A Shattered Moment

by Tiffany King

  “It screams, all right,” I coughed.

  “Careful or I’ll buy that one,” she said, pointing to the neon orange cane on the rack.

  “This one is fine,” I choked out, herding her away as she laughed. Her face lit up with happiness. I’d once thought she couldn’t possibly get any more beautiful, but over the last few months I’d discovered a new level of confidence in Mac, and she practically radiated from it. “You’re sure about this?” I hesitated, handing the blinged-out cane to the cashier.

  “You said you’d buy me any present I wanted,” she reminded me, taking the cane off the counter while I paid the total. “Are you trying to welch?”

  “Not on your life. I’m looking forward to your thank-you later on.” I chuckled when her face turned a delicate shade of pink as she glanced at the clerk. She was so damn cute. It was easy to embarrass her.

  She changed the subject. “What time is the party?”

  “Your mom said six. That means we have time to stop at the beach first. Are you game?” She nodded her head with excitement.

  The drive didn’t take long, and before I knew it, we were pulling into the small vacant lot near the private stretch of beach we had now deemed “our spot.” How could we not, considering the pleasant experience we had shared here previously? Climbing from the vehicle, I hurried to Mac’s side to carry her down to the sand. She rolled her eyes, but stood ready, knowing I wouldn’t give her a real choice in the matter.

  “You know, eventually I won’t need you to carry me. Jake says climbing all those stairs at your apartment is making my leg stronger.”

  “Well, good for Jake,” I muttered. I’m sure Mac’s physical therapist was a nice guy, but he was screwing with my happy time.

  She laughed. “You’d think you’d be sick of lugging me around.”

  “Babe, you gotta know by now this is my thing. You wouldn’t rob me of a little pleasure, would you?”

  “Evidently not.”

  I set her on her feet when we reached the hard-packed sand. “So, do you feel any older?” I asked, pulling her back against me so she rested against my chest. My arms moved around her stomach, holding her in place. “You’re the big two-oh. Almost a real adult.”

  “Thank God. I haven’t felt like a kid in a long time.” Her voice didn’t carry a trace of sadness. Mac’s road to recovery had been a long one. I was glad I was here to walk beside her, and even carry her whenever she let me.

  Her relationship with her parents was a lot less rocky now that the case had finally been settled. She and her mom still argued occasionally, but I was smart enough to stay neutral. It was actually her relationship with Patricia that Mac appreciated the most. She was her last real friend from her past since neither Kat nor Zach had come around. In spite of their rejection, Mac refused to give up, reasoning that eventually her friends would be ready to face their demons like she had. I was afraid her friends’ silence would drag Mac back into some pit of despair, but if anything, it made her appreciate her happiness even more. She had finally realized how strong she could be.

  “I love you, Mac,” I whispered in her ear, grinning when I felt her shudder in my arms. She was putty in my hands. Always had been.

  She turned in my arms. Her eyes, which had become my favorite feature, practically glowed. They were no longer dull and flat like they had been when we met. They were completely alive.

  “I love you, too,” she said, tugging her lip into her mouth. That move got me every time. I wasn’t naïve enough to think she didn’t know what she was doing, but I took advantage of her subtle invitation and placed my lips on hers.

  Despite Mac’s best efforts to keep going, I reluctantly broke the kiss, not wanting to start something I wasn’t sure I could stop before we had to leave to get to her parents’ house by six. “Come on, babe. We gotta go.” I tried to stand, but Mac pulled at my shirt, tugging my neck closer. “Your dad said he’s making lasagna.” The words had the desired effect. Mac dropped my shirt and reached for her cane before I could even finish talking.

  I laughed. “Wow, remind me to never stand in your way when your dad rings the dinner bell.”

  “You’ve never had his lasagna,” she threw over her shoulder as she navigated through the sand. “Trust me, they could write sonnets about it.”

  Following behind her, I closed the distance within seconds and scooped her up into my arms. “Why didn’t you say so?” I hoisted her over my shoulder fireman-style, making her giggle as she bounced up and down from the uneven ground. Her laugh was contagious, and by the time I reached the car, we were both breathless.

