Our Broken Pieces (The Pieces Series Book 1)

by M. E. Clayton

  Her tentative smile turned into a genuine grin. “Thanks, honey,” she replied. “And I’m sorry I’m going to miss your game tomorrow night.”

  I shrugged a shoulder. “It’s okay,” I assured her. “The season’s almost over and you’ve been to all the other games. It’s okay.”

  Her phone pinged, and I watched as her fingers flew over the screen. Her dark blue eyes, the ones that matched mine, found me again as she said, “That’s the car service. I need to get going.”

  I dropped my backpack on the floor and reached for her two bags. She gave me a grateful smile before turning to open the front door and walk out. I followed her in silence and a part of me wanted to beg her to stay. Not because I was in any danger, but because I was tired of lying to her.

  I was tired of keeping my father’s secrets.

  It was tiresome to have to hold on to his secrets as well as my own.

  The driver got out of the car when he saw us and immediately reached for my mother’s bags as we approached the car. I handed them over and my mom gave me the last minutes of her time as he placed her bags in the trunk of the car.

  “I’ll text you when I land, okay?”

  I nodded and did my best to school my features. “Be careful, Mom,” I told her.

  She smiled again. “I always am, Gage.” She leaned in to kiss my cheek and I stuck my hands in my pockets and watched in silence as the driver ushered inside the car. It wasn’t until they were around the corner and out of sight that I finally walked back towards the house. I could feel the tension in my shoulders starting to settle in, but there was nothing I could do about it right now.

  Later.

  Later, I’ll be able to purge the hate, resentment, and anger.

  Right now, though, I had to do some homework and inform Chance I was crashing at his place this weekend.

  See, when the world looked at Quinten Evans and saw a loving husband, supportive father, and respected doctor, all I saw when I looked at Quinten Evans was a bastard of a man who hid behind his money, status, and family image. My father wasn’t a loving husband or supportive father where it counted. Oh, he was a respected doctor and had the skills to back up his medical reputation, but he was a farce, an empty image.

  Granted, we were both cut from the same cloth as I, too, was a farce. I was a practiced actor and manipulator. I manipulated people into seeing what they wanted to see, very much like my father did. Of course, I learned from the best, so there was that.

  One night, when I was twelve-years-old, I was supposed to have stayed the night at Chance’s while my mother had gone off to a psychiatric convention in Baltimore. But I had gotten sick and Chance’s mom had driven me home. When we had pulled up to my house, we had seen the lights on, and so, feeling confident that my father was home, Mrs. McQueen hadn’t walked me to the door. She had waited patiently in the car until I had unlocked the front door and had gone inside. When we had tried calling my father earlier, he hadn’t answered, so we assumed he had either been asleep or had had a medical emergency of some sort. What I never expected was what I had walked into when I had entered the house.

  I had dropped my overnight bag in the foyer of the house and had followed the music, voices, and noises coming from my father’s study. I hadn’t given it much thought at the time and all I had wanted to do was let him know I was home and that I wasn’t feeling well. What I had walked in on will never leave me and it had ruined me forever.

  My father and a couple of his colleagues had been stripped down naked and were covered with women in the same state of undress. I was twelve-years-old and I had walked in on an orgy in my father’s study.

  Now, had it been a normal orgy, I might have been able to recover. I might have been able to conjure up the guts to tell my mom and out my dad.

  But it hadn’t been a normal orgy.

  None of them had been.

  Those women had been being battered. They had looked like they were getting beaten up, not fucked. My twelve-year-old eyes had first thought they were witnessing a fight of some sort, but when their nakedness had registered, I had thrown up all over the carpet.

  I had run out of my father’s office and it had taken him an hour to finally convince me to unlock my bedroom door; a decision I’ll always regret. And instead of calming me down and apologizing, my father had been so high, he had dragged me down to his office and had given me an unwanted crash course in sex-ed. I had watched for hours as my father and his friends used and abused the women in the room. I had watched how they had degraded them and fucked them like worthless whores.

  But what had really fucked my twelve-year-old mind up? I had been traumatized by how the women had seemed to like it. They had moaned, they had begged for more, and they had never tried to run away.

  When it was all over, my father had taken me aside and told me how important it was for me to keep his secret from Mom. He had explained that he loved and respected my mother so much, he couldn’t do the stuff he did with those women to her. He had made it sound reasonable when he went on to guilt me into making sure my mother was never hurt by finding out. He had sworn to me that it would ruin her entire life. So, I had kept his secret. I kept his fucking secret and I kept my mouth shut every time his friends and those women came over whenever my mom was out of town.

  I also kept my mouth shut about how I spent those first few times listening at the door for any cries for help, ready to help those women.

  But they never came.

  Those women had wanted to be there.

  Chapter 5

  Mystic~

  “I’m so nervous.”

  I looked over at Margot, dressed in a stunning green baby-doll dress and nude heels, with her hair pinned up and her makeup looking flawless, and asked, “Why on earth are you nervous? You’re the most people-est person I know, Margot. You do crowds just fine.” The corner of her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth and I was pretty sure she was going to chew the damn thing off. “Margot?”

