Meant to Be Broken

by Brandy Woods Snow

  A question I’m still asking myself.

  “Me and Rayne? What are you talking about?” I stammer.

  “You’ve never even spoken to the other girls I’ve dated, yet I find you in here licking cream off her fingers?”

  Okay, so that was extremely suspicious… and completely hot. But, of course, I can’t tell him that. So I say the next best thing. “Dude, we were doing a project. She gave me a taste. That’s it.”

  “That’s it? I’ve seen you two… laughing, talking, hanging out. Now you have your tongue on her? And you say that’s it?”

  “Yeah, because it’s just that, Preston. Rayne and I have become friends. Yeah, we laugh and talk and hang out. We’re comfortable with each other. And, just so you know, we both care about you.”

  That last part is definitely true. His arrogance makes me want to smash my head into a wall, but I love him. And Rayne cares about him, too. And it’s for that reason, I must assure him that nothing’s going on between us.

  Because nothing can.

  Because we can’t let it.

  “Maybe you should check yourself,” I continue. “Would you be questioning me if you weren’t feeling guilty? Are you spending enough time with her? You blow her off a lot because Mom tells you to. Because school gets in the way. Or the internship. Or your study buddies. It’s always something. I’ve told you before. Don’t lose her because you don’t appreciate her.”

  Preston looks down at his shoes. “I’m sorry. Maybe you’re right.”

  I pat him on the shoulder, and when he looks up, I meet his stare with a grin. “Of course I am.”

  Chapter 19

  Rayne

  T

  he French presentation in class ends when Madame claps her hands and says, “Magnifique!” When our presentation boards are already folded and leaned against the wall, Gage grabs the food box and carries it to the back table. He picks up the lone leftover cherry, resting it on a tripod of his thumb and first two fingers and smiles. Devilishly.

  “Don’t start,” I laugh and point my finger in his face, knowing full-well what’s running through his mind.

  “Moi?” He milks the innocent act so well, then leans in, his face so close to mine I can smell the faint sweetness of cherries and cream on his breath. “A present. From me to you.” He places the cherry to my lips, parting them slightly and then slips it onto my tongue. How does he make fruit so hot?

  I chew it slowly, my eyes fixed on his. They spring open wider when I wipe a trickle of cherry juice from my chin and say, “What am I going to do with you?”

  “I have some ideas.” He smirks and walks back toward his desk as the bell rings.

  I watch him go, shaking my head laughing. In my periphery, I see Jaycee staring.

  She’s pissed.

  “So… your French project… interesting…” Jaycee says, chewing her thumb nail. It took all day, but she’s finally caught up with me at the end of cheer practice. “Maybe it’s just me, but you and Gage look pretty chummy. Better be careful. Boys aren’t so understanding about divided loyalties.”

  I throw my pompoms on the ground by the bench. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m talking about the chemistry between you and Gage, you talking about lights and love and him looking all goofy at you. Then he fed you?” She, too, throws down her pompoms and folds her arms in front of her, head tilted waiting on an explanation or a confession.

  “Everything’s innocent. You’re imagining stuff, Jaycee.” I hope my face isn’t giving me away, because she’s right. There’s a ton of chemistry there, and I don’t have a clue how to deal with it.

  Ainsley collapses onto the bench near us. She hasn’t opened her mouth, but I know what’s coming. I’m starting to hate this time of day because it always presents the same scenario—me surrounded by the girls, fielding questions on my love life. This newfound celebrity status is more like a vice grip, squeezing me to the point I’m sure my head will explode at any second. They don’t even call me Rayne half the time anymore. I’m “Preston’s girlfriend.”

  “What’s it like kissing him?” asks Ainsley, all dreamy-eyed, looking off into some undetermined spot in the sky, while she traces her fingertips along her collarbone. “Is he always that hot?”

  I prop my foot up on the bench and pretend to tie my shoe, ignoring her. I gaze past my laces to the opposite field where the football team is practicing. Gage is at the water cooler. He gulps down the majority of a cup then pours the rest over his head.

