Reft

by Libby Austin

  REFT

  Other Titles by Libby Austin

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Connect with Libby

  through infinity Excerpt

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  thanks for the memories Excerpt

  & beyond … Coming Late Spring 2015

  Reft

  Copyright © 2015 by Libby Austin.

  All rights reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons—living, dead, or imaginary, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at administrator@infinityandbeyondpublishing.com.

  Cover Photo and Design by:

  Sara Eirew of Sara Eirew Photographer and Designer

  Editing by:

  Book Peddler’s Editing & Indie Solutions by Murphy Rae

  Interior Design & Formatting by:

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  Available Now

  forever and a day series

  through infinity

  thanks for the memories ~a Christmas novella

  Standalone

  Reft

  Coming Soon

  forever and a day series

  & beyond …

  Standalones

  DamN

  Love Defying

  For The Borg.

  Resistance is futile.

  From the first word to the final book, you’ve helped steer Reft into a class of beauty that few have a chance to reach. Without you, Reft would be shadow of itself. Though you refuse to claim it, to you goes the glory. You are in a class by yourself.

  AUGUST

  Micah

  AS I FACED BRAND’S PARENTS, the guilt of knowing I’d failed my best friend rested heavily upon my shoulders. There was nowhere else to turn. Brand had steadily declined over the last tour. None of the other guys in the band could figure out what was going on with him either. The more we tried to include him, the more Brand withdrew; the more he withdrew, the more erratic he became. It seemed the only time he functioned was when we were on stage.

  Rubbing my hand over my head, I confessed, “We just don’t know what else to do. We thought it was drugs or booze, but we could never catch him doing it or find it hidden anywhere. Then we thought maybe he was going through groupies”—I grimaced at the thought of talking to my friend’s parents about their son’s sex life—“even though that had never been his thing before, but he wasn’t taking anybody back to his room and he wasn’t going out. He’s not eating or working out. He’s lost some weight and muscle definition.” I blew out a breath and looked down, focusing on the pattern in the rug. “With the tour ending and him going home by himself, we’re worried.” Looking up, I met their concerned gazes. “And in spite of feeling like I’m narcing on my friend, I’m here because he needs help, and I don’t know where else to turn or what else to do.”

  Peter and Sarah exchanged a knowing glance before turning their eyes back to me. As her husband squeezed her hand, Sarah asked, “When did you start to notice Brandon’s behavior changing?”

  I shook my head and said, “That’s just it; it was like BAM—all of a sudden he just wasn’t the same. Then Danelle pointed out that he started acting like an ass to her when she and Bow started to get serious, and he’s gotten worse as the rest of us have settled down and stuff.

  “It doesn’t make any sense. He always got along with Danelle when she was our publicist, so I don’t get why he would suddenly be a jerk …” I trailed off as I thought back over the past couple of years.

  Sarah’s worried gaze found her husband’s once again, and he swallowed and nodded his consent. It was time.

  “Do you …” She hesitated and began again. “Did Brandon ever speak with you about the past?”

  Based on the earnest expression on her face, I knew I’d done the right thing by coming to them. There was something seriously wrong going on with my friend. “No, not really. I mean, he’s a kidder and a joker. He deflects a lot of serious shit with humor. But now, it’s like he’s lost who he is and can’t stand to be around us.”

  I stood up and walked over to the wall of glass, which offered a panoramic view of the backyard. Backyard—what the fuck was I talking about? This was a fucking estate. I would have never pictured low-key Brand coming from a life where his family owned more land than some cities occupied. Then again, I hadn’t even known Carmichael wasn’t Brand’s real last name until today. We’d spent practically every moment together over the past decade since we’d founded Inert Motion, touring and recording almost nonstop. The realization that there was a whole hell of a lot I didn’t know about my ‘best friend’ settled like sour milk in my stomach.

  The reflection appearing in the glass next to mine snapped me from my wandering thoughts.

  We stood there in silence, side by side, for longer than was comfortable before Sarah softly spoke. “Do you want to know why Brandon seems lost?”

  Was she yanking my fucking chain? Wasn’t that why I was here, betraying the guy I called my brother? Biting my tongue and keeping the smart-assed remarks to myself, I answered, “That’s why I’m here.”

  She turned to face me and waited until I turned my head to look at her. Her eyes conveyed a pain and strength I’d never witnessed. Sarah drew in a deep breath that pushed her shoulders back until she stood straighter and taller. I hadn’t realized how stooped she appeared as she stood beside me. “Will you be able to do what needs to be done to help him, even though you may not agree?”

