Broken Beautiful Hearts

by Kami Garcia

  “You sure about that?” he demands.

  “Do you think I like asking you for help? It’s the last thing I want. But I’m short on the rent.”

  “I just told you that I don’t have any more money. What the hell do you want from me?” He shouts so loud that it makes me jump.

  I’ve never heard Reed yell at his mom or Tess. Even when I argue with him he always stays calm. Pissed off, but calm.

  “Now you’re gonna cry and make me feel like shit?” Reed asks. He’s not yelling, but his tone is intense. “I’m out of here.”

  I back away from the door just as it opens, and Reed charges out of the apartment. He almost walks into me but catches himself. He glances from the apartment to me and seems to calm down. “How long have you been out here?”

  “A few minutes.” My throat is so dry I barely get the words out.

  He closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have done that. Shit.”

  I touch his arm. “What happened? I’ve never heard you yell at your mom before.”

  “Because I don’t.” He turns away and paces the hall. “My piece-of-shit father called. He was drunk, as usual. Talking shit about how we ruined his life. I said I don’t know how we could’ve ruined his life when he never sees us.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Not much. It pissed him off and he hung up.” Reed takes a deep breath. “Tess left for the party, and as soon as she was gone, my mom started complaining about how she can’t make rent. Asking if I could work extra hours when I’m already working as hard as I can. I just lost it.” He glances at the door as if he’s considering going back inside. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to apologize to your mom? I can wait out here.”

  “Not now. She needs some space.” He takes my hand and leads me toward the stairs. “I’ll drive.”

  I look back at the apartment door, imagining Mrs. Michaels crying on the other side. Why isn’t he going back inside to apologize?

  We get in Reed’s car and for a few minutes neither of us says a word. The houses get larger and more opulent the closer we get to the party.

  Reed steals a glance at me. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier today.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “No, it isn’t.” He reaches over and rubs the back of my neck and smiles. “You got into UNC. That’s a big deal. I’m really proud of you.” His mood does a complete one-eighty, as if the scene back at the apartment never happened.

  “Thanks.” I’m not sure how to react. Reed’s moods have been all over the place lately, but I’ve never seen him shake a bad one this fast.

  “Like I said earlier, we’re gonna celebrate tonight.” He squeezes my shoulder, and I give him a weak smile.

  “If you really want to celebrate, let’s go somewhere by ourselves. I’m not in the mood for a party.”

  Reed frowns. “I need to get out of my head, you know?”

  “And you can’t do that alone with me?”

  “Sure. But sometimes it’s easier when there’s a lot going on. We can go out tomorrow night, though. Is that cool?”

  It’s not cool. Not even a little.

  But I’m not in the mood to argue. “Sure, whatever.”

  “Don’t be mad.” He turns into Quail Landing, the wealthy neighborhood where high school students throw parties and let strangers trash their homes whenever their parents leave town.

  “I’m not mad,” I lie. We talked about the offer from UNC for all of two minutes.

  My perfect day doesn’t feel so perfect anymore.

  CHAPTER 4

  Little Black Box

  THE FACT THAT I asked Reed if we could spend time alone tonight and we ended up at a kegger sums up the current state of our relationship.

  “You sure you don’t want a drink?” Reed holds out a plastic cup. “It’s your night. We should toast your acceptance.”

  “But you’re not drinking,” I say. He never drinks the night before a fight.

  “I’ll toast with this.” He holds up the can of Coke he’s drinking.

  “That’s okay. We can celebrate next week at Bourbon Steak.” It’s our favorite restaurant downtown. We made a reservation weeks ago just in case I had college news to celebrate.

  “Is that next week?” he asks.

  I know what’s coming. “Yes. On Thursday night. It will be nice to spend some time alone.”

  He puts down the plastic cup. “About Thursday. I’m working late. But you can pick another night.”

  “It took weeks to get a reservation. You can skip one night at the gym.”

  “I wish I could.”

  He’s bailing on me. Again.

  “Forget it. I don’t want to go anymore.” I’m not trying to guilt Reed into changing his schedule. I mean it.

  “I thought you’d be in a better mood tonight.”

  “I was until you bailed on me for the tenth time.”

  “Hi, you two.” Tess enters the kitchen, her cheeks flushed and her hairline sweaty from dancing. She twists her hair into a knot, studying us. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I cross my arms and watch a guy beer-bong a six-pack.

  “Peyton is pissed off because I wanted to come to the party,” Reed says.

  Was he paying any attention to our conversation?

  “I’m not pissed.” But I’m getting there.

  “You look pissed,” Tess says.

  “I’m annoyed, and it has nothing to do with the party.”

  “Right.” Reed exhales loudly. “She’s mad because I can’t go to dinner on Thursday. I’ve gotta work.”

  “You didn’t even remember we had plans.” When did I become the girl who begs her boyfriend for attention? And how fast can I get rid of her?

  “That’s not—” he says, but I cut him off.

  “I don’t want to argue. It’s one stupid dinner. It doesn’t matter.”

  Reed’s phone pings and he reads the incoming text. “Hold on.”