  My breath hitches when he glances over and waves.

  I discreetly lift my hand and wiggle my fingers but jerk them down when Jaycee returns her attention to me. “Chill guys. Rayne’s my BFF, and I barely get info. She hoards Preston to herself…” she says, then giggles under her breath. “…and apparently his brother, too.”

  “His brother? You mean Gage?” pipes up Mallory. “He’s no Preston, but he’s getting there. A little scruffy but not bad.”

  Talking about Preston is irritating, but something breaks when they start in on Gage. He’s freaking off-limits. I don’t know why, and I can’t explain it. He just is.

  Fury burns up my insides and spills out like a lava flow. “Shut up, y’all! I’m sick of hearing it!”

  They circle me like sharks to bloody chum. No one even knows I’m struggling with the Preston thing except Jaycee, and all she’s doing is using it as ammo. My phone buzzes with an incoming text, and his name pops up on the screen.

  “Oooooooh,” they sing-song in unison like I didn’t just have a meltdown. “It’s Preston!”

  I block the sun from my screen to read.

  Tonight’s free. Let’s hang out.

  Surprising. It’s been nearly a week and a half since our last pseudo-date.

  Ok. Rode with Jaycee to school. Have to get car first.

  The phone buzzes almost immediately.

  Wait. I’ll handle it.

  Within seconds, across the field, Gage pulls his phone from the duffel bag he’s packing up on the sidelines then looks over at me.

  I grab my pompoms and shove them into my duffel, cramming the red and black streamers deep inside, when the girls begin snickering and whispering. I look up and see him headed my way, hair wet and splayed across his forehead, short jersey barely covering his abs. When our eyes connect, we both smile. He walks in front of me and stoops to my eye-level, leaning in where his lips brush my ear. “Why’s everyone staring at us?”

  I look over my shoulder at their faces, eyes wide and mouths wider. “They’re stupid.”

  He smirks. “Preston says you need a ride.”

  “You offering?” I ask, zipping the duffel closed.

  “Yep.” He throws my bag on his back with his own, and then grabs my hand. “Let’s give them something to look at as we go.” Laughing, we head to the parking lot.

  I’m climbing into the Scout when a text comes through.

  Now I get it. Two for the price of one.

  I don’t respond, just click it off and toss it in the cup holder. Gage slides into the driver’s seat and looks over. “Let me guess. You’re in trouble with Jaycee?”

  “When am I not?” I roll my eyes and buckle the seatbelt across my lap.

  Gage cranks up, the deep rumble of the engine muffling his voice. “Want me to put the top up?” he yells over the noise.

  “Don’t you dare!” I yell back, sweeping my hair into a low ponytail. As he pulls onto the main road and accelerates, the wind rushes through a few loose tendrils and sends them flailing. It’s freeing, liberating—something that’s escaped me always living under a microscope either by Mama, the town, Jaycee, or sometimes even Preston. Gage doesn’t do that. He lets me be me—crazy, messy, non-perfect me.

  He nudges my arm with his iPod. “Pick us out some music.” I slip the iPod on the dock of his stereo system, the Scout’s only hi-tech gadget, which sti
cks out compared to every other manual-operated device, and rifle through the playlists. They each have a name. Running. Weight Lifting. Chill. Country. Rock. Rayne. For a minute, I stare at the last one, thinking my mind’s playing tricks. Wait… Rayne?

  “You have a playlist named after me?” I point to the screen and the digital letters spelling out my name.

  Gage’s eyes follow my finger to the screen and his smile fades. For a minute, his face goes blank. He’d forgotten it was on there, and now I’ve found it. But what does it mean?

  “Oh… uh… yeah… that.” He swallows hard a couple times and glances over at me. “You mentioned liking my 80’s rock, so I’m putting files in a playlist for you. To burn you a disc sometime.”

  “No way! That’s freakin’ awesome.” I clap my hands and bounce around in my seat, so cheerleader-y of me. “Thank you!”

  He nods and smiles. “Now pick a song.”

