Complicated Parts: Book Two

by Jade, Ashley

  My teeth dig into my lower lip. “Yes.” I draw in a shaky breath. “You guys already know about my nanna and the will, but what you don’t know is that she wanted to choose the guy I married. Long story short—I panicked and told her I had a boyfriend. I figured if I was being forced to marry someone, it should be my choice and not hers. As luck would have it, I ran into Preston. I asked him to help me out and he agreed. And since I didn’t want any part of the shit show wedding my nanna would end up throwing, we got married on our own.”

  Any trace of annoyance is replaced by hurt. “I always thought if either of us got married the other would be there. Or at the very least you’d tell me.”

  I know she’s upset, but it’s not the same as me marrying someone for the right reasons. “We’re not actually together, Breslin. It’s just business. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Yeah, I get that.” She gives her head a shake. “What I don’t get is why you would try to hide it from me. Lord knows I can’t stand Preston, but you’re like a sister to me. I thought we told each other everything.” She looks at Asher and Landon with glassy eyes and my heart twists. “I’m gonna take Picasso for a walk.”

  Without sparing me another glance, she starts walking out of the room.

  A lump fills my throat. I don’t want to lose her for a second time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “She didn’t have a choice, Breslin,” Preston says. “We got married without a prenup and I threatened to take every dime of her parents’ money if she told you. I also destroyed her phone to make sure she couldn’t call you.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to defend him, but I can’t. Everything he said is the truth.

  Which only makes it so much worse.

  The expression on Breslin’s face when she turns around is what I imagine most killers look like right before they murder their victims in cold blood. “You did what?”

  Before anyone can blink, she’s speeding toward him. Preston doesn’t even flinch when her fist goes sailing into his jaw. “You’re such an asshole!”

  “You’re just realizing that now? Someone’s not the sharpest tool in the shed after all, now is she?”

  She goes to punch him for a second time, but Asher and Landon step in.

  “You’re a real class act, man,” Landon bites out as they pull Breslin off him.

  The fact that Preston can manage to ruffle the feathers of someone as calm and level-headed as Landon speaks volumes.

  Preston gives him a shit-eating grin. “Thanks, I’ll be here all night. Don’t forget to tip your waitress.”

  Christ, it’s like he wants everyone in the room to hate him.

  It suddenly occurs to me that’s exactly what he’s doing. He’s intentionally pushing them away so they don’t get too close.

  Just like he does with me.

  Even Asher who went to the ends of the earth to defend him earlier looks disgusted. “What the fuck is your problem? It’s like aliens abducted my brother and brought back a psychopath.”

  I shuffle my feet, my gaze darting between Asher and Preston. There’s so much I want to say and so much Preston won’t. And yet, I can’t help but feel like I’d be betraying Preston—the Preston I know, not this snarky douchebag version—if I told his brother all the things he should be telling him.

  Asher looks so distraught and out of sorts it makes my heart hurt. “No phone calls. No visits. Not even a fucking postcard the whole entire time you’ve been gone.”

  Preston stays silent, freezing him out like he’s nothing more than a piece of furniture in the room.

  Asher sits at the end of the bed. “Can you guys give us a few minutes alone?”

  Preston snaps his head up. “No.”

  It’s clear Asher doesn’t like that response. “Why not?”

  “Are you really that stupid, or have you just been sacked one too many times?” I wince at the hostility in his tone. “I don’t want to talk to you. Hell, I don’t even want to see you ever again.”

  Asher’s jaw tics. “Well, it’s a good thing you can’t leave then, huh?”

  A frown pulls at Preston’s mouth. “Take these off, Kit.” His gaze draws inward. “Please.”

  “No,” Asher argues. “Leave them on. He might not want to talk, but he can damn sure listen to what I have to say.”

  Dread claws at my chest. I hate being pulled in two different directions and having to choose a side.

  Asher points to the door. “Everyone get out so I can talk to my brother.”

  I can see the struggle on Preston’s face. “You told me you understood.”

  My insides coil. “I do—”

  “Yeah? How would you like it if I handcuffed you to a bed and forced you to be in the same room as your uncle?”

  I wouldn’t. I’d hate it so much I’d never be able to forgive him.

  A decision that seemed so hard a few seconds ago is now one of the easiest. “I’m not leaving.”

  Asher looks positively baffled. “Fine. But one of you better tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “I can’t.” My throat goes tight. “It’s not my place to tell you what he’s been up to or why he didn’t contact you. All I know is Preston doesn’t want to talk to you right now. Maybe he’ll change his mind or maybe he won’t. But if you love him, and I know you do, the best thing you can do is respect that and give him some time to sort things out.”

  “Time? It’s been three fucking years.” Asher stands up. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is the thanks I get.” He gets close to Preston’s face. “You’re gonna regret this. Mark my fucking words.”

  Preston’s expression goes blank, void of any speck of emotion. Like he’s mentally checked out of the room. It’s the scariest, most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever seen.

  “I think you should leave.”

  The cords in Asher’s neck strain. “I’m not leaving.”