  Sure. Why not? It’s not like we were having a conversation or anything.

  Reed wanders away from us, focused on whatever he’s typing. Without looking up, he holds up two fingers and says, “Give me two minutes.”

  “More like twenty,” I say loud enough for him to hear.

  If he was actually listening.

  Tess nudges my shoulder with hers. “I know Reed is a pain in the ass sometimes, but tonight it’s not his fault. He’s always a little off after the Sperm Donor calls.”

  She’s probably right, but over the last two months, making excuses for her brother has become Tess’ full-time job.

  “It’s not about whether or not he loves me. Something is going on with him, and it’s not just the phone call. Something changed. He’s different.” I didn’t realize how much until I heard him yelling at his mom.

  Tess stares at the floor.

  “Whatever it is, go ahead and say it,” I tell her.

  “Maybe it’s not Reed.”

  How can she play dumb with me? I’ve seen the way Tess tiptoes around him like she’s navigating a minefield when he’s in one of his moods.

  “So you think I’m the problem?”

  Tess shakes her head. “No. That came out wrong. I meant maybe it’s things between you two that changed. You’re upset because Reed is at the gym all the time, but he has to train more if he’s going to fight in the middleweight division.”

  “It was his idea to move up a weight class,” I remind her.

  “I know. I tried to talk him out of it. But he thinks he has a better chance of making it into the UFC as a middleweight.”

  “It’s more than that.” We’re missing something. I lean against the wall and watch a new beer bong competitor get into position.

  This is not how I envisioned celebrating my big news. I reach for my phone to check the time, wondering if it’s too early to head home. But it isn’t in my pocket. Nothing but lip balm, house keys
, and Reed’s car keys. God forbid he carry anything except his phone. I pat down my coat. “I lost my phone.”

  “It’s probably in the car, like the last three times you lost it. I need to run to the bathroom and then I’ll help you find it,” Tess says.

  The line for the bathroom is six people deep. I can’t wait that long. “All my voice mails are on it.”

  Tess knows that by all I really mean one—the last message from my dad. It’s the reason I’ve had the same phone for a year and a half, even though it barely holds a charge.

  “I bet it’s in the car,” she says. “Don’t worry.”

  “I’m just going to run out and check.” I leave through the back door.

  Outside, a stone retaining wall snakes down the hill beside the house. The wall separates a paved footpath from the long driveway. My arm scrapes against the rock as I rush toward the steps at the end of the walkway that lead down to the street.

  Reed parked his car across from the steps, and I can’t get it unlocked fast enough. I search for my phone in the front seat and between the crevices of the center console.

  Nothing.

  Think. Retrace your steps.

  When we got in Reed’s car I tossed my jacket in the back seat. My phone could’ve fallen out of the pocket. I lean between the front seats and grope around.

  Come on. Please be here.

  What if it’s not?

  My chest tightens. I can’t lose Dad’s message.

  Reed’s car is full of junk—hand wraps, sparring pads, sweaty T-shirts, and empty energy drinks. His smelly gym bag is open on the floor. I dig through it until my fingers hit something rectangular and smooth.

  A box.

  I take it out of the bag, expecting a cheap plastic box like one Reed uses as a first aid kit. But this box is glossy black cardboard, like a gift box.

  Reed doesn’t do surprises, and he thinks presents are a waste of money. The only gift he has given me in the seven months we’ve been together was for my birthday. And Tess and Mrs. Michaels don’t have birthdays anytime soon.

  My stomach bottoms out.

  All the time he’s been spending at the gym …

  What if Reed hasn’t been there every night?

  Things have been off between us for a while and I’m not a fan of his recent mood swings, but I’d never cheat on him. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t.

  The box doesn’t have a store name or logo printed on it, and it’s a weird size—too big for a bracelet and too deep for a necklace. A watch, maybe?

  I open the lid.

  At first, I’m not sure what I’m looking at—small glass bottles and a folded sheet of paper? Then I lift the paper and see the slender objects tucked beside the bottles.

  Syringes.

  My hands shake and the bottles clink against one another. Most athletes who play at my level know about PEDs, performance-enhancing drugs. Using PEDs—or doping—gives athletes an edge. Strength, speed, or stamina—the results depend on the cocktail. I turn on the dome light and examine the labels.

  Reed’s cocktail of choice? Steroids.

  Even as I stare at the evidence, I can’t wrap my mind around this. Reed has a fight record that most amateur fighters would kill for. Why would he risk his future in the sport he loves? And his life?

  Why didn’t I see the signs?

  His short temper and unpredictable mood swings.

  The underground street fights.

  The way he yelled at his mom.

  Even the fist-sized hole in the wall in Reed’s apartment. Picturing it now, I realize why it looked strange. The hole was too high to have been made by the doorknob.

  So many things haven’t added up over the last two months. I should’ve realized what was going on. Why didn’t I connect the dots?

  I’m done wondering.

  Reed is going to connect them for me.

  I close the box and shove it into the huge pocket of Dad’s leather jacket as I get out of the car. Something is glowing on the ground, next to the curb.

  My phone.

