Completely Wrecked: A Dramatic Romance

by Shayne McClendon

  Completely

  WRECKED

  The sun is brightest after the fiercest storm.

  Shayne McClendon

  Completely Wrecked by Shayne McClendon

  Original Copyright © 2014 Shayne McClendon

  Updated Edition: March 31, 2016

  Published by Always the Good Girl LLC

  www.alwaysthegoodgirl.com

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Shayne McClendon

  The Barter System – Book 1

  Hudson – Book 2

  Pushing the Envelope – Book 3

  Backstage – Book 4

  Liberation – Book 5

  Radiance – Book 6

  Yes to Everything

  Love of the Game – The Complete Collection

  Completely Wrecked

  The Hermit

  Break Down Here

  Roadside Assistance

  Author’s Note

  This story was not easy for me…nor was it easy for my readers. They followed along, chapter by chapter, as I wrote Lizzy and Dylan’s story and published it on my website.

  Some days they cried, some days they were giddy, and others, I know they wanted to kick my ass.

  They kept reading anyway.

  Your support and belief in me as a writer is incredible and I don’t take it for granted.

  Thank you for taking this unique journey with me.

  Much love,

  Shayne

  Table of Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  About Dramatic Romance

  The Hermit: Prologue

  The Hermit: Chapter One

  About Shayne McClendon

  Prologue

  Age 10

  Elizabeth Clayton was not a beautiful child but she held out hope that one day, she would become the butterfly her grandmother always said lived inside her.

  In the meantime, she pulled at her sweater that was a bit too snug and sucked in the part of her tummy that poked over the top of her jeans.

  She noticed Dylan Lang in fourth grade when he transferred in from a school out of state. From the first day, she found herself looking in his direction often.

  He was a disheveled boy with strange bruises and a quiet demeanor. His dirty blonde hair and eyes that were the color of a new penny caused her to stare at him often during the school day. Even when she didn’t mean to look at him, she found herself doing it anyway.

  Something about him called to her, like a whisper just soft enough that you couldn’t quite hear it. At the time, she didn’t know what love was but over the years, she would learn.

  The lesson would not be an easy one.

  * * *

  Age 12

  In sixth grade, a school dance made her daydream that he would ask her to go but he never did.

  The overheated gym decorated with gaudy crepe paper streamers and flashing lights seemed like another planet. Loud music and the usual people who liked to tease her made her wish she hadn’t come at all.

  For three hours, she watched the door but Dylan never came. Too shy to talk to him, she would have been happy just to watch him quietly.

  When she got home, Elizabeth stared at the dress she’d been so excited to wear when Nana bought it for her granddaughter’s very first dance.

  Now she felt frumpy and bizarre as she took in her reflection in the full-length mirror.

  Her hair was a boring brown that made her skin seem even paler than usual. With legs that were too thick, hands that were too big, and the rest of her body generally shapeless…Elizabeth decided she was the ugliest butterfly ever.

  * * *

  Age 15

  In her freshman year, Elizabeth discovered running and joined the school track team. She ran all the time because it was the only time she felt graceful and in control.

  Over nine months, she lost her baby fat but she was teased by her classmates anyway because she was the tallest girl in school and taller than most of the boys.

  The week she decided to cut her hair so it would be easier to maintain was one of the worst in her life.

  Nana took her to a small salon near their house and the young woman who cut it gave her a pretend smile in the mirror when she was done.

  As they paid at the register, she heard the stylist whispering to a co-worker. “How a girl that young already looks like a man is beyond me. Poor thing better hope she gets some boobs or something.”

  When she got home, she told Nana she would never go back to such a place again. “You can trim it for me.” After a short pause, she added quietly, “I think I’ll let it grow back out. I-I’m not sure I like it short after all.”

  Her grandmother didn’t try to talk her out of it and that’s when Elizabeth knew she’d heard the women at the beauty parlor talking. Blushing, she went upstairs to shower.

  The two of them never spoke about it again but many years later, she would read in Nana’s journals that she’d gone back to the salon while her granddaughter was at school and made the hairdresser cry for being so cruel to a young girl.

  It turned out that the stylist’s words were nothing compared to those of her classmates. Until her hair grew long enough to touch her shoulders, they taunted her unmercifully.

  Dylan never said mean things to her but he didn’t have to.

  She knew they were right. Her shoulders were too broad and her body too lean and boxy to be considered very feminine. Even though she felt feminine.

  Elizabeth wished she knew how to broadcast that feeling to the other students who thought nothing of hurting her feelings.

  Most of the time, she pretended she didn’t hear them and when they knew she heard, she pretended not to care. Even that didn’t stop them. It earned her a reputation as a “real man” because she didn’t cry as other girls did when teased.

