Anything but Broken

by Joelle Knox

  I freeze. I haven’t told her about the meetings because I can’t imagine Gibb wanting her to know—if Gibb wanted anyone to know, he wouldn’t spend so much of his time holding beer bottles as props.

  He doesn’t seem upset, though. He grips the railing and gives it an experimental push, as if testing its integrity. “She did good.”

  Air makes it to my lungs again. “I don’t know about that. I babbled. I don’t remember half of what I said.”

  “You did fine.” Gibb quirks an eyebrow at Evie. “Want me to come around next weekend and fix this up?”

  “No, that’s okay. It’s on my to-do list.”

  “It is,” I chime in, slipping past him and up the steps. “She keeps it on the fridge.”

  Gibb huffs. “I’m sure she does. Well, since racing season is over, I’m around. If you need a hand.”

  The way he says it gives new meaning to the word suggestive. She makes a noncommittal noise, but her cheeks turn red.

  Poor Evie. I reach the top of the stairs and turn to Gibb—blocking his view of her. “Thanks again for taking me. See you next week?”

  “Sure thing, Casey.” He waves with two fingers and turns back to the truck, and I swear I don’t let out my breath until he’s in it and the engine’s roaring to life.

  As soon as he’s gone, I drop onto the swing next to Evie. “He’s impossible. I’m sorry.”

  Her shoulders are shaking, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s laughing. “Impossible? Yeah, that pretty much covers it.”

  As her laughter dies, I push the swing with my foot to set us rocking. “I guess where he was taking me was pretty obvious.”

  “Oh, only to those of us who pay more attention than we should.” She sets her book aside. “Does it make things easier?”

  “I don’t know yet,” I admit softly. “Talking about it’s still so weird. It’s awful. I hated doing it. But when it was over…”

  “Yeah,” she says simply.

  “Yeah.” I’m still clutching my phone, and I know I need to let go of this, too. “Sean hasn’t called. I don’t know if he’s going to.”

  Her voice is steady, gentle. “You said yourself that he’d need some time.”

  The tears have been threatening since last night, since he walked past me and out the hospital doors, and I had to choke them down or face the confusion—and possible hatred—of his family. They’ve been lodged in my throat like a lump that might never go away.

  I’m not getting better for him. The meetings and the determination—that’s for me. Maybe even for Cait. I owe it to her to grow up strong and whole, and I owe it to myself, too.

  But happy? I don’t know if I can do happy without Sean.

  »» sean ««

  By midweek, I’m tired of running. After I close the garage, I make a quick stop by the grocery store and then take the nearly deserted road that heads toward the edge of town.

  When I pull into the gravel drive outside the cemetery, I see that the gate is unlocked, and it has to be some kind of fucking sign, because the gate is never open after hours. Just tonight, just for this.

  The grounds are neat. Cait’s grave sits unadorned and grown over with grass next to the two fresh mounds of earth still heaped with huge floral arrangements wrapped in satin ribbon sashes.

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t suppose anyone ever really does, not when they’re finally confronting the ghosts that have haunted them for years. So I lay the two bouquets of flowers I brought—one large, one much smaller—at the base of Cait’s headstone and take a deep breath.

  “They’re a little late,” I tell her, gesturing to the flowers. “But they’re not lilies.”

  The silence seems to magnify the ache in my chest. There’s nothing to distract me here—no work, no family, just the pain that I can’t even begin to put into words. But I have to try, not only for my own sake, but for Hannah’s.

  I have to get past this.

  “I’m sorry.” It’s not nearly enough. I stare at the white marble, concentrating on the letters carved into the face of the tombstone. “Honestly, Cait? I thought I was gonna be angry. I kept waiting for it to happen...but all I am is sad. That I didn’t understand what you were going through, or what you needed from me.”

  My gaze falls on the small cluster of flowers, and the tightness in my chest begins to close in around me. “I told my mom about you, and about the—the baby. She lost it a little. And I…I don’t know how I feel. Guilty, I guess, because I should know, shouldn’t I? But I don’t, not even close.”