  “Come on, Asher.” Landon drapes his arm around his shoulders. “I think everyone needs a breather right now. We can check in with them tomorrow.”

  Breslin looks between the door they just walked out of and me. “Will you be okay if I leave you alone with him? I can stay.”

  “No. I’ll be fine.”

  She exhales sharply. “Everything is so messed up.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. I think it’s safe to say we really need to talk.”

  After she leaves, I make my way over to him on the bed.

  Preston doesn’t move a muscle. I’m not sure he even knows I’m here.

  “I’m sorry.” I take the key out of my pocket. “I was trying to do what I thought was best.”

  I unlock one of his wrists and his arm falls limp at his side. Same happens when I unlock the other one.

  I cup his jaw. “Can you look at me, please?”

  But he doesn’t. He only retreats further into whatever trance he’s in and my heart bottoms out. Something’s seriously wrong. He’s completely withdrawn…catatonic.

  “I’m sorry, Preston. I was scared you were going to leave and get into trouble again.” I cradle his face in my hands, my desperation and concern growing with every second that passes. “Please, talk to me. Yell at me if you want. Tell me how wrong I was. Call me a neurotic nutcase who has no respect for personal boundaries. Just say something…anything.”

  Nothing.

  Panic shoots through me like a slingshot and I grab him by the shoulders. “Tell me what I can do. Tell me how to fix this.”

  Fix you.

  My chest caves in when I don’t get a response and I do the only thing I can think of.

  I throw my arms around him. “Okay, fine—you win. We don’t have to talk.” I rest my head on his shoulder. “But I’m not letting go until you tell me to.” I trace little circles up and down his back, being as gentle as I can. “It’s me and you. Until the end. Even when you hate me and push me away.”

  My heart threatens to beat out of my chest when
strong arms wrap around me. The tremors zipping through his body are so intense they make my teeth chatter and he’s clutching me so tight it physically hurts, but I don’t care. I match his strength, holding on to him with everything I’ve got.

  “It’s okay.” He lowers his head, nestling in the crook between my neck and shoulder as if he’s seeking somewhere to keep cover, and it sends a gust of anguish through me.

  Trailing my fingers along his scalp, I plant a gentle kiss on his scar. “You’re okay.”

  The stove is hot—my mind warns me. But I’m not listening.

  Because Preston’s in the middle of an inferno…and I won’t let him go through it alone.

  Chapter 14

  The moment we're born we're already dying.

  The proverbial clock is ticking away...counting down the seconds until our last.

  Yet, our human instinct is to try and stop the inevitable.

  We're so scared of death we spend a good portion of our lives trying to prevent it. As though the grim reaper himself was lurking around the corner...ready to pounce at a moment's notice.

  From an early age, parents inform their children of all the bad things that could happen. All the ways they could die.

  Don't cross the street without looking both ways—you could get hit by a car. Don't go swimming by yourself—you could drown. Don't talk to strangers—they could murder you.

  Parents warn their children of all those things, but assure them the monsters under their beds aren't real and there’s nothing to be afraid of.

  No one ever tells children the truth.

  The monster is real.

  The monster could kill you.

  And sometimes...they're the monster you should be afraid of.

  Because some things are far worse than death.

  Things like—the sheer terror that snatches you by the throat when you’re immobilized by a force much stronger than you and you realize there’s no escape.

  The surge of helplessness that seeps into your psyche as someone painstakingly strips you of every ounce of your control piece by piece.

  Or the overwhelming agony that follows when you finally succumb to the monster and beg and plead for him to stop…but he doesn’t.

  Because you’re at his mercy, and he wants you to feel weak and powerless.

  And you do.

  Until finally…you don’t feel anything anymore.

  You’re just a vacant cadaver. Lying face down on a bloody carpet until every drop of humanity is siphoned out of you.

  I was seven years old when I found out the same man who laughed and told me the monster under my bed wasn't real...was the monster I should have been afraid of all along.

  And every day since then has been spent wishing the bastard finished the job and killed me. Put me out of my fucking misery.

  The only time I don’t feel like that is when I’m gambling. When I’m riding the high, calling the shots, and manipulating fate—I get some of my control back.

  It enables me to have a few moments that aren’t weighed down by my past and all the things I want to forget.

  Or the things I’ll never have.

  Like the girl in my arms.

  “Hey.” Her pretty face is filled with so much concern when she looks at me it chips away at the block of ice in my rib cage. “You’re back.”

  She makes it sound like I just returned from the store instead of the few hours I spent trapped inside my mind—reliving the most vile, unspeakable acts.

  I can see the questions burning behind those hazel eyes, but she doesn’t start pummeling me with them like I thought she would. Instead, she throws her arms around me again, as if she didn’t just spend the last three hours doing exactly that. “I missed you.”

  Fuck—this girl. She has a way of coiling herself around the dead thing inside my chest and jump-starting it back to life.

  Kit not only gives me glimpses of the person I was supposed to be…the man the boy could have been. She accepts the fucked-up remnants of what’s left behind.

  She makes me feel less alone...a little more human.

