Pieces of Love

by PJ Sharon

  PIECES of LOVE

  By

  PJ Sharon

  Also by PJ Sharon

  A Girls of Thompson Lake Novella

  Sami's Christmas Wish List

  Chronicles of Lily Carmichael

  Waning Moon

  Western Desert

  Healing Waters

  Girls of Thompson Lake

  Heaven is for Heroes

  On Thin Ice

  Pieces of Love

  Savage Cinderella Novella Series

  Finding Hope

  Sacred Ground

  Lost Boys

  Savage Cinderella

  Standalone

  The Girls of Thompson Lake

  Watch for more at PJ Sharon’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Also By PJ Sharon

  Pieces of Love (Girls of Thompson Lake, #3)

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  Also By PJ Sharon

  Look for the PIECES of LOVE theme song, written and performed by PJ Sharon, with Ozone Pete on guitar, and Jim Fogarty of Zing Studios in Westfield, Ma., keys & engineering

  Now available for download on

  i-Tunes

  Other Books by PJ Sharon

  ON THIN ICE

  SAVAGE CINDERELLA

  PIECES of LOVE

  SAMI’S CHRISTMAS WISH LIST

  (A GIRLS of THOMPSON LAKE Novella)

  WANING MOON

  WESTERN DESERT

  HEALING WATERS

  SOUL REDEMPTION

  (A Short Story prequel to

  The CHRONICLES of LILY CARMICHAEL Trilogy)

  Chapter 1

  I’ve heard it said it takes twenty-one days to make or break a habit. At least that’s what the Medusa Lady said. Amanda and I called her that on account of her crazy, bleached blonde hair sticking up in all directions, and the icy glare she gave us when she didn’t like something we said. Amanda had a way of pissing people off. In my opinion, a family therapist who couldn’t see past a little sarcasm or a few swears was clearly in the wrong profession. But Mom made us go anyway. Until Amanda went off to college and acted like everything was cool. She was always better at pretending than me.

  Almost a year without my sister and her absence still ached like a raw and bleeding ulcer. A wrenching sadness flooded my chest as my stepfather pulled into the airport parking lot.

  “I’m sorry it has to be this way, Ali, but I can’t handle work and dealing with you while everything is so...difficult with your mother.” Mitch forced a smile past the worry on his face. “It’ll be okay. I promise.” He stood on the curb next to my luggage, holding the car door open as if he was a chauffeur and I was a rock star. Without my guitar and heading for exile, I felt more like a prisoner on death row.

  “This sucks. I don’t want to go.” I slung my backpack over my shoulder, and with my hair tumbling over my eyes in a dark curtain of bangs, dragged my feet toward the check-in kiosk.

  “I know kiddo. But your mom and I agree that this is the best thing for everyone.” He slowed his pace, rolling my luggage beside him, his loafers squeaking on the polished concrete.

  It seemed useless to argue any longer. Obviously, I’d pushed him and Mom too far. I knew it wasn’t that he didn’t care about me. He’d been my stepdad for four years, and he was nice most of the time, but he didn’t understand me any better than he had understood Amanda. Mitch had some pretty strict rules about right and wrong, and the Hartman women seemed to see rules as being made to be broken. He had married Mom after only six months of dating. Even if he’d known he was signing on for heartache and tragedy, I couldn’t blame him for wanting me out of his rapidly thinning hair. The little he had was gray, and the wrinkles around his eyes made him look older than his mid-forties. With a paunch starting around his mid-section, he looked more like an accountant than a cop.

  I grabbed his arm for one last plea. “Can’t I even talk to Mom?”

  “Not yet. Her doctor wants to make sure she’s stabilized before she has any contact with family.” He patted my shoulder. “I miss her too. But this is only for a little while. She’s going to get better and be home before we know it.” His tone didn’t sound so sure and my heart took another plunge. “As soon as she’s feeling better, I’ll have her call you,” he finished.