  I play one from my playlist, and we sing-along, oblivious to the stares from other drivers beside us when I use the hairbrush from my backpack as a microphone. We’re still laughing and singing when we pull in the Howard drive and Preston rushes out to meet us, his eyes scrunched together, a frown curving his lips.

  “Rayne, I’m so sorry” are the first words I hear as Gage shuts off the engine. I lean back into the seat and cover my eyes as he looks in through the rolled-down window. Too bad doing that doesn’t magically shut out the world or his bullshit. “Mom called. Dad’s attending a seminar this evening and wants me to go along. I can get class credit. I’ll drive you home on the way.”

  I pull my hands from my face and purse my lips. I can’t look Preston in the face, so I turn to his brother. He’s staring at us, mouth hanging open. “Thanks for the ride, Gage.” I kiss my fingertips and hold them to his check, then grab my bags and hop down on the driveway. When Preston reaches for me, I snap, “I’ve got it.”

  He sighs and drops his hand. “Don’t be mad, Rayne.”

  “Why would I be mad, Preston? I’m so over it already,” I say with a smile. If he trusts that smile, he’s stupid. You never, ever trust a woman who smiles and says she’s not mad because she’s probably plotting your death at that very moment. With a candlestick. To the head. In the driveway. Ugh.

  I slide in the passenger seat of his Mustang and slam the door. Preston gets in and cranks up, while Gage stands by the Scout, hand clamped over his brow. He waves bye with the other hand and I mouth it back to him as we drive away. Immediately Preston begins making excuses, and I’m looking out the opposite window, giving one-word responses. Fine. Okay. Whatever. Sure.

  I hop out before his Mustang even comes to a full stop in my driveway. He apologizes once more and says he’ll text me afterwards. I won’t hold my breath unless I have a death wish, so I nod and walk inside to find Mama waiting on me in the foyer, wringing her hands. As if this afternoon wasn’t on a shit spiral already.

  “What’s wrong?” Her eyes are like puddles. “What’re you doing back here so soon? You texted and said you’d be at Preston’s a while. Did something happen?”

  “Yeah, his oh-so-busy college man life.” I ease past her, heading for the stairs and the silence of my room.

  “It’s just as well. You spend too much time with those boys lately, that Gage as much as Preston. And he’s a bit rough around the edges.” She shakes her head, her mouth pinched into a deep frown.

  Funny how judgments come easily to her when she loathes people in town for extending her that same courtesy. “Isn’t he the one who drove you to the Howards?”

  “Yes, Mama. And he’s a gentleman. Always has been.” This third degree never ends.

  “It’s odd. What brother ‘fills in’ for the other? I don’t like it.”

  I slap my hand against the banister. “I needed a ride. What’s wrong with that?”

  “If you have to ask me, you already know the answer to that question,” she concludes, hands planted firmly on her hips and lines creased deep in her forehead.

  I pinch my lips so hard between my front teeth, I’m sure they’ll go right through. No point arguing and honestly, I don’t have the patience or give-a-crap right now.

  It’s ten o’clock and I’m lying across my bed studying when my phone buzzes. It’s about time. His seminar should’ve been over at least an hour ago, but Preston hasn’t called. I pick up the phone. It’s not him. It’s Gage.

  Check your front porch swing for a surprise.

  I toss the phone on my blanket and run downstairs to the porch. A piece of me wants him to be there. He’s not, but a square envelope is. It’s a CD with my name scrawled across the front in Gage’s handwriting. My playlist.

  Back upstairs, I text him back.

  Thank you! So excited. Listening to it now.

  As I’m loading the disc into my stereo, the phone buzzes again.

  #8 makes me think of you. Goodnight. See you tomorrow.

  I fast-forward tracks to the song and recognize it immediately. “November Rain” by Guns N’ Roses. One of my favorites. One of the greatest power ballads of all time.

  And it makes him think of me.

  Chapter 20

  Gage

  R

  ock music blares from the speakers, the beat pumping through me like blood. Trevor adds a couple plates on the bar, and I adjust my grip. My fingers wrap around the cool metal as I brace myself, abs digging into my spine, and lift the 325 lbs. with a loud exhale.