  The act of saying the words—forming and then releasing them into the heavy night air—loosens the pain, lets it twist and focus, so I take another breath and press on. “The night you showed up, asking if you could stay, I thought you wanted to get back together so you wouldn’t have to go to South Carolina. I was so sure of it that I didn’t hear what was really happening. I didn’t hear you begging for help, and that’s on me. I’ll have to live with it, like I have to live with everything else.”

  The memories splinter in my chest, leave it throbbing, and I drop to sit on the grass beside her grave. “I still think it was the right decision, though. I was never the guy for you, Cait. I was here, that’s all, and there’s a whole wide world out there you wanted to see. Your guy is somewhere, and I wish I could tell him what he’s missing. What he never even found.”

  I wonder what she’d say about me and Hannah, if she’d be happy that something had brought us together, even tragedy. Somehow, I think she would. In those rare times between the manic highs and the terrifying lows, Cait was always generous, loving. Selfless.

  Life’s too short to worry so much, Sean. I can hear her voice like she’s standing next to me. Just go with it.

  I clear my throat. “So, I’m going to work this thing out with Hannah. Because I want to be with her. And I’ve changed a lot in the last few years, Cait. I think I can do this right. I know I can. I just…thought I should tell you.”

  There’s nothing important left to say, so I sit there in the still darkness, talking about everything else. About racing, about things that have happened to people we both knew. Who’s stuck in Hurricane Creek, who made it out, and who left but eventually came home. I talk about myself, about the life I’ve built.

  I talk about Hannah, and the place I hope she’s willing to make in it.

  26

  »» hannah ««

  Evie’s aunt gives me my first real job. I’m still half-convinced it’s pity, and maybe three-quarters convinced I’ll suck at it, but with barely twenty thousand dollars left and a new college degree program to figure out, I’m not in a position to doubt anyone.

  Besides, I like the idea of working in her gift shop, surrounded by art that other people have poured their hearts into.

  “You’re doing her a favor,” Evie tells me as she balances her travel mug of coffee in the crook of her arm and reaches for her keys. “Me, too. Having extra time to work on my jewelry will—”

  She stops abruptly, with the door half open, and it doesn’t matter that it’s been five days since I saw Sean. It doesn’t matter that my phone hasn’t rung, that he hasn’t even texted.

  I hope. God help me, I hope.

  “Morning, Sean.” She’s perfectly polite, but she doesn’t step aside.

  My heart leaps, and my stomach drops. Hope hurts. It burns. It takes all the courage I have to move up behind Evie and look over her shoulder. “Sean.”

  He’s standing there on the top step, both hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “Hi.”

  Evie’s still between us, loyal and protective enough to give me the courage I need to face this. I touch her arm. “We should probably talk. Maybe Sean can give me a ride over? I don’t want to be late my first day…”

  “I’ll cover for you,” she promises, then edges past Sean on her way down the steps.

  The slamming of her car door breaks through the silence, and Sean clears his throat. “I was gonna call, but t
hen I figured this was on my way to work, so I took a chance.”

  I step back. “Wanna come in?”

  “Thanks.” Just him stepping across the threshold makes the room seem smaller. “I owe you an apology.”

  “No, Sean.” When I close the door and turn, he’s so close I have to lean back against the solid wood to steady myself. “You really don’t—”

  “Yes, Hannah. I do.” He studies my face. “I didn’t plan on waiting this long. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

  “You had a lot to think about.” And I had a lot of time to come up with excuses for him, so many that they bubble up easily. “And you were hurt. You needed time.”

  “I was pissed,” he says bluntly.

  It’s not unexpected, but I still flinch. “Okay.”

  “No—” He reaches out, then draws his hand back. “I was. And then I realized that wasn’t fair. None of this is your fault. You got left holding the bag, that’s all.”

  This is what I wanted—Sean, standing before me, telling me it wasn’t my fault. I don’t know why my eyes are stinging and my throat feels raw.