  Even still, Kit’s not a cure and she can’t fix me…she's merely life-support for my cadaver.

  She’s my favorite illusion.

  Despite my resistance, I’m hugging her back. “Does that mean I’m in danger of being handcuffed to your bed again?”

  “No.” She squeezes me tighter. “I’m sorry. I never should have done that in the first place.”

  A sharp pain infiltrates my skull and I close my eyes.

  Being physically restrained and forced to do something I don’t want to—like interact with my shitbag brother—was pretty much my version of hell.

  If I had any doubt about him turning out like our father and any hope I could move past this…I don’t anymore. And if I never see him again, it will be too soon. He can take his money, fame, and his threats and choke on them.

  The faster I get my ass back to Vegas, the better it is for everyone.

  Despite being a loose cannon, Campanelli’s fairly easy to manipulate and I know with the right words I’ll get my job back.

  I let go of her and get off the bed. “Do you have a computer?”

  I only have fifty bucks to my name, but I can use my frequent flier miles to book a flight back home.

  After I make two pit stops first.

  “Yeah.” She scoots to the edge of the bed and I try not to focus on the way her shorts ride up her thighs. “Is a laptop okay?”

  “Perfect.” I search around for my clothes but come up empty. “Have you seen my suit?”

  She raises a brow. “In the laundry room. I haven’t gotten around to having it dry cleaned yet though.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  I amble toward the door, but she tugs my arm.

  “Hold on. Why are you acting like you just woke up after a one-night stand with a taxidermist and can’t get out of her house quick enough?”

  To say she’s piqued my attention is an understatement. “That’s quite the picture you’re painting.”

  She chews on her bottom lip. “I was nineteen. She was older, cute…a bit odd. Long story short, I got drunk and we went back to her place for the night. I woke up in a room full of stuffed cats and birds and hightailed it the heck out of there. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find my clothes, so I had no choice but to grab the bearskin rug we had sex on and hide behind a large oak tree until Breslin picked me up.”

  I open my mouth, but words strike me silent. I’m not sure there’s anything one can say after hearing that.

  She waves a hand. “Yeah, I know. But enough about me, why does it sound like you’re leaving?”

  “Because I am leaving.”

  I start to walk away again, but she runs in front of me. “Wait, hold your horses, cowboy.”

  I brush past her. “Unlike your taxidermist, I have no horses. I do, however, have some things to take care of and hopefully; a plane to catch in the next forty-eight hours.”

  “Plane to catch where? Campanelli said he’d kill you if he sees you in Vegas again.”

  I look around for the laundry room. “Let me worry about Campanelli.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  When I don’t answer, she huffs out a breath. “Not only are we married, which automatically puts me on his radar…but my nanna shelled out thirteen million dollars to save your ass.”

  “To save your ass,” I correct her. “Which she wouldn’t have had to do if you stayed inside.”

  “You were in trouble.”

  Christ almighty, she’s like the little lamb who follows Mary to school. Or in this case, follows me around. But, I’m no Mary, and if she keeps shadowing me, it’s only a matter of time before she ends up on the chopping block.

  Just the thought of someone hurting her has my blood boiling.

  I rub the throbbing spot on my head where a migraine is starting to form. “Look, I signed up for a quickie wedding and an even quicker trip to m
eet your nanna. Not a lifetime of being forced to talk to your friends or nagged about my whereabouts.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tack no sex to the end of that sentence, but I’d like to leave with my scrotum in one piece.

  I breathe easy when I manage to locate my suit in the laundry room. I was hoping to make a getaway without any arguments or hard feelings. Then again, I suppose I kind of fucked that up with all the bullshit that happened earlier with my brother.

  All the more reason to get a move on. If I leave now she won’t hate me like she did the last time I left.

  Though it might be better if she does.

  “You hugged me back.”

  She’s lost me. “What?” I yank on my pants. “Hate to burst your bubble, but we’re not five. A hug doesn’t mean we’re lifelong friends or soulmates.”

  I’m being a dick, but it’s the only way to cut the cord.

  “I meant before…when you were going through…you know. You hugged me back. I know it’s scary to admit, but maybe you need someone—”

  I spin around so fast she has no choice but to back up a few steps. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t need anyone.”

  Anger races over my skin and it takes everything in me not to lose it. I don’t want to talk, let alone think about what happened before. Not now. Not ever. “You’re the one acting like a stage-five clinger who can’t take a hint. Not me.” And because I want to make sure she stops poking the beast I add, “No wonder your relationships never work out. You’re too goddamn needy.”

  I regret the words the second I see the crushed look on her face. It’s as if I took the wind right out of her sails and threw her overboard.

  “Does it feel good?” When I give her a look she says, “To cut people down to size and push them away whenever they get too close?”

  Usually. Not with her, though.

  She rubs her arms like she physically needs to warm herself up from the cold shoulder I’m giving her. “I wasn’t trying to make you talk about what happened earlier. I just wanted you to know you have a friend who cares and doesn’t want to see anything bad happen to you. A friend who’s here whenever you want to talk…or don’t want to talk.”