  Mitch slid his credit card into the machine and a moment later it spit out a boarding pass with my name and destination on it. I studied it, my eyes burning with tears. Alexis Hartman, flight 1242 to LAX. I had a sudden urge to bolt for the exit. I couldn’t believe he was shipping me off to California to stay with my grandmother—a woman I hadn’t seen since I was twelve. That was four years ago, and I could barely remember what she looked like. The only details that stood out in my mind were her dyed red hair and fancy jewelry, and the emptiness in her eyes at my grandfather’s funeral. Since then, our contact had been limited to forced phone conversations on holidays. I also hadn’t flown again and desperately hoped I’d outgrown my motion sickness. My forehead beaded with sweat and I gulped for a breath.

  “I don’t see why I can’t stay here? It’s not like I’m a danger to myself.” I wanted to assure him I wasn’t like Amanda, but I couldn’t get the words out. My throat closed as he lifted my suitcase onto the scale and the woman at the desk checked it in.

  “You can’t stay here because I don’t have time to supervise you this summer. I’m on rotating shifts at the precinct, and I want to be with your mother whenever I can.” He gave me a stern look. “Besides, you’ve made it pretty clear I can’t leave you alone without you getting into trouble.” His dark eyes met mine with that cool cop reserve that probably worked great on suspects and felons.

  “I promise I’ll quit. You don’t have to send me away. I’ll stay out of trouble. Pleeeze?”

  He glanced at the large screen up on the wall. “It looks like your flight is departing on time. C’mon, I’ll walk you as far as security.”

  I pushed off the wall and trailed after him. “But...”

  He cut me off and kept his voice low, forcing me to catch up to hear him. “I don’t have any other choice, Alexis. You’ve been given every opportunity to prove yourself. Yet you’ve been busted for pot twice, and I don’t have to tell you what comes next. There is only so much trouble I can sweep under the rug before it starts affecting my reputation as a police officer.” As we approached the security booth, he pulled me away from the crowded line. People removing their shoes, being patted down by airport security officers and scanned with metal detecting wands, moved like cattle through the x-ray machine. We stood far enough away for him to lecture me privately. “You do
n’t seem to grasp the seriousness of your actions. Your mother can’t take one more...”

  “I get it!” I stopped him before he could say the word, tragedy, disaster, heartbreak...disappointment. Whatever he meant to say, I didn’t want to hear it. In a calmer tone I continued. “I just don’t get why pot is such a big deal. They’re decriminalizing it all over the place.” A guard shifted his gaze to me. I pushed my hair out of my eyes and hoped the Visine and dark eyeliner hid any signs that I was stoned. I’d smoked the last of my stash knowing I couldn’t bring it with me and hoping it might help my motion sickness on the plane. Trying a new tact, I glared at Mitch. “Besides,” I added, “pot is like...medicinal.”

  He leaned in closer, almost whispering as he glanced at the security guards. “Marijuana is an illegal substance, and it’s a long way from being good for you on any level.”

  We’d had this argument before. “It’s not like it’s addictive,” I grumbled. “And it’s not the stoners going around robbing liquor stores or beating people up. It’s the junkies and alcoholics wreaking havoc on society.” I dropped my backpack on the floor and untied my sneakers, aware I was both antagonizing my stepfather and stalling him to keep him from leaving me to go through security and board the flying death trap alone.

  He let out an impatient breath. “I’ll agree to disagree about the criminal activity of stoners, as you call them, but as for the addictive part—we’ll see, won’t we? And speaking of attitude—you’d better get yours in check, young lady.” He folded his arms, aiming for the big bad cop stance he couldn’t quite muster. Since he was only five foot-nine—an inch or so over my gangly height, and I’d seen him freak over a spider, it was hard to feel threatened. The “young lady” remark hit me though. I’d heard him take that tone and say those same words to Amanda more than once. I shoved the memory into a dark corner and grabbed my sneakers.