  She rolled her eyes and let out a tiny huff. “I’m nervous because of Chance,” she admitted.

  I schooled my features the best I could. “You really like him, don’t you?”

  Margot dropped on the foot of her bed. We were in her room as she finished getting ready for her party. I hadn’t wanted to dress up, but she had begged and so we had compromised. She backed off on my makeup and hair as I gave in to wearing a skirt with heels. I had nothing against dressing up, I just felt more comfortable in jeans and hoodies.

  “I don’t know, because I haven’t ever really hung out with him, but he gives me butterflies, Mystic,” she continued to confess. I almost groaned at her admission. I knew she was serious when she used my real name. Margot really wanted to start something with Chance McQueen.

  “That’s a good thing, right?” I knew all about butterflies, but mine were more like locusts taking their rightful place in the line of the Seven Plagues than cute butterflies of attraction.

  She went back to chewing her lip before she asked, “What if it’s a joke, Mys?” I sat down next to her when I realized she was truly worried about Chance’s interest in her. This shit was serious. “What if...I don’t know. Chance McQueen has never asked a girl out. I’m just not sure what this is.”

  I grabbed her hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re asking the wrong person these questions, Mar,” I told her. “Only Chance can answer those questions.”

  Her pretty green eyes were full of self-doubt, and I hated that. “I just don’t want to be the butt of a joke again,” she whispered, and I wanted to kick Timothy’s ass all over again. That sonofabitch will never know what a good thing he threw away in Margot Cross.

  “You’ve never been the butt of a joke, Margot,” I insisted. “The only person who looked like an ass when you and Timothy broke up was Timothy. Everyone sided with you.”

  “I know,” she breathed out. “I know that, but...I still felt like a fool when I found out he was cheating.”


  “I know, Mar.” And I did know. I was there as she endured her first real heartbreak and it had sucked. It had given me a new appreciation for people who have endured having their hearts broken and have had the courage to open themselves up for love again.

  She shook her head and took a deep breath. “You’re right,” she said. “I just need to ask him, point blank, what this is. We’re graduating soon, so if it’s a fling, I can do that. I just need to know that it’s a fling.”

  I wanted to argue that I doubted it very much that she could leave this as a fling if she was already tying herself up knots over it, but I didn’t want to bring her down and ruin her party vibe. “It’ll be fine,” I lied. “You could do worse than a fling with Chance McQueen.”

  She gave me a sly smile, and I knew she was back. “I bet he’s great in the sack.”

  I tried not to grimace. I didn’t want to think about what Chance McQueen was like in bed. It was already bad enough that I might have to actually befriend the dude, I didn’t need to know him any deeper than I might already have to.

  Margot hopped off her bed and was giving herself one more onceover in the mirror as she said, “Oh, by the way, Dillon Mills is coming to the party and he asked me about you yesterday in Algebra.”

  What the hell?

  “What?”

  She turned to face me and threw me a saucy wink. “He asked me in class if you were going to be at my party. I told him you were, and he got this really huge grin on his face.” She turned back towards the mirror. “You know, it’s not the first time he’s asked me about you.”

  I could feel my palms start to sweat, and I felt guilty for rubbing them all over Margot’s comforter, but better her bed than all over the skirt she forced me to wear. “I...I’m not...interested in Dillon,” I told her.

  Margot whirled around to face me again. “Mystic, you’re never interested in anybody,” she tossed out exasperated. “What’s wrong with Dillon Mills?”

  She was wrong.

  I was interested in someone.

  It just wasn’t Dillon Mills.

  “Nothing’s wrong with Dillon,” I replied. “I...I’m just not...interested in him.”

  “Well, then, who are you interested in?”

  I looked up at my best friend in the whole wide world and wished, not for the first time, that I could tell her the truth, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t only my secret to tell and I wasn’t brave enough to risk what I had just to unburden my heart and mind. For the past few years, everything in my life has been a well-crafted lie, and the steps to make that possible were delicate indeed.

  “Mar-”

  She threw her arms out beside her very dramatically. “I mean, guys are dying to date you, left and right, and you couldn’t care less,” she went on. “I just don’t get it.”

  I wanted to tell her that those guys who wanted to date me wouldn’t want to if they knew the truth about me. But, then again, maybe they would. Maybe all guys wished they could be free to do what they’re designed to do.

  What’s a warrior if he has no one to fight and no lands to conquer?

  Granted, not all women wanted warriors. Some women wanted soft and sweet. Some women were really all about the romance and gestures of love. And there was nothing wrong with that if that’s what you really longed for.

  I didn’t want to fight with her, nor did I want to lie to her more than necessary, so I just said, “Cut me some slack, will ya?”

  Margot sat back down on the bed and threw her arm around me. “I’m sorry, Mys,” she apologized. “It’s just...I’d like to see you have fun for once.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Guys bring on more problems than they do fun, Margot,” I replied. “I’d rather keep things simple.”

  “Alright,” she conceded. “But don’t be surprised if Dillon hits on you tonight. He was very obviously in his interest in you.”