  Maybe even hope didn’t prepare me for how it feels to be forgiven. “I still messed up,” I say hoarsely. “I should have told you. I knew it all along. I just…” I squeeze my eyes shut because I can’t look at him when I say this. “I felt special for a little while. It was hard to let it go.”

  “You don’t have to.” His voice is close, so close, and he brushes the backs of his fingers over my cheek.

  I’m weak. I lean into his touch, and then it’s all over. Tears escape and I let them as I blindly wrap my arms around him and bury my face against his throat.

  “Hey.” He cradles me to the solid warmth of his chest, a warmth that envelops me when he presses his lips to my temple.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I clutch at his T-shirt and suck in an unsteady breath. “But I have to tell you the truth this time. First.”

  “Okay.” He pulls me to the couch, but not into his lap. He sits beside me, one hand wrapped around both of mine.

  I expected this to be harder, but all I’m doing is saying it out loud, not making it real. It’s already real. “I have a problem. With the drinking. I don’t know if I’m an alcoholic yet, but I don’t want to become one.”

  He’s silent for a while as he strokes my hair. “Do you know how to stop?”

  “No, but I found people who do.” My lips tug up in spite of myself. “Found isn’t the right word. Gibb knows how to deal with drunks. He hauled my ass to AA.”

  “Really?”

  He sounds surprised, and maybe Gibb hasn’t told him about the meetings. It’s not that surprising. Letting Evie find out is one thing—the only things Gibb seems anxious to hide from Evie are the things that make him look good—but Sean is like Gibb’s family. I know how much those Sunday brunches must mean to Gibb, because I know how much they mean to me already.

  I can’t believe Sean’s family would reject Gibb for something like this—but fear makes us stupid. I’m living proof of that.

  So I choose my words carefully. “He helped me find a sponsor, and we’re going to figure out the best place for me to go. To the meetings for now, but it might end up being more than that.”

  “More than that,” he repeats slowly, his fingers still tangled gently in my hair. “Is that more like therapy, or like rehab?”

  “Therapy, maybe.” I swallow hard and brace for the final confession, the one that’s always terrified me because I watched my parents with Cait for so long that it still feels shameful. “I get anxious. Sometimes I have panic attacks. Drinking helped, but it was stupid.”

  Sean stares down at me, and I know what he’s thinking. He’s trying to wrap his brain around a reality where impending alcoholism is more acceptable than anxiety.

  “I couldn’t tell the truth,” I whisper, closing my eyes. “They sent me to a shrink in high school when the panic attacks started, but my mother told me I couldn’t say anything about Cait or how she died. I had to lie, and it only made things worse. It was easier to...have a drink or two. And it was always just one or two, to start.”

  “Hannah.” He pulls my hand to his mouth and holds it there, waiting.

  “It’s been my whole damn life. Don’t tell. They used to tell Cait that if she said anything—”

  I can still hear my mother’s voice, harsh and cold and shrill, with an edge of fear. We’ll lose everything, is that what you want? To damage your father’s reputation so completely that he loses his job and we lose this house and the two of you have to live on the streets?

  To her, it was all the same. My father’s drinking, Cait’s mood swings, my anxiety. They were cracks in the façade, proof that she couldn’t hold it all together. Or, worse, proof that trying was only making her daughters crazy.

  Maybe that’s why she needed it not to be true, so she wouldn’t have to blame herself for making us this way. It’s the most painful irony yet, because she didn’t. We came into the world like this. Not broken, just different. We needed her to understand us and love us, not fix us.

  “Can you tell the truth now?” he asks quietly. “After all this time?”

  I’m afraid of so many things. That I’ll make the same mistakes as my family, that I’ve inherited my father’s selfishness. My mother’s denial. My sister’s fear of asking for help. I’ve managed all three with Sean so far.

  But I’m not afraid of the truth, not anymore. “I can do it. I just worry that you’ll get tired of dealing with it. That I’m not worth the trouble.”

  Sean pulls back and stares down at me, his eyes dark and intense. “That’s not possible, okay? Hannah, I’ve been a couple of rounds with the Caseys already, and I came out of it kinda banged up. If this thing with us wasn’t unavoidable, it never would have started.”

