Dangerously Broken

by Eden Bradley

  She shut the door behind her, pulled her cell phone from her purse and, dropping her bags on the floor, she texted Jamie.

  I’m home safe and sound!

  Good girl. Glad you made it home. Get some good rest, baby. Love you so much. Call me if you need me.

  Love you, Jamie.

  Her body warmed all over. Even in text she could feel him.

  With a smile on her face she walked through the house, turning on lights as she went, heading to the kitchen to make some tea. She flipped on the lights—and stopped.

  No!

  Madame lay on the kitchen floor, her fluffy white side sunken in, her legs stiff, her blue eyes wide.

  She felt as if she couldn’t breathe as she sank to the floor. Reaching out, she touched the cat, knowing she wouldn’t feel anything but death. When she finally managed to catch her breath, she smelled it in the room.

  “No!” she wailed, her fingers clenching and unclenching in the still-soft fur. “No, Madame. Please don’t . . .”

  She stumbled to her feet, ran into the living room and came back with a throw blanket, laid it carefully over the cat’s body as tears poured down her cheeks. Her mind was going blank. She couldn’t think of anything but the tearing ache of loss in her chest.

  Closing her eyes, she held on to the counter for support, whispering, “Please no. No more death. No more, no more.”

  Unwanted visions of Brandon flashed through her mind. She remembered her last day with him. The fight they’d had that she’d never told anyone about, not even Dennie. She’d tried to sneak into the house after a night out partying with her friends and found Brandon waiting for her at the kitchen table, looking tired and annoyed.

  “Summer Grace, what do you think you’re doing creeping into the house at six o’clock in the morning?”

  “You’re not my father, Brandon.”

  “No, but I am your brother, and this is not okay. You’re not even seventeen years old yet! You can’t have everything your way, Summer Grace, just because that’s how you want it. What the hell were you doing all night?”

  “Nothing that’s any of your Goddamn business!”

  “Keep your voice down. Do you want to wake up Mom and Dad?”

  “What’s wrong, Brandon? You don’t want the scolding father role taken away from you? Well, I’m not your kid. I’m not your responsibility. So get over yourself.”

  She’d marched upstairs, leaving a fuming Brandon behind, knowing she’d disappointed him. Knowing he cared as much as their parents did, maybe more. Tears had stung her eyes—tears of guilt and wounded pride. What a fool she’d been. And so careless of her brother’s feelings. So careless . . .

  Fuck.

  Her eyes flew open. Had she forgotten to leave food for Madame? She ran to the back door, but there was plenty of food and water in the cat’s dishes. She turned to glance over at the blanket-covered body on her kitchen floor, but had to look away.

  Pressing her fists against her eyes, she begged, “Please, Madame. Please, please don’t be dead.”

  Hadn’t she said the very same words when Brandon died? Hadn’t she begged him to come back to her? For months. But he never had. Her parents hadn’t, either. Even Jamie had abandoned her. They all had. They’d left her alone and she hadn’t known how to handle the world—the entire big, fucking scary world at sixteen years old! She’d felt . . . orphaned. Lost. And she damn well wasn’t going through this again. First it was Brandon, now it was Madame, then it could be . . . What?

  She couldn’t stand to think of it. Couldn’t stand to look at Madame’s body on the floor. She was dead and there was nothing she could do about it. Death was so damn final. But it was just as final when someone chose to turn away from you and broke your heart.

  Brandon.

  Her parents.

  Jamie.

  Madame.

  Jamie!

  “Oh no,” she moaned.

  She was so, so cold. She wrapped her arms around her chilled body, but she couldn’t seem to get warm. And the tears were coming faster than she could wipe them away.

  This was the universe warning her. She was not going to be allowed to keep anything. Anyone.

  Jamie.

  “You can’t have everything your way, Summer Grace . . .”

  Brandon.

  Somehow she managed to find her way to the front hall, to dig her phone out of her purse, to dial.

  “Den? Something’s happened.” She had to stop as another sob caught in her throat, choking her. “I need you. Please come.”

  “Oh, honey, what is it? No, never mind—I’ll be right there. You just hang on, you hear me? I’ll be right there.”

  It wasn’t until she hung up that she realized she was on the floor, but there was nothing she could do about it. She was drowning in helplessness. Powerlessness. All she could do was wait in this house filled with death. God, it was all too familiar, the quiet of it.

  The house was so quiet after the funeral, even though her mother and father and her grandparents were there. No one was saying anything. No one asked her if she was okay, if she needed anything. No one offered to read her to sleep, or to make her hot chocolate, and she knew at that moment that part of her life was gone forever, and she was on her own. On her own except for Dennie, and thank God for her.

  “She’s coming. She’s coming,” she whispered to herself, wiping uselessly at her wet cheeks. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs and bowing her head as if she could hide from the world. “Please hurry . . . please.”

  * * *

  MONDAY MORNING JAMIE was just opening up the shop when his phone rang. He juggled his coffee in one hand, tossed his leather jacket over the back of the office chair with the other before pulling his cell from the pocket of his jeans.

  “Hello?”

  “Jamie?”

