I thought I’d seen looks exchanged between them. I mean, I knew she liked him. That much was obvious, and she wasn’t very good at hiding it. But I guess some part of me was always in denial that he would betray me that way. But he did.”

  She hadn’t realized she’d begun to cry until a big fat tear plopped onto her hand. Scott didn’t move to hug her, as if sensing how breakable she was right now. Any further show of sympathy might push her over the edge. Steeling her heart, she forced herself to finish the story. “It happened during the band’s first world tour. Somehow, the news Roxanne was pregnant with Michael’s child—which turned out to be nothing more than a rumor—leaked onto a celebrity blog, and soon the whole Internet was buzzing with it. I was used to rumors, so I initially ignored it. It wasn’t until I saw the photo of them kissing that I started to think maybe there really was something going on. It took a damn Tweet to shake up my denial.” She laughed once and swatted at her eyes. “Of course, some part of me still thought it wasn’t true, that it was yet another Michael fangirl-troll looking to pile on more Julia hate. Like, maybe the photo was Photoshopped. But when I met up with him the night they got back, when I saw the look on his face and the guilt in his eyes, I knew. It hadn’t been a lie—our relationship had been.”

  She shuddered, remembering what happened next. “We got into a screaming match. I ran away, just like I always do when things get tough. He called me a million times, wanting to work things out. When I finally decided to go back over there that night, to face what had happened and see what the future held for us, I…I found him…”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Scott said quietly, touching her arm. “I know.”

  She smiled softly. “Nathan walked in as I was calling 9-1-1. His knife was there, covered in Michael’s blood. They both collected knives. Nathan swore at his trial that he didn’t do it, that he’d been set up. He said he’d given that knife to Michael as a birthday present, right before things went to shit for the band. He also had an alibi. Some girl he’d spent the night with corroborated his story. With no proof, and I’m sure a hefty sum from his family to pay off the judge, they had to let him go. They never caught the killer, and the case went cold.”

  “So Nathan’s family bought his freedom—and paid to keep the officials quiet,” Scott said tersely.

  Amy licked her suddenly dry lips. “I’m pretty sure they did, and the court just looked the other way as they took their bribe. Nathan’s father is pretty high up in politics. He was country club buddies with most of the judges, and several other prominent figures, in the community and around the country. You know, anyone who might come in handy someday. He knew freedom could be bought. With their wealth, no price is too steep.”

  “Jesus, Amy.” Scott shook his head in disbelief. “I’m sorry. I’m so damned sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You didn’t have anything to do with it.” She felt better. Drained, but somehow lighter for it. “And my name’s not Amy. Well, it is. It’s my middle name. My first name is Julia. Last name’s Gray. I took on my mother’s maiden name, Miles, when I changed my name and moved after school.”

  Scott stared at her with big, sad eyes. Taking her into a hug, he held her tight and caressed her hair. “What do you want me to call you?” he murmured.

  “Hmmm…” She hugged her arms around him and buried her face into his chest. She inhaled the smell of him, trying to memorize it.

  Who was she? When she’d taken her middle name, she’d vowed never to look back. “Julia” was tied with pain, suffering, and heartache. “Amy”…Amy’s story was still being written.

  She leaned back and gazed into his eyes. “Call me Amy. Because that’s the name that led me to you.”

  Something unnamable danced in his eyes. Tilting his head, he whispered, “Amy. My sweet, beautiful Amy,” before he kissed her tenderly.

  She closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss; his tongue darted into her mouth to caress hers. She could feel her breasts begin to ache, a sure sign her nipples were tightening, as he gently leaned her back against the couch. She wrapped her legs around him, and he ground against her once. Though he wore jeans, she could feel him hardening for her. Pushing back, he sat up, a question in his eyes, the blue of which quickly deepened to something darker as she pulled her shirt off and tossed it onto the floor. His shirt followed. His adept fingers reached around as they kissed, unhooking her bra with ease. It loosened, and she impatiently tugged the straps off before she cast it aside.

  His chest was hard, with a patch of dark, curly hair crowning his pectoral muscles. She leaned into him, sighing as his hair tickled her nipples. A shiver of want rolled through her as she rocked against him.

  That sent him over the edge. Reaching up, he cupped the back of her head, inhaled a desperate breath, and pulled her mouth to his. Gone was the earlier tenderness, replaced by a desperation both of them seemed to feel.

  As if this would be the last time they ever made love, when they’d finally bared all to each other.

  That thought danced along the back of Amy’s mind, taunting her and threatening to snatch away the one last remnant of happiness she had left. She fumbled at his jeans’ button, starving to be closer, as close as two people could get. She needed to feel him, to know he was real and this all wasn’t a dream she would wake up from.

  As she freed the button, Scott scooped her up and carried her into her bedroom. Their kisses came hot and furious as they fell onto the bed. Scott kicked off his pants. Amy’s skirt came next, only Scott took his time. He slowly peeled it off, along with her panties, looking over every inch of her as if to memorize the moment.

  The lust that had lurked in his gaze the first time they’d met was replaced with something stronger as he gazed at her, something that
made her heart skip and her breath catch.

  As he slid out of his boxers, he prowled over her, brushing back the sweat-dampened hairs stuck to her face. “I want…” He swallowed hard, his voice rough and pain scrunching his features. “I want you to know that—”

  “Sssh.” She placed a finger to his lips. “Just kiss me.”

  He searched her eyes and then planted his mouth on hers at the same time he thrust.

  She cried out in surprise, spreading her legs wider as he rose and thrust again, this time going deeper. Slowly, she stretched as he made love to her, settling into a rhythm of rapid breaths accented by the staccato of slapping skin. He held her to him, grabbing one leg of hers and hoisting it up to go deeper. His long, thick sex stroked her sweetest spot, shooting fireworks of pleasure through her body as she gasped and clawed at him.

  They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. Sometimes, words were not enough.

  Except for three.

  I love you.

  She couldn’t say it out loud, not to him. She’d said those words to Michael, and look where it had gotten him: to an early grave.

  So she’d keep it bottled up inside, where it could never hurt the man she loved.

  A tear rolled down her cheek as she climaxed, the bittersweetness of the moment accentuated by the fact she knew she was about to lose him.

  Scott came soon thereafter, releasing himself with a final thrust and a deep, feral groan. Afterward, they lay there panting hard, listening to the sounds of their racing hearts.

  Scott finally looked up—and frowned. He delicately brushed the tear from Amy’s cheek. “What’s wrong?”

  I love you.

  The words froze on her tongue. Instead, she smiled through her pain. “I’m just happy. So incredibly happy to have met you.”

  “Don’t talk that way.” Scott cradled her face and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Don’t you dare think this is the last time we’ll meet, because I promise you it won’t be. I’ll keep coming back for you, even if I have to face hell itself. I…I…”