  I took a moment to think about what she said. Now didn’t seem to be the time for rash promises; however, it didn’t take me long to answer. “I’d do anything—short of selling my soul to the devil, and even that I would consider—if it would save him.” I didn’t flinch or bat an eye as I spoke, and neither did she.

  She nodded her head and turned to stare out the window once again. “The reason he seems like he’s lost is because he is, and he can’t find his way back.” The words were spoken distantly, as if she had stepped back into a memory and it had consumed her.

  OCTOBER

  Brandon

  STARTLED BY THE SOUND OF a crash, I jumped back to the here and now from my mental wanderings. “SHIT! FUCK! DAMN! MOTHER FUCKER! DAMN IT ALL TO HELL!” The stream of profanity coming from the other side of the condo door jerked my attention tow
ard whatever—or whomever, rather—was out there. I’d been staring off into space for who knew how long, doing nothing more than breathing as I let my mind stay blank in an effort not to think about how wrong everything in my life had gone in the past year—the past decade or so, if I was being honest. The yelling subsided to a low, keening wail. My first instinct was to rush to the person’s aid. When I went to stand, I lost my footing, since my leg was asleep, and stumbled before righting myself and limping my way over to the door, muttering, “Pins and needles, pins and needles,” along the way.

  As I swung the door open, a toned set of legs topped by a curvy, plump handful of very attractive ass greeted me. Even I had to acknowledge the little kick-start to my blood pressure. The legs and ass were attached to a woman bending over, holding her sandal-covered foot as she leaned against the wall, supporting herself with one hand while cradling her foot in the other hand. The foot remaining on the floor was surrounded by an array of grocery bags and their spilled contents. A thick curtain of brown hair shrouded the woman’s face.

  Her creative use of language continued at a much lower volume. Not knowing what to do, I stood there and waited. I expected she’d stand up and turn around and I would say something like ‘Hi.’ However, I was disappointed when her response to me standing there was, “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” Great! She knew who I was; that was just hunky-fucking-dory. So much for the solitude I’d had the past couple of months. I’d even managed to keep away from the prying eyes of my bandmates by dodging their calls and declining their invites to hang out when they did catch me.

  The woman glared at me, which wasn’t the usual circumstance when I met someone who recognized me. I was a little taken aback by her hostility. As far as I knew, I’d never met her, and I’m not generally given to be a jerk for no reason.

  “Give somebody a clue that you’re fucking there before you give them a heart attack,” she castigated me for my silence.

  “Oh, sorry—umm—I just heard the commotion and …” Noticing she still held her foot, I asked, “Do you need some help?” I stepped forward to assist her, putting a hand on her arm.

  Using me for balance, she made an effort to stand up. As she straightened her back and attempted to put weight on her foot, she yelped.

  “Here, let me help you inside so you can sit down.” I looked around. “Do you have your keys?” I knew the previous code to the door, but maintenance generally came and changed the door codes anytime someone moved out or someone new moved into the building.

  The woman’s eyes had been closed as she stood there, leaning against me. They popped open when I spoke, and I noticed they were big and brown. My mom would have called them doe eyes. “Oh, they’re still in my purse. I was trying to get them when I dropped the bag. I haven’t memorized the code yet. I keep forgetting it, so I use the key.” She groped for the purse slung across her body. I noticed the generous swell of boobs framing the strap where it crossed her chest. “Here,” she said as she thrust the key in the lock and pushed the door open. “Can you just help me make it to a chair?” I guiltily jerked my gaze away from the cleavage and nervously licked my lips. It was a good thing she was distracted, or she probably would have thought I was a perv.

  We clumsily made our way through the door and across the entryway to the living room. I settled her in a chair and then stood there, a bit lost on what to do next. First aid was not my specialty. “Umm …” I began, but stopped and said, “Sorry, I don’t know your name—”

  “It’s Layna,” she said, looking up at me as she waited for me to finish what I’d been saying when she interrupted to tell me her name.

  “Oh—well—umm, Layna, I’m Brandon, by the way, your neighbor. I guess that part’s pretty obvious since I came from across the hall, but, umm, never mind.” I mentally hit myself upside the head for my awkwardness. “Can I get you anything?” I looked around the condo, which was exactly the same as mine, only flipped. There were a few boxes, but everything else seemed to be in its usual place.

  She must have caught my eyes taking in the room and boxes, so she explained, “I just moved in last week. I was finally getting some groceries.” She gestured to her swollen foot.

  “Yeah, okay, that must have been what all the noise was about … Anyway, you need to get some ice on your foot.” Layna looked at me as if I belonged in the corner with a cone hat. “Oh, right, you can’t walk. Uh, do you have ice and stuff?” I asked, looking around as if there should be ice at hand.

  Layna shook her head. “I’ve got ice in the freezer, but I don’t know where the resealable bags are right now.”