  We brushed the sand off each other as best we could. “Hey, perv. I didn’t get any sand on those,” Mac said, swiping my hands away from her chest. “Besides, you insisted we had to go.”

  “Damn, that’s right. You sure your dad’s lasagna is all that?”

  “Damn straight. Now, come on. I’m hungry.”

  Mac’s parents were finishing up dinner preparations by the time we plowed through the door, still laughing at the way she had bounced on my shoulder.

  “You should have seen it, Mom. I was flopping around like some rodeo clown on the back of a bull. Hey, that’s what I should start calling you—my bull.” She patted my broad shoulders. We were all laughing at her new nickname for me when the doorbell rang.

  Mac’s mom had her hands busy tossing a salad and her dad was pulling the lasagna from the oven. “I got it,” I volunteered as Mac made a move to climb from her barstool.

  “Thanks, Bull,” she teased.

  “I don’t know if I should be offended by that or not,” I teased, smiling at the light dancing in her eyes that was too damn hard to resist. She squeezed my hand as I headed toward the front room. The doorbell chimed a second time just before I pulled open the heavy oak door revealing an attractive girl who looked vaguely familiar standing on the porch. She jumped slightly in surprise, looking like she was on the verge of bolting by the way she squeezed her bouquet of flowers in a death grip.

  “Is Mackenzie here?” she asked, shifting nervously. Her free hand gripped her purse strap as tightly as the flowers.

  “She sure is. Come on in.” I moved aside to let her enter, but she remained frozen, looking over my shoulder with obvious uncertainty. Turning around, I saw that Mac had followed me. Her eyes fixated on the girl in front of me like she had seen a ghost. Understanding dawned on me as Mac opened her mouth to speak.

  “Hello, Kat.”

  READ ON FOR AN EXCERPT FROM

  misunderstandings

  a novel in Tiffany King’s Woodfalls Girls series

  Available now from Berkley Books!

  one

  present day

  11:02 a.m.

  The rain was coming down in steady sheets as I stepped from the yellow taxi that had deposited me in front of Columbia Center in Seattle. “Keep the change,” I said to the driver as I reached back inside the taxi to pay my fare. I stood momentarily with the rain pelting my face, tilting my head back to see the top of the tallest building in the state of Washington—all seventy-six floors of it. I knew that fact because I looked it up on the Internet. I needed to get an idea of what I would be dealing with. Not that my friend Rob, who I was here to see, worked on the top floor, but it was close. His office was on the fifty-second floor, which meant a long, torturous elevator ride. Something I wasn’t looking forward to at all. Back home in Woodfalls, Maine, the tallest building was the three-story Wells Fargo bank they had built across from Smith’s General Store a few years back. I was attending college at the University of Washington at the time, but back in Woodfalls it was big news. My mom, the town’s resident busybody, made sure I received daily updates about the construction. Now, as I stood here, the building in front of me made our little bank back home look like a dollhouse.

  The rain was beginning to find its way down the generic yellow raincoat I had purchased from the Seattle airport just that morning. The pilot had gleefully informed us befor
e landing that Seattle was having its rainiest September in years. The irony that the rainiest state in the country was having its rainiest year in history was not lost on me. Why wouldn’t it be cold, rainy, and miserable? It matched the way I felt about this place. Of course, that wasn’t always the case. When I first arrived in Seattle three years ago, I was a greenhorn from my podunk hometown. That was why I had chosen UW. It was as far away from Woodfalls as I could possibly get without applying to the University of Hawaii. Three years ago, I had decided that nine months of rainy weather was a fair trade-off to finally be surrounded by civilization. That and it was hundreds of miles away from my often annoying but well-intentioned mother. The endless array of restaurants, museums, and stores and the music scene had tantalized me, making me vividly realize just how lacking and uncultured Woodfalls was. Everything about Seattle intrigued me, making me never want to leave, but Puget Sound was by far my favorite thing about being there. On the weekends I would haul my laptop and textbooks down to one of the cafés on the waterfront. I would spend hours drinking coffee and working on schoolwork. That is, when people-watching didn’t distract me. That trait is something I had obviously inherited from my mom. Still, everything had been going along just the way I had imagined it would. It was liberating to be out from under my mom’s thumb and the prying eyes of everyone back home. Here I could be my own person, with my own life. Then everything went to hell. I met Justin Avery—the whirlwind hurricane who left my head spinning and my stomach dropping to my knees like I was on a roller coaster.