  She worked hard to keep her grades up because she wanted to be a teacher more than anything else in the world.

  On career day, when she gave her presentation, two boys in the back of the class told her she’d scare little kids because she looked like Lurch. Several of their friends snickered quietly.

  One girl asked, “Will you make them call you Mr. Clayton?”

  The rest of the class thought that was very funny.

  Swallowing hard, she choked down the hurt and smiled. “Miss Clayton will be fine,” she murmured softly.

  When she wasn’t going to school, studying, or running, Elizabeth took care of Nana.

  She didn’t remember her father and her mother was in and out of rehab and jail in New Jersey. It had been years since she’d seen her.

  As far as she was concerned, Nana was all the family she needed. She’d taken her in as a baby and raised her in the little house on Long Island where she’d raised her own children.

  For as long as she could remember, every Sunday, she and Nana went to a little non-denominational church and on Mondays, they went to the humanist a
ssociation meetings. Wednesday nights, she drove Nana to bingo at the Catholic Church and every Friday afternoon, they volunteered at a soup kitchen.

  Sometimes they visited people in their homes, other times, people came to theirs. The variety of people her grandmother knew fascinated Elizabeth and she liked to pretend that Nana’s friends were her friends, too.

  Each time they visited a new church, organization, or charity, her grandmother called it covering her bases.

  Elizabeth called it having something of a life – even if it was living through experiences with her elderly guardian.

  They cooked together and she didn’t mind making healthy meals for Nana’s special diet because it made her feel faster and stronger when she ran.

  In the meantime, dance after dance came and went but no one asked her to go.

  At first, she went hoping to see Dylan Lang but he never went to school events after regular hours.

  Eventually, she stopped going alone.

  Inherently shy, she didn’t make friends her age easily and never felt like she fit anywhere.

  It started to feel better to be alone.

  Chapter One

  Age 18

  A few weeks after high school graduation, Elizabeth looked back with relief that she survived.

  She didn’t have any friends and had never had a boy so much as say something nice to her, but she made it through anyway.

  As the Salutatorian, she had to sit on the stage the day they received their diplomas.

  Nervous about being in front of so many people who liked to make fun of her, she fought not to cry.

  Somehow, her eyes found Dylan Lang in the rows of graduating seniors and she wondered if she’d ever see him again after the day was over.

  Though Long Island was densely populated, it was a strangely close-knit environment and Elizabeth never saw him anywhere but school.

  As she stared at him, the quiet that he seemed to gather around him caused her stomach to settle.

  Taking a deep breath, she focused on looking at his eyes from beneath her lashes. She wanted to memorize the features of his face in this moment…in case it was her last opportunity.

  Nana took her out to celebrate and several of her friends joined them. She listened and answered when spoken to but her mind was elsewhere.

  Elizabeth wasn’t a foolish girl. Unlike the occasional romance stories she read, she didn’t expect some boy to sweep her off her feet or anything. She was a little tall for that anyway.

  Still, part of her wondered if there would be a person willing to look past her physical self and maybe even love her a little bit someday. She didn’t know any other girls her age who hadn’t had at least one boyfriend.

  At this point, she’d even be happy with a friend.

  * * *

  Over the first few weeks of her official adulthood, Elizabeth maintained a similar routine to the one she’d had in school. The only exceptions were that she ran and volunteered more.

  Nana’s health wasn’t great but she worked hard to keep her on track. She kept a close eye on her blood pressure and checked her sugar three times a day.

  Every morning, no matter the weather, she trained to run the New York Marathon and looked forward to starting NYU in the fall.

  Acceptance into the teaching program at a nearby university meant she could care for her grandmother without worry.

  Running was one of the few times she was truly at peace with herself. It was the only time she felt as if she blended into the world around her.

  Rounding the curve on the park path at a smooth stride, Elizabeth almost tripped over a denim leg extending from under the low brush. There was a combat boot on the attached foot. Part of her brain whispered, “Thank god it’s still attached.”

  Coming to a stunned and confused stop, she hoped it was just a homeless person in need of her help and not someone dead. Then the foot twitched and she released the breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

  Crouching, she touched the boot carefully. The upper torso sat up, startled, and thrashed to free itself from the grasping branches.

  She found herself staring into the battered face of Dylan Lang. If not for the copper penny color of the one eye that wasn’t swollen, she might not have recognized him.

  Liar, her heart informed her gently.

  Elizabeth stared at a young man who was all legs and arms who looked as if someone had taken a long time beating on him.

  “Dylan, do I need to call an ambulance?” It was the first thing she had ever said directly to him and it would always make her a little sad when she thought about it.