  A text from Reed illuminates the screen.

  where are u?

  I pocket my phone and head back to the house, feeling raw.

  When I look up, Reed is standing at the top of the stone steps, craning his neck as he scans the yard. He sees me and waits for me to catch up with him.

  “Hey. I came out to find you,” he says as I walk up the steps. “Tess said you went out to the car.”

  He’s smiling.

  I’m not.

  I look around. This isn’t a conversation I want to have in front of an audience, but I don’t see anyone nearby. The retaining wall separates the stairs from the driveway and tall hedges block the view to the house.

  Reed tries to put his arm around me, but I walk past him.

  “Are you still pissed off about dinner on Thursday?” he asks.

  “We need to talk.” I’m not ready for this conversation. It’s like standing on the edge of a swimming pool when you know the water is freezing. You just have to jump. “I found something in your car when I was looking for my phone.”

  I reach into my jacket pocket. Reed’s skin pales when he sees the box. I hold it out between us, resisting the urge to chuck it at him.

  “That’s not mine.”

  I wave the box in front of him. “It was in your bag.”

  “TJ needed somewhere to put it.” Reed looks everywhere but at me. “It’s his.”

  “If you’re going to lie, you should look the person in the eye when you’re doing it.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. Tell me the truth or I’m going to walk away and I will never speak to you again.” He opens his mouth to say something and I point at him. “Never.”

  I pace in front of the retaining wall, toying with my dog tags.

  Reed glances over his shoulder, checking to make sure no one is around. “I can explain.”

  This is really happening.

  “I needed to put on some muscle fast. The guy I’m fighting in a few weeks outweighs me by fourteen pounds. I was going to stop after the fight. But I need this win to make it into the tournaments coming up if I want to book bigger fights.” He’s talking fast and pleading with me with his big blue eyes. “And what if Tess doesn’t get a scholarship? She’ll need money for tuition. If I don’t attract some attention and get a sponsor, I won’t be able to help her.”

  “Don’t use Tess as an excuse. If you get caught, you’ll be banned from competing altogether.”

  “Nobody will find out.” He sounds so casual about it, like I caught him with a beer.

  “Really? What if they test you?”

  “They never test at this level unless someone gets reported or caught on-site. And I’m careful.”

  I exhale dramatically. “Well, that changes everything. I didn’t realize how much thought you had put into cheating and pumping your body full of poison. I feel soooo much better now.”

  Reed’s jaw muscles twitch. “It’s not really cheating. I still have to win in the cage.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.” I shove the box against his chest. “Take this. I don’t want to touch it for another second.”

  Reed crams the box in the pocket of his cargo jacket, as if I’ll forget it exists if it’s out of sight.

  “You’ve been lying to me for … how long, Reed? Two months? Or longer?”

  “I told you I’m gonna stop.”

  “When?”

  He rubs his hands over his face. “Soon.”

  I expected him to say now and beg me to forgive him—or help him. “Not good enough.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you have to choose right now. Me or the drugs.” I watch him and wait for him to make the right choice and pick me. But the longer he doesn’t say anything, the more my heart breaks. What happened to the boy who brought me mashed potatoes every day for a week after I had my wisdom teet
h removed? The boy I gave every part of myself to?

  It doesn’t matter.

  He’s gone.

  “I just need a little more time,” he says finally.

  “You made your choice. We’re over.” Saying the words hurts even though I’m the person saying them.

  He presses his palms against his temples. “Okay. This is a lot for you to take in. But don’t throw away the last seven months.”

  “You threw them away.”

  “A couple of months. That’s all I need. After the tournaments I’ve got coming up I’ll stop. I swear.”

  A minute ago he said he’d stop in a few weeks. Now it’s a couple of months?

  “You don’t have to make me any promises, Reed. This relationship is over. I don’t want a boyfriend who chooses drugs over me.”

  The color drains from his face. “You’re pissed and you need some time to think,” he says, in the soothing tone he uses when I lose a soccer game. “We should talk after you calm down. I’ll take you home.”

  “There’s nothing left to talk about. I’ll get a ride from Lucia.”

  I try to walk around him, but Reed steps in front of me. “Are you running away from me?”

  The accusation pisses me off. “Running? I’m not even walking fast. You’re paranoid. That garbage is screwing with your head. And I don’t run from anyone. I’m walking away because there’s nothing left to say.”

  “Why are you being such a bitch?”

  He did not just call me a bitch.

  “Excuse me? Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m not one of your fangirls begging you to hook up with me while you’re all sweaty after a fight.”

  “I’m talking to you like you’re my girlfriend, who won’t cut me a break.” The muscles along the back of his neck bulge. When did they get so big?

  “I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”

  He bristles. “Stop saying that. We’re not breaking up.”

  “Even if you hadn’t been lying to me—which you have—do you think I could stand by and watch you poison yourself? I care about you.”

  “You care about me?” He jerks back as if I slapped him. “You’re supposed to love me, not care about me. Or was that bullshit?”

  “It’s a figure of speech. Get a grip.” But he doesn’t have one anymore. I see that now. “This conversation isn’t going anywhere.”