  “Dennie? What’s up?” His stomach dropped. Why did he know already something terrible had happened?

  Death magnet.

  Fuck!

  “Is it . . . is it Summer Grace? Is she okay? What’s wrong? Tell me.”

  “She’s okay. I mean, she’s not okay or I wouldn’t be calling. She hasn’t been in an accident or anything. She’s not sick. But listen, Jamie, she’s not in great shape, my poor girl, and she asked me not to call you, but I thought . . . I thought I should. I thought you should know.”

  “Know what? What’s going on?”

  He heard Dennie blow out a breath on the other end. “She found Madame dead last night—her cat. And she just . . .” She paused, lowered her voice. “. . . she freaked out. I mean total meltdown. She’s been at my house since last night crying like the world has ended, and I can’t get her to stop. She hasn’t slept. Well, neither have I. I won’t leave her like this. My grandmother has been helping me sit with her, but we don’t know what else to do.”

  Jamie ran a hand over his hair. “Wait. Her cat died? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “I know it doesn’t make much sense on the surface . . .”

  “I don’t know. It does and it doesn’t. What is she doing now?”

  “Still crying. I really think you should come.”

  “I do, too. I’ll be right there. Let me call Duff and see how soon he can get here to cover me.”

  “Thanks, Jamie.”

  Ten excruciating minutes later he was in the truck on his way to Dennie’s house out in Lakeview. He cursed at the morning commute traffic, his fingers tight on the wheel. On the inside he felt like he could easily burst open—like some torrent of anger and grief would come pouring out. He swallowed it down like bile.

  Finally he pulled up in front of Dennie and Annalee’s house. He cut the engine and jumped out, stalked up to the door, knocked and waited. Shifting from one foot to the other, he tried not to let this feel like t
he end of something.

  Dennie came and opened the door, and he pulled the screen door wide and stepped into the dim hallway.

  “She’s in the back bedroom,” Dennie said, keeping her voice down. “Come on.”

  He followed her through the quiet house and through a doorway at the end of the hall. It was dark in the room, with just a small glow of sunshine coming through the drawn curtains, but he could vaguely make out a shape under the pile of quilts in the old high bed.

  “Summer Grace?”

  “No. No, no, no.” Her voice was rusty, as if it hadn’t been used in a long while. Or as if she’d been crying all night.

  His chest went tight.

  He moved closer, sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently. “You okay, baby?”

  There were several long, quiet moments, then a hard, wrenching sob.

  “Ah, it’ll be okay,” he soothed. “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay.”

  Suddenly she sat up, her hair disheveled, and even in the faint light he could see how red and swollen her eyes were. “No, it will not be okay. It has never been okay. Not ever! I’ve been stuffing it down for too damn long, but that’s the reality of it. And God, Den, I told you not to call him. How could you?”

  The last came out on a small sob, and his heart broke a little to see her like this. To have some idea of what she was feeling. And to know that some of it, at least, was his fault.

  He reached out to stroke her wild hair from her cheek, but she waved his hand away. “Don’t. I can’t stand it—the sympathy. Don’t you think I know how fucked up this is? How fucked up I am?” She sniffed, wiped her nose on her sleeve. Muttered, “I didn’t even like that cat very much.”

  “Come on, sweetheart. No one liked that cat much. And we both know this is about more than just the cat.”

  “Of course it fucking is!” Her eyes were blazing. “It always has been. I thought I’d learned the lesson well: everyone leaves, one way or another. Everyone. Even you.”

  “Summer Grace, I’m right here.”

  She closed her eyes, bit her lip. “For now. But I’ve just had another lesson in impermanence. I don’t think I can stand one more. And fuck it all, I don’t want you to see me like this. Please go.”

  “I can’t leave you like this.”

  Her eyes flew open. “Just go!” she yelled, then collapsed into tears.

  Dennie rushed to her and wrapped her in her arms. Looking up at Jamie, Dennie whispered. “Go, Jamie.”

  He got up, feeling shell-shocked. He took a step back, watching Summer Grace, his Summer Grace, sob while Dennie held her. And felt as if the world had been pulled out from under his feet.

  He turned and left the room, left the house, got into his truck and drove off.

  * * *

  HE’D BEEN BACK at the shop for most of the day. Duff had looked at him questioningly when he arrived, but instead of asking questions his cousin had just given him a fond slap on the back and gone next door to keep an eye on the crew doing the build-out.

  Since then Jamie had spent a lot of time staring at the computer screen, fielded a few phone calls, but none of it had stuck in his brain. It felt as if his brain were stuck, worrying, wondering if Summer Grace was okay. If there was something more he could do. If he could only get her to talk to him.

  He knew that Madame’s sudden death was bringing her old loss issues up and shoving them right in her face—that much was obvious. But why was it taking such a toll on her? Had she never really dealt with losing her brother? She’d seemed okay all these years. Stronger than most. But maybe she’d simply held it all inside, covering it up with the tough-girl act.

  That had to be it. Which meant that, given time, she’d get through this. But did he give her the space she’d asked for, or did he step in and make her let him help?

  He got to his feet, muttered, “God fucking damn it, I’ve never backed down from a challenge before.”