  I nodded my head and turned toward the door. I took a few steps before I thought to tell her where I was going. Spinning around, I told her, “I’m just gonna go grab some stuff from my place. I’ll be right back. Just wait here.” Then I turned back around and made my way out her door and across the hall without waiting for her to acknowledge what I said.

  “Not like I’m going anywhere at the moment,” she muttered just loudly enough for me to hear.

  I hurried across to my condo, dodging the stuff strewn across the hallway floor, and made my way to the kitchen, where I knew there was an ice pack in the freezer. It was left over from a shoulder strain, but I figured it would do the job. After retrieving the ice pack and a bottle of water, I went to the bathroom to see if there were any pain relievers. Opening the cabinet, I was relieved to find a bottle of naproxen. I couldn’t remember if it was what you were supposed to take for swelling but figured it was better than nothing.

  Layna had her head laid back on the edge of the chair when I walked back into her condo. She sat up straighter when she heard me. I came to a stop beside her and stood there nervously, unsure what to do next. Chewing on my lip, I considered how to proceed, but thankfully, Layna spoke up and asked, “Can you help me get my shoe off?”

  Startled at the sound of her voice, I jumped. “Oh, yeah, right.” I moved to kneel beside her, and after setting the stuff down, I reached for her foot. “Lucky you’re just wearing sandals,” I observed. “Your foot is swelling already.”

  “Yep, aren’t I just lucky,” she bit out sarcastically. Based on her tone, she didn’t think much of my nursing skills.

  “Well, I guess it would have been more fortuitous to be wearing steel toe boots”—I glanced up at her, taking in her outfit and appearance—“but you don’t seem like the steel-toe-boot-wearing type.”

  Layna quirked an eyebrow at me. “I’ll have you know I own a wide variety of boots, thank you very much.”

  I smirked before looking down at the foot I held. “I stand corrected—”

  “You’re kneeling, actually,” she responded, to which I sort of chuckled nervously, making a noise that sounded more like an elongated hacking.

  “Okay, I kneel corrected, then.” As I laid the ice pack across her foot, I looked around for something to prop it on. “I think you need to get an x-ray. Your foot might be broken.”

  Sitting up straighter, she waved her hand and pulled her foot from my grasp. “No, it’s fine, just a bruise. I’ll sit here a minute and then go get my groceries.”

  “Will your husband be home to help you?”

  “I’m not married.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “No,” she huffed.

  Sensing her irritation, I asked, “Girlfriend?”

  Layna raised her eyebrow and pursed her lips as if she couldn’t believe I went there. “No, I’m unattached. Period.”

  Desperate for there to be someone else, I looked everywhere but at her. “Family or friends?”

  She shook her head again. “No, I just moved here.”

  “A dog?” I asked in a last-ditch effort. Lassie could save any day.

  “Does it look like I have a dog?” she asked, looking around to see what could have given me that idea.

  I shrugged. “You could have kept it in one of those cages,” I explained my reasoning.

  “Don’t you think it would have barke
d when it heard our voices?”

  “Maybe you just trained it to be really quiet.”

  “I tried to carry fifteen bags of groceries at one time so I didn’t have to make two trips. Do I strike you as the type to have the patience to train a dog not to bark?”

  I nodded my head and said, “Right, not patient. You know they have a service for that here?”

  “They have a service to give me patience?”

  Confused, I asked, “What? No, they have someone to bring your groceries up.”

  “I can carry my own groceries—”

  “Obviously,” I said to myself.

  “Look, it’s not my fault the bag holding the jar of pickles broke,” she argued.

  I held my hands up in submission. “I didn’t say it was. Here, take these.” I handed her the bottle of pain reliever along with the bottle of water. “I’m just letting you know they’ll bring the stuff up for you. They load it in boxes and use a dolly.”

  “Thanks for telling me.” It seemed like she at least tried to sound gracious, but the pain laced her voice.

  “If you aren’t going to get it x-rayed, which I think you should, at least R.I.C.E. it,” I instructed.

  Now Layna’s confusion was written all over her face. “Why would I put my foot in rice?”

  At that, I actually laughed. “No, R-I-C-E. Rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”

  “It’ll be okay,” she argued. “Like I said, I’m just gonna sit here a minute then go pick up what’s left of my groceries.”

  “Just stay there, and I’ll get them. You need to get that foot propped up.” I walked across the room and picked up an ottoman, carrying it back to where she sat. After putting it down, I grabbed a couple of pillows off the couch, resettling the ice pack on her propped-up foot, which was turning a vibrant shade of bluish-purple. “I’ll be right back. Go ahead and take those.” I gestured to the pills before heading out into the hallway.