  Resigned to the countdown on the clock marking my imminent departure, I sighed. “Can I have my phone back now?”

  “I suppose you’ll need it. I’ve set it up for International calling, but don’t go crazy phoning your friends and texting all the time. It’s for emergencies and so we can stay in touch. Your grandmother has orders to take it away again should you choose to be irresponsible.” His sharp tone made me grit my teeth.

  As soon as he handed me my phone I checked the messages. There were two from D.D., my best friend since seventh grade when I first moved to Thompson Lake, one from Sami, my sometimes friend, who was a year older, played in a band, and had access to all the best parties—and one from Jay, my hook-up for weed. We were supposed to have met at the mall on Friday night so I could get a few joints for the weekend. But all hell had broken loose at my house, and Mom had taken my phone.

  The scene crashed into my mind—my mother screaming, crying, falling apart before my eyes, crumpling to the floor in hysterics. Mitch calling an ambulance, and paramedics carrying her out of the house—the sound of sirens.

  “Ali, are you all right?”

  My attention shifted to Mitch’s voice. “Um, yeah, I guess so. I just hate leaving Mom like this.”

  Mitch tugged me into a hug. As much as I wanted to resist, I fell apart, feeling like the over-tired three year-old I watched having a fit as his mother dragged him onto the plane—another reason to dread the flight. Tears stung my eyes and my shoulders shook as Mitch’s arms tightened. He gave me a solid squeeze and I reveled in the brief connection to someone strong and safe.

  “Your mother is going to be all right, and this was not your fault.” He stepped back, the moment of closeness passing too quickly as I swiped at tears. At arm’s length, he looked kindly into my eyes. “Do you understand? You aren’t to blame. This has been coming for a while.”

  I heard the words, but I didn’t believe him. I knew how fragile Mom was after what happened with Amanda. All of us seemed broken and un-repairable in some way—my mother most of all. Now, my two arrests for possession had pushed her over the edge. It didn’t matter that it was only a couple of joints, or that I was still considered a juvenile when I got busted, so it wouldn’t count on my permanent record. Mitch got involved and pulled some strings to get me off with community service and drug treatment classes. But being that I was sixteen, they were both coming down on me hard. No more chances. If I got arrested again, they threatened to have me locked up—either in juvenile detention or in a rehab facility. It was only pot for Pete’s sake. They were blowing everything way out of proportion.

  Mom and I had been fighting about it when she totally lost it. She’d already taken my guitar away after the first bust, and then when she tried to take my phone away, I went ballistic and argued with her like an idiot. She screamed about Amanda’s death and how she refused to have the same thing happen to me. She became irrational, which escalated to hysterical, and then—total meltdown. It had happened before, but it was the first time I’d seen it with my own eyes and the first time I had set it in motion. How could he say it wasn’t my fault?

  I sniffled and wiped my face on my sleeve, my eye makeup leaving a dark streak up the arm. “I can’t go without talking to her. I have to tell her I’m...sorry.” Tears flowed faster and Mitch hugged me again.

  “I know, kiddo.” Sympathy softened his tone as he rubbed my back in soothing circles, reminding me why Mom had fallen for him. “The best thing you can do is let her know you’re all right and that you’re straightening yourself out. She knows you aren’t trying to hurt her. She’s just worried about you. Look, why don’t you send her a postcard from California?”

  The announcement for my flight echoed over the PA and we both pulled away. “That’s me, I guess.” I swiped at my cheeks, embarrassed about acting like such a baby in public.

  “Don’t worry, okay? Your mom will be fine. What she needs is some rest, and some time to work through her grief. You just focus on your own recovery.”

  I cringed inwardly. By that he meant the classes I would have to take when I got to my grandmother’s place. So much for a summer vacation.