  It’s true and it’s raw and it shouldn’t make me laugh, but it does. “God, it’s been a terrible idea the whole time, hasn’t it? What are we even doing?”

  His smile is slow, but it carries a promise behind it—absolute, unspeakable joy. “Falling in love.”

  “Oh.” The words warm places I’d forgotten were chilled. I touch my thumb to his lips and trace that smile, dizzy with the realization that this is real. This is my life. And there are no secrets left to ruin it. “Are we going to keep doing it?”

  “Yes.” He leans closer, until his breath kisses my lips. “Every second of every day.”

  I kiss him. Soft at first, but his lips part and oh, it’s so much more than a spark now. It’s electricity, it’s fireworks, it’s the thrill I get when Sean takes me out in his car and drives fast—the freedom of flying and the safety of knowing he’ll catch me.

  It’s love.

  He hauls me into his lap, already pushing at my sundress. I scramble to help him, my hands shaking under the sudden flare of need. His fingers brush my bare leg, and I moan into his mouth, and that’s not enough. I switch my attention to his T-shirt, dragging at the fabric, trying to haul it up so I can feel his skin against mine, so the warmth of him can soak into me.

  Sean arches up with a groan, one hand spanning my lower back to hold me in place as he digs his wallet out of his back pocket. It spills open on the couch, and he catches the small, wrapped packet that slides out.

  “Off,” I demand, hauling his shirt up. He lifts his arms and lets me pull it free, and I throw it aside before touching him. His shoulders, his arms, the tense muscles of his abdomen. It isn’t until I’m making a second pass that I realize what I’m doing—not just touching, but reassuring myself that he’s whole, that he’s in one piece.

  “I was so scared,” I whisper, tracing my fingertips up his arms again. Thank God for fire suits—I’ve seen the angry red burns on Gibb’s arms, but Sean is unmarked.

  “Shh.” He drives his fingers into my hair and rubs his thumbs over my cheeks. “I’m okay. I’m here.”

  I kiss his mouth. His chin. The strong line of his neck that leads down to an even stronger sho
ulder. I kiss every bit of him I can reach before returning to his mouth. “You’re here. And you’re mine.”

  “Yours.” He whispers the word against my lips, his hands already gliding down my back. Down my hips to tug at my cotton panties.

  I lift my hips, ready to help him get rid of them, and choke on a moan when he just edges them to one side and strokes me. It’s hot, it’s dirty, and I bury my face in his throat and rock against his hand. “Oh God—”

  “Say it again,” he rasps.

  I know exactly what he wants to hear, but I can’t resist teasing him. I brush his ear with my lips and moan, “Oh God.”

  His other hand tightens until he’s grasping my thigh firmly. “Hannah.”

  I shiver. “You’re mine.”

  He rewards me with a firmer touch, and when he circles my clit, I think I could come like this—straddling his lap, my dress pushed up and my underwear shoved aside. I fumble between us, tugging at his belt. “I want you inside me.”

  He presses the condom into my hand with a growl of anticipation. There’s a darkness in his eyes, but he’s holding back. Barely, but still fighting it.

  I haven’t been ready for all of him. I am now.

  I get his pants open and push his boxers down. His erection is hot beneath my fingers, hard, and he makes another of those growling noises when I stroke it gently. I could keep teasing him, and he’d let me, but right now I don’t have the patience. My body throbs with an emptiness only he can fill, an emptiness that makes my hands shake as I smooth the condom into place.

  And then I’m not empty anymore. He thrusts up, and I can’t stop my hoarse cry. It’s pleasure, and it’s more, because I don’t think I believed this moment was real until this second. I clutch at his shoulders as he fills me, dizzy with the realization that he’s here. He’s okay.

  And he’s mine.

  He kisses me, his tongue tracing my lips, and sucks in a sharp breath as he clutches my hips. “I need you. Not just for this. For everything.”

  I slide my hands up to tangle in his hair. “Take me.”