  “What’s that, cousin?” Duff asked, coming through the office door.

  “Duff, there are times in life when you just have to go after what you want.”

  “Agreed. That’s why I’m here. I was about to go over the architectural plans for the two big truck bays, but I see you have other things on your mind. I’ll mull it over myself. You need to go to your girl, I imagine?”

  Jamie nodded.

  “I’ll hold down the fort. Shop closes at seven anyway.”

  “Good. Thanks.”

  Duff shrugged. No problem.” He moved past Jamie and sat in his chair, stared at the computer and pulled up the web browser. “Can I get porn on this thing, cousin?”

  Jamie shook his head, almost cracking a smile. “Get whatever you want, cousin. That’s . . . I think that’s the point today, maybe.”

  Duff turned with a raised brow but didn’t say anything as Jamie grabbed his keys and left.

  It seemed to take forever to get back over to Dennie and Annalee’s house, but soon he parked in front of their pretty white and yellow clapboard. He jumped out and tried to steady his pulse as he moved up the front steps. Before he even reached the door Dennie’s grandmother Annalee opened it. The woman was tiny, with snowy white hair and piercing turquoise eyes. It had been years since he last saw her, but even though there were a few more lines on her face, she still exuded that classic Southern woman thing—grace and charm yet tough as nails. Warm but formidable. He’d always liked her.

  “My apologies, Mrs. Harper, but I’m here to see Summer Grace. Whether she wants to see me or not.”

  Annalee opened the screen door and gestured for him to come in. As he stepped into the house, she stopped him with a surprisingly strong grip on his arm.

  “You talk to our girl, y’hear me, Jamie Stewart-Greer? You make her see that death is just the way of the world and something we all have to cope with. Because the shape she’s in now is the only other option, and that’s not a life. You make her want a life, y’hear me, son?”

  He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I am sure gonna try, Ms. Annalee.”

  Annalee patted his arm. “That’s a good boy.” He didn’t even flinch at the title. “Now you get me my red hat out of the hall closet so I can get to my dinner meet-up. I’ll be in my car. You tell my granddaughter to come with me.”

  He nodded, opening the closet and reaching in to retrieve the requested red hat. He would have been grinning like mad if this had been any other day, if he were there with any other purpose. Annalee Harper was one sassy lady.

  “Here you go, ma’am.”

  She smiled and gave him one last pat on the arm before she took the offered hat and walked out the door.

  He stood for several moments, trying to get his thoughts in order. He’d come racing over here on a mission, but Annalee’s words stuck in his head, making him realize how important this was. He shook his hands out before walking down to the end of the hall.

  The room was still dark. Dennie was sitting in a kitchen chair pulled close to the bed, trying to get Summer Grace to drink some tea.

  “Come on, honey. You haven’t had anything but a little water since you got here.”

  Summer Grace rolled over in the bed and turned her back to her friend. Jamie took a step into the room, and Dennie looked up when one of the old floorboards squeaked under his booted foot.

  “Oh. You’re here.”

  “Your grandmother asked me to tell you you’re going to her dinner meeting with her.”

  “Her Red Hat Society? Right—it’s Monday.”

  “Sounds like she meant it, Dennie.”

  Dennie stood, pushing the cup of tea into his hands. “Okay, then. Guess I’m going. I guess . . .”

  She gave him a sharp scowl before moving past him to leave.

  “You Harper women are no joke.”

  “No,
we sure aren’t,” Dennie called over her shoulder as she retreated down the hall. “See you don’t forget that, Jamie.”

  He nodded, understanding the unspoken warning to take care of Summer Grace—not that he intended to do anything else.

  He stepped farther into the room. “Sweetheart, I know you’re awake and know I’m here. Turn over and talk to me.”

  “Don’t you dare try to pull your Dom stuff on me right now, Jamie,” she muttered from under the heavy patchwork quilt that covered her from head to toe.

  He moved closer and set the tea mug down on the small night table. “Damn it, Summer Grace.” He paused, making an effort to keep his voice low. “This has nothing to do with kink. There are no roles right now. This is just you and me, and I love you. Let me help.”

  She rolled over and pulled the quilt off her face to glare at him, but in moments her face crumbled and, his heart twisting, he rushed to take her in his arms, a little surprised when she let him. She was crying, long, wrenching sobs, and he held her tighter—held her as tight as he could. It was a long while before she pushed away.

  “Okay. I need to stop.” She hiccupped, wiped at her face with her sleeves, then with her hands. “I can’t do this, Jamie.”

  “Can’t do what?”

  She waved her hands. “This! All of this. Me falling apart and you coming to my rescue like I’m some broken doll. I hate this. I hate that you’re seeing this. I hate that you’re here now because it drives home even more that you won’t always be.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  She pushed her tangled hair from her face and looked at him directly for the first time that day. Her voice was harder than he’d ever heard it. “Jamie. You left me, too, you know. Left me all alone when I lost Brandon, and then my family fell apart. You were gone. Gone. I chose to overlook that somehow, because I was too used to being enamored of you. But I see it now. I remember. So much for you being obsessed with carrying out Brandon’s dying wish.”