  “Flight 1242 to Los Angeles now boarding at gate seventeen,” a female voice droned over the loud speaker. Mitch handed me my passport—the only ID I had since I’d flunked my driving test—another reminder of my loser status. I tucked it into my bag as my stomach took another dive. The last time I had flown on a plane, I had puked my guts out for half the flight. My knees wobbled as I said good-bye to Mitch and shuffled into line. I stuck my sneakers and backpack into a tray and sent it through the x-ray machine. As I stepped into the human irradiator, a loud beep sounded.

  A plump woman with dark skin and a tight bun gave me a tired look, waved a wand over my body, and then patted me down with the impersonal approach of a mugger. “Take off your bracelet,” she said finally, a tone of impatience in her voice.

  Since it never came off, even to shower, I’d forgotten to remove the charm bracelet that hung at my wrist, covered by long sleeves nearly obscuring my hands. The silver dolphin charm caught the light and I blew out a sigh, thoughts of Amanda slipping past my guard. I set the bracelet in the tray and walked back through the machine without further incident. Pulling my sneakers on, and snapping the bracelet back in place, I looked over my shoulder, all of my words caught helplessly in my throat. Mitch forced a smile and waved as I disappeared into the crowd herding toward gate seventeen. I had no choice but to get onto the plane. My life was about to take a sharp climb into an unknown world, and I didn’t like the idea one bit.

  Chapter 2

  Six hours, three barf-bags, and a lay-over in Denver later, I stumbled off the plane and retrieved my suitcase from the baggage claim carousel. From the odd looks I was getting, my face must have been a pasty shade of green. If it meant hitchhiking all the way home, I would do it, but I never wanted to get on another plane again. I called my grandmother, who told me to meet her out front in ten minutes. Following the signs to the drop-off and pick-up zone, I plunked down onto a nearby bench and half-heartedly browsed through t
he Architectural Digest I’d confiscated from the plane.

  The air was warm with a nice breeze, and palm trees swayed in a line across the road. People passed by, ignoring me and rushing off to their next destination. A lady with too much perfume sat beside me. My stomach rolled. Since breakfast had left me hours ago and the food on the plane had sent me running for the stinky closet they called a bathroom, my stomach growled from hunger. The strong floral fragrance assaulted my nose, and I knew from experience, dry heaves were next. I got up and moved away, clearly doomed no matter what I did.

  Pacing, I waited until a dark blue Mercedes pulled up to the curb and my grandmother stepped out, a broad smile on her face. I recognized the red hair and jewelry as her trademark style, but I’d forgotten how much she looked like the pictures I had of my father. She had his sharp nose and bright blue eyes. Even the shape of her lips as she smiled reminded me of him. She rounded the front of the car and threw her arms around me. “There’s my little Ali Cat.” She drew back. “My goodness how you’ve grown.”

  “It’s just Ali, now.” I turned away, recalling our last visit and shuddering at her use of the nickname Ali Cat, a name only my father and Amanda had used. I hefted my bags into the back seat and climbed in the front of the swank luxury sports car, the tan leather cool from the air conditioning. Not for the first time, I wished I had been able to bring my guitar. The summer would be unbearable without it.

  “Of course. You’ve probably outgrown that silly name, haven’t you? We’ll have to come up with a new one. Ali is so plain.” When she buckled her seatbelt into place, she had a revelation. “I know. I’ll call you Lexi. That’s much more suitable for a young woman.” She fixed her hair in the mirror and pulled into traffic. The tires squealed.

  I sighed, tightening the seatbelt across my shoulder. This was going to be a long summer.

  We made small talk and covered all the usual bases—Mom’s undetermined stay in a psychiatric hospital in Connecticut, my plans for college after high school, and whether I had a boyfriend—a big fat no on that front. She grilled me about Mitch and asked if he was a good father, and I wondered what she expected me to say. If I said yes, would I be insulting my real father—her son? And if I said no, would she judge my mother and blame Mitch for Amanda’s downward spiral? Figuring there was no way to win, I replied, “I don’t know, I guess.”