  Heavy weight, low reps—the formula for building mass and gaining definition.

  As I bring the bar toward my chest, the muscles constrict like a vice grip. A trickle of sweat rolls off my nose and into my eye. Damn, that stings, but I muster the strength, gritting my teeth, and push through to fully extend my arms once again.

  One down.

  Only four more to go.

  They rattle off easily enough. After Trevor helps me cradle the bar back in place, I sit up on the bench’s edge, arms trembling, and rub my terry cloth towel over my face as my breath and pulse ease back to a normal level. When I pull the towel down, the smell of the room assaults me—musky BO and sweat cut with an undercurrent of bleach wipes. Nowhere is this smell appreciated or accepted but in the weight room—the afternoon hangout for the football team and the bullpen for ridiculous amounts of male testosterone.

  “Hey.” Barrett steps forward, spinning his towel, then thwacks it against my side. The loud pop connects with my bare skin and shoots knives up my back. “What’s the deal with Preston and Rayne?”

  Terrific. Locker room talk, usually centered around topics on which I have no opinions, experience, or interest. Especially now, when it involves my brother.

  “What about ‘em?”

  He deadpans like I should know exactly what he’s talking about. And I do. But I don’t let on in the hopes he’ll take it elsewhere.

  “You know.” He waggles his eyebrows up and down. “What’s going on with them?”

  I shrug. “They’re dating.”

  He tries to pop me again with the towel, but I duck sideways, missing it.

  “No shit. I mean, to what extent are they a couple? Rayne’s a bit of a prude, but Preston… man, he has his ways.” He laughs and looks around for support, which he gets from all the other guys who laugh and nod like a background chorus. “Amiright?”

  The last thing I want to discuss are my brother’s ways or how he might be using them on Rayne. The thought of it churns my stomach.

  “How am I supposed to know?” Venom laces the response, a blinking highway sign for Barrett to tread lightly. His spine stiffens.

  “He’s your brother. He has to tell you the deets.” He narrows his eyes and twists his mouth sideways, all smug-like, as if he just finished a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle. “Unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless there’s some competition there? I mean, you’re with her all the time.”

  I jump to
my feet, kneading the towel in my clenched fist. “Cause she’s dating my brother, and we’re friends. That’s it.”

  “But you’ve thought about it, right?” He smiles—a sleazy one—and cocks his head to one side.

  “Thought about what?”

  “Tagging in? A little brother-to-brother relay event? Some fraternal timeshare?”

  The embers burning inside rush to an all-out inferno. Black spots float in my vision, stars fizzle in the periphery. I lunge forward, pressing my nose to his.

  He may be taller, but I’m bigger. And stronger.

  “Y’all are sick. Get me and my brother out of your mouths.” I have to pause and regroup as the anger boiling inside vibrates into my voice. “And Rayne—don’t you ever talk about her like that again. You want to talk skank, Barrett? Then go get your girl because that’s Jaycee. All. Day. Long. Not Rayne.”

  “You stupid son of a—” Barrett rears back as Trevor bolts across the mat and shoves himself between us.

  “All right! Break it up, guys.”

  Barrett jabs his finger in my face with a sneer as I launch my towel toward the bin and stomp to the locker room. Damn him and his stupid insinuations. And I wondered how he could like Jaycee, but time’s proving one thing. He deserves a girl like her.

  I slip a muscle tee over my head and throw my regular clothes in the duffel. If I don’t get out of this school right now, I’m going to explode. The rage burrows inside all my crevices like a parasitic worm. Eating me alive on the inside until I want to turn around and rearrange his face.

  Dammit. I slam the metal handle with my fist, and the gym door flies open, knocking into the concrete block walls. I stomp through into the small hallway leading to the parking lot. That’s when I see her.

  Rayne’s standing along the wall with Jaycee and Ainsley, their pom-poms at their feet. She looks up with a frown that quickly dissolves into a smile once her eyes land on me.