  My thoughts were broken when a wave of water splashed up from the road, soaking my pants from the knees down. “Terrific,” I grumbled, looking down at the ruined pair of strappy sandals I had just bought. This was what I got for abandoning my typical attire of jeans and Converse shoes.

  Stepping away from the offending curb before another rogue wave of nasty puddle water could finish the job, I focused on making it into the building without busting my ass or, worse yet, breaking my neck. The fake leather that had seemed so smooth and comfortable when I bought the sandals was now doing a great impersonation of a roller skate. My toes were also threatening mutiny from the cold, only adding insult to injury. This was the gajillionth reason why I had vowed never to return to Seattle. The city and I had bad blood between us.

  The only reason I was standing here now was for Melissa and Rob, my two best friends from college, who had demanded that I be here for their engagement party. I’d tried every feasible excuse I could come up with—“I’m sick,” “I’m out of the country,” “I can’t get off work.” No excuse seemed to stand up to Melissa’s bullshit meter.

  “You’re one of our best friends. You have to be here,” Melissa insisted.

  “No. I hate you. I’m not your friend. I never was your friend,” I said.

  “I wish you could see the world’s smallest violin I’m playing for you right now. Come on. Pull on your big-girl panties and stop hiding.”

  An uncomfortable silence interrupted the conversation before Melissa finally spoke up again. “I’m sorry, Brittni. I’m a bitch for even saying that. I just mean you can’t let what happened dictate your life forever,” Melissa had reasoned. “Besides, you’re my maid of honor. I need you. Just think of this trip as a test, like dipping your toes in water. Chances are you’ll hardly see him, and if you do, it’s not like you guys even have to talk.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “You mean you’ll see me lat—” Her words were cut off as I ended the call.

  “Maybe” was the best answer I could give at the moment. The only hope I had left was my boss.

  “It’s a good time to go since I’ll need you more next month,” Ms. Miller, my principal at Woodfalls Elementary, had stated. “Mary Smith has her wrist surgery scheduled for October and won’t be able to return to work until February. I swear, I’ve never seen someone so damn gleeful over a surgery. I’m sure it has something to do with that god-awful book-reader thingy she got for Christmas. She’s always crowing about some new author she’s discovered,” Ms. Miller added, looking perplexed. “Me, I need an actual book in my hand, not some electronic doodad that will most likely come alive and kill me in my sleep.”

  “I’m thinking now might be a good time to lay off the science fiction flicks,” I had countered dryly as I tried to squish the unease that had settled in the pit of my stomach. That was that. Ms. Miller was the only obstacle left. It seemed fate wanted me in Seattle.

  Now, two weeks later, here I was with my shoes squishing across the tile floor of Columbia Center. It was glaringly obvious that nothing good could come from me returning to Seattle. I skirted around a security guard and headed for the women’s bathroom so I could survey the damage.

  “Holy shit,” I muttered when I took in my appearance in the long expanse of mirrors that lined the wall. I looked like a drowned rat. My long hair, which I had painstakingly straightened earlier, had been replaced with my typical corkscrew curls that were the bane of my existence. “Damn,” I sighed as I pulled my compact from my purse so I could repair my makeup-streaked face. This was just another sign I shouldn’t be here. If my friend Rob hadn’t been expecting me for lunch, I would have chalked it up as a lost cause and headed back to my hotel. At the moment, I’d gladly trade my soaked clothing and frozen toes for solitude in my hotel room.