  He shook his head slowly but didn’t speak.

  “What happened? Who did this to you?” A bitter laugh came from his chest but quickly cut off.

  He raked his hand through shaggy hair that was darker blonde than when she first saw him in fourth grade.

  “It doesn’t matter.” His voice sounded thick and gravelly.

  A moment later, he coughed hard and spit a wad of blood-streaked mucus into the grass under the bush. Her eyes widened in concern.

  “You need a doctor, Dylan.”

  “No. You can’t tell anyone, Lizzy.”

  No one had ever called her Lizzy before.

  For a long moment, she stared at him. “Let me help you then. I have a first aid kit at my house.”

  There was a slight movement of his head and she took that for agreement. She stood, bent to put her hands under his arms, and lifted him carefully to his feet.

  Doing her best to hide her dismay at how light he was, Elizabeth prayed she wasn’t making a mistake.

  There was a real possibility he had internal injuries.

  He groaned and she wanted to sob as she got him upright. When he swayed dangerously, she wrapped her arm around his waist and led him the rest of the way to the park exit just ahead. Her Nana’s house was three blocks beyond that.

  Going was slow and by the time they made it to the mudroom just off the kitchen, Dylan was moaning low in his chest.

  Lowering him carefully to one of the old dining chairs, she raced upstairs to get the medical kit and grab a couple of old washcloths.

  Pausing at her own door, she remembered that he was covered in dirt and his own blood. She found a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that were a little big on her.

  Nana was taking her daily nap and Elizabeth cracked the window to get some fresh air in her bedroom before heading back downstairs.

  Dylan Lang was right where she left him…in her house, sitting at her dining table. He watched her fill a pan with warm water and set it on the table in front of him.

  “I have clothes that should fit you so I can wash yours.” She pointed to the washing machine and dryer set in a small nook in the mudroom.

  He nodded and tried to take off his over shirt. His hands shook and he winced. Taking a deep breath, Lizzy unbuttoned it as quickly as she could and pulled it carefully down his arms. He wore a t-shirt beneath it and she hesitated to take it off.

  To delay the decision, she crouched at his feet and unlaced his heavy boots. She worked them off and set them beneath the table. She rolled off his socks and left them on the floor.

  Glancing up at his face, she wasn’t sure if he was conscious. “Dylan.” He opened one eye but the other was still swollen shut. “I…I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For whatever happened to you. You don’t have to tell me but I’m sorry you went through it. Also, that I have to invade your space like this.”

  Then she stood and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up his torso, working first one arm then the other from the sleeves before lifting it over his head.

  His body was riddled with bruises in several stages of awfulness. Some were older, some newer, but all were devastating to look at. He had small indentations that might have come from a ring. Long scratches and crescent shapes where fingernails dug into his flesh stood out against skin that should have been flawless.

&nbs
p; Dylan Lang had been horrifically abused and it looked like it had been going on for a very long time.

  The sight of his severely battered and emaciated body was more than Elizabeth’s heart could handle. She knelt on the floor and sobbed against her arm on the edge of the table.

  In all her life, she’d never cried in front of anyone but Nana. In this situation, there was no way to hold back her sorrow. Some things were simply too much…people were too fucking cruel.

  There was no doubt in her mind that a human being – or someone masquerading as one – had beaten Dylan until he was incoherent. She imagined him stumbling into the park and collapsing in the bushes on the path. How alone and exhausted he must have felt. How much pain he must be in, even now.

  A large hand settled over the back of her head and she met his gaze. “It’s okay, Lizzy.”

  She shook her head. “It is not okay, Dylan. Not even close to okay for someone to do this to another person. No living being deserves this.” In a whisper, she added, “You don’t deserve this.”

  He hadn’t moved his hand from her hair and she was suddenly embarrassed at her emotional display.

  Standing quickly, she went to wash her face in the sink. Patting her skin with paper towel, she was thankful for the regular sun that hid how splotchy she got when she cried.

  Scrubbing her hands, she put crushed ice in a baggie and carried it back to the table. Wetting one of the washcloths in warm water, she stepped between his knees and gently lifted his battered face with the edge of her finger.

  “If it hurts, I’ll stop.”

  “You won’t hurt me, Lizzy.” She thought his tolerance for pain must be extreme.

  Elizabeth nodded and got to work. Cleaning his face, she applied antibiotic ointment, and placed small bandages over the broken skin.

  When she was sure she’d gotten them all, she placed the crushed ice against his swollen eye wrapped in another damp paper towel.

  “Can you hold that there?”

  He nodded and propped his arm on the table, leaning his face into his palm. She picked debris out of his hair and ran her fingers over his scalp to be sure there were no cuts there.