  I didn’t need Dillon Mills hitting on me tonight. I didn’t need him hitting on me at all. I had planned on making myself scarce once the party was in full effect, but it seemed like I was going to have to flat out hide now.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I replied, redirecting the topic. “Just worry about Chance and your epic party.”

  Margot went back to checking her appearance as she mumbled, “I hope there aren’t any fights. I really want this party to be cool.”

  I stood up and stood behind her, facing the mirror. “You’re worrying too much, Mar,” I told her. “Everyone’s going to be so happy to be able to have an unchaperoned party, I think they’ll be too stoked to start fighting.”

  She smiled in the mirror. “You’re right, Mys,” she said, bracing herself in positivity. “This party is going to be great.”

  I just wish I could believe my lies as well as Margot did.

  Chapter 6

  Gage~

  The party was packed by the time Chance and I showed up. There had been rumors that Margot’s mother was going to let her have an unchaperoned party, and from the looks of things, the rumors had been true.

  There was fucked-up shit going down everywhere.

  Scanning the place, I could see people drunk off their asses and females dancing and grinding all over the place. The house resembled those teenage parties that you see in the movies where everyone is having a great time. It was uncanny.

  It was also pissing me off.

  I didn’t want to be here. Fuck, how I didn’t want to be here. Even stone-cold sober, I wasn’t sure if I’d have the fortitude to act right if my demons started to take over.

  Chance and I headed towards the kitchen and you could see liquor bottles lining up the kitchen counters. There were solo cups, shot glasses, and even a keg in the corner. You could hear splashing and laughter coming from the backyard, and as I looked through one of the windows, I could see girls clad in only their bras and panties playing in the pool. It was fucking January, for Christ’s sake.

  I looked back at Chance and, I swear, I wanted to tell him I was leaving. But I didn’t. Instead, I asked, “Are you going to go look for your girl?”

  Chance grimaced and I could tell he didn’t like the scene any more than I did. Now, normally, we partied just as hard as the next teenage guy, but when your girl was involved-and Margot was his girl now-things were a little different. No guy worth his balls would be comfortable with their girl partying without them. It wasn’t a matter of trust, so much as a matter of safety. If you couldn’t protect your girl, then you really served no purpose.

  Looking around, there were higher stakes that weren’t there before, and Chance knew it. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “There’s no telling how wasted she is since it is her birthday and all.”

  I just gave him a tight nod and followed him into the living room, ignoring all the booze around us. I could admit, this was new for us, but I suspected things were going to change now that Chance had his sights set on Margot.

  When we entered the dining room we were greeted with choruses of “Hey, Mr. QB is here”, and “Chance, my man”. We returned the greetings with our customary head nods, but our eyes were searching for Margot…well, Chance’s eyes were searching for Margot. I was searching for the curvy, quiet sidekick of hers.

  Mystic Anderson.

  The girl that saw too much.

  The girl I did my best to stay away from, but, ultimately, couldn’t.

  I cursed whatever it was that made Mystic Anderson cross my path that day, four years ago. We had only been into our second week of our freshman year at Washington High when she had passed me on her way to her locker, which had happened to be only six down from mine.

  It had been a Monday after one of my father’s sex-filled weekends and I had been...enraged still. But by that time, I was no longer a twelve-year-old confused boy.

  No.

  By that time, I was a damaged fourteen-year-old boy who had no healthy way to view a girl. Where most boys that age were ready to blow their loads from some simple soft petting, willingness didn’t get me off. Violent
images of girls, begging for it, was what had started getting my dick hard. And as much as I knew it was wrong and sick, I couldn’t control the urges. They existed even if I didn’t want them to.

  The hate, anger, and disgust had to have been plastered all over my face that Monday, but when I had turned and noticed Mystic looking at me, her face hadn’t been one of apprehension or fear.

  It had been a look of confused curiosity.

  But then, the fear finally did set in.

  As we stayed staring at each other, long after the bell had rung, I had seen her.

  I had seen her.

  I had seen past the fear, and whatever she had seen on my face, had been turning her on. And I knew whatever she saw, it hadn’t been the facade everyone else saw. She had gotten a glimpse of the darkness that simmered below the surface and she hadn’t run.

  I remember walking towards her and stopping long enough to whisper in her ear that I saw her. She had trembled but hadn’t uttered a word in response. For over a year, I had stalked her until, one day, I had spotted her walking home, alone, after school.

  I remember the fear in my veins. I remember the shortness of breath. I remember the adrenaline coursing through my body. I remember my vision clouding and seeing nothing but Mystic walking down the sidewalk.

  I remember my hands shaking.

  I remember feeling like I might throw up with the uncontrollable need to get my hands on her. I remember thinking my life was going to end as I knew it because I couldn’t stop what I had been about to do.

  I. Couldn’t. Stop.

  Like an addict who swears they won’t do it anymore, but the addiction controls their actions even while their mind is screaming at them not to do it, that had been me that day.

  I was only fifteen, abusing my learner’s permit, and my mind had been screaming at me to just keep on motherfucking driving. It was telling me to look away and to just. Keep. On. Driving.

  But I hadn’t.

  I hadn’t because I couldn’t. After over a year of pure torment, I couldn’t stay away from Mystic any longer.