  “Get a grip, wimp-ass,” I chastised myself out loud, ignoring a startled look from a formfitting-suit-clad woman before she hustled out of the bathroom. “Yeah, keep moving. Nothing to see here but the freako talking to herself in the bathroom,” I said, grabbing a handful of paper towels to mop up my feet and legs. Tressa, my best friend back in Woodfalls, would have a field day if she saw what a mess I was, and Ashton, my other friend, would laugh and make a joke about it. I was supposed to be the one who never got frazzled and always held it together. Tressa was the more dramatic one of our trio. She made snap decisions often, never giving any thought to the consequences. Growing up, I was often left holding the short end of the stick in most of her escapades, but I didn’t care. I envied her fearless attitude. I could have used an ounce of her fearlessness at the moment. I was the cautious one. The overanalyzing, skeptical, glass-is-half-empty kind of girl. Only once had I thrown caution to the wind, and it had bitten me in the ass. That one mistake was never far from my mind. How could it be? I left town and ran back home because of it. Being back at the scene of my troubles didn’t help the situation. I needed to get my act together. Two years was a long time ago. I needed to buck up or whatever shit they say to get someone to stop freaking out.

  I pulled my brush from my bag and ran it through my damp blond locks, cringing as it tugged through the tangled curls that had taken over my head. After a futile moment of trying to make my hair look more dignified and less like a refuge for wayward birds, I gave up and threw it in a clip, which at least made it so that I no longer looked like the bride of Frankenstein from those cheesy black-and-white movies. I added a layer of my favorite lipstick and finally felt halfway normal.

  “You got this,” I said, pivoting around and striding out of the bathroom. I ignored the eruption of laughter from the two giggling girls who were entering as I was leaving. Obviously I would be their comic relief for the day.

  I straightened up, finding the backbone that had liquefied and all but disappeared the moment the plane’s wheels had touched down on the wet tarmac that morning. “Screw him. He doesn’t own the city. I have every right to be here,” I told myself as I headed for the long bank of elevators to the right of the bathrooms. A small crowd of people hurried onto one of the elevators as the doors slid open. I declined to join the overflowing box, waiting instead for the next elevator, which would be less crowded. Being closed in with a group of strangers wouldn’t cut it for me. I couldn’t stand being in confined spaces anyway, but elevators and I had a hate/hate kind of relationship. I hated them, and if the seventh-grade hand-crushing incident was any indication, t
hey hated me too.

  “No problem. The doors will open and you will step inside. Nice and easy,” I whispered to myself. I knew it would require all my will and strength to remain sane on the elevator as it carried me up fifty-two floors to Rob’s office. As is always the case with my luck, he couldn’t have been on the first five or so floors, making the stairs a viable option. N-o-o-o-o-o, it had to be practically up in the clouds.

  The ding signifying the arrival of the next car prompted me out of my inner whine-fest. I took a deep breath as if I were about to jump into water before cautiously stepping aboard the elevator. I exhaled a sigh of relief as the doors slowly closed and I found myself alone for the impending ride up. This was a good thing in case my hyperventilating, I-wish-I-sucked-my-thumb-or-at-least-had-a-stiff-drink elevator behavior decided to surface.

  My relief was short-lived when a hand reached between the closing doors, causing them to reopen.

  “You know, sticking your hand in like that can result in serious injury.” Personal experience had me pointing that out before the words locked in my throat.

  All the air escaped from my lungs and I wheezed out a startled swear word as the elevator doors slid closed, trapping me inside with him. I would have gladly shared the ride with a couple of brain-starved zombies instead of him.

  Our eyes locked as all the animosity and hatred from two years ago radiated off him in waves.

  “Justin,” I squeaked out in a voice that was totally not my own.

  “Selfish bitch,” he greeted me with venom dripping from each word as he punched the button for the fifty-second floor with the side of his fist.

  I cringed as the elevator walls began to close in on me. I knew he hated me. He had all but shouted it in my face the very last time we’d been in the same vicinity. His eyes and words had cut me like razor blades. Every syllable had traveled across the quad until all the students who had been lounging around had turned to stare at us with morbid fascination.