Break Your Heart

by Rhonda Helms

  Nick took me to a bench and sat us down, then wrapped his arm around my shoulder to draw me into his heat. I sighed and sank into his arms. Okay, so we weren’t rushing off to a dinner reservation, but that was fine. I wasn’t starving anyway.

  Nick glanced at his watch. There was a strange tension on his face that left me confused.

  “Everything okay?” I asked him.

  “I’ve been busy today,” he replied lightly. “After I left your class, I had to go offer up my resignation. Then I ran back to my house to pick something up.” He dug into his jacket pocket and gave me a small box.

  My heart thudded in surprise. “What is this?”

  He handed it to me, and my fingers shook as I took it. When I opened it, I saw a small circular disc on a delicate silver chain. A necklace.

  On the disc was etched a series of letters.

  A laugh poured from my mouth as I clapped my free hand to it. “Oh my God, did you really?” I said, a grin splitting my face almost in two. “You put a code on a piece of jewelry for me?” I studied the letters; it was the simple code we’d first used in our earliest email exchanges.

  I quickly translated, and tears filled my eyes. I looked up at him, not bothering to wipe them away. “It’s beautiful.”

  His smile was shy. “I actually got this for you before the stuff happened with work. It has been sitting on my bedside table for a month now. Reminding me what an asshole I was for how things had gone down.” He paused, his eyes glowing with all the feelings he let shine through. “I knew back then how I felt about you. I’m just sorry it took me this long to say the words. I was scared, and I thought that letting you leave was the best thing for both of us. That I was being noble, honorable. But nothing made me happy without you there to share it with.”

  I looked down at the pendant. Love You Megan. A simple endearment that etched its way into me like a tattoo. My fingers dug the necklace out of the box as I draped it around my neck and fastened it. I touched the smooth, polished surface. “I don’t know how to thank you for this. It’s the best gift anyone’s ever given me.” My heart was roaring with so many things, I wasn’t sure I’d ever get it back to a normal size again. It barely fit beneath my rib cage right now.

  He gave a secret smile. “I’m glad you like it. When I was out today, I ran another errand too.” In the dimming twilight his face warmed with that grin I loved so much. “That’s why I didn’t text you back, actually. I was busy arranging this.”

  “Arranging what?” I glanced around. I was pretty sure the park was an open space that didn’t need reservations.

  Another quick glance at his wristwatch, then he pointed up to Terminal Tower. “Watch.”

  A few seconds later, the lights just below the golden dome at the very top exploded with color. Red and green chasing lights danced around the building. A couple of kids in the park stopped and pointed.

  “Ooh!” one little girl hollered as she tugged on her mom’s hand. “Look, up at the building! How pretty, Mommy!”

  My heart leaped to my throat, and I turned, teary-eyed, to face this man I loved so very much. “Nick,” I whispered through a tightly pinched throat. “I can’t . . . I can’t believe you. . . .”

  “They’re red and green, right?” he said with a self-conscious laugh. “I can’t tell, but the guy told me he’d make sure to do it. My friend’s uncle manages the Terminal Tower. I called in a favor.”

  “They are the most beautiful Christmas lights I’ve ever seen.” Tears eked out my eyes in a steady stream. I took his hand and moved it to my upper chest, right at my heart. Let him feel the strong, unsteady beat of my pulse. “My heart belongs to you, Nick. I’m never gonna forget this day.”

  He slid that hand to my neck and drew me to those sexy lips for a kiss. I lost myself in him, willingly gave in to everything I was feeling. All my worries had evaporated. All my pain and sadness was forgotten, scattered like flower petals in a breeze.

  When he leaned back, he said, “Would you like to go inside for a tour? We can go all the way up to the top, even into the dome, which is over fifty stories up.”

  I glanced back over at the red and green lights, which changed to a different blinking pattern. A giggle escaped. “Wow, no way. I’ve always wanted to see up there.” The skyline had to be unbelievable.

  “I’ll move heaven and earth to make you happy, Megan,” he said, the sincerity in his voice ripping my gaze away from Terminal Tower to his eyes. He stood and offered me his hand. “Ready?”

  I nodded and tugged him to me for one more kiss, then said with a half smile against his mouth, “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Acknowledgments

  I wouldn’t be here without my family and friends. I’m blessed to be surrounded by so many supportive people.

  Peter and all the fab folks at Kensington, thanks for your help in shaping this book and getting it out there to the world. I’m excited that I got to tell Megan’s story.

  Courtney, you kick ass. Thanks for being an Agent Extraordinaire.

  And thank you, readers—I’m so grateful that you took the time to read me, to write me and let me know how much you love my work. I value you so much.

  Don’t miss Casey’s story in Scratch, available now!

  The most painful scars are the ones you never see.

  In her DJ booth at a Cleveland dance club, Casey feels a sense of connection that’s the closest she ever gets to normal. On her college campus, she’s reserved, practical—all too aware of the disaster that can result when you trust the wrong person. But inexplicably, Daniel refuses to pay attention to the walls she’s put up. Like Casey, he’s a senior. In every other way, he’s her opposite.

  Sexy, open, effortlessly charming, Daniel is willing to take chances and show his feelings. For some reason Casey can’t fathom, he’s intent on drawing her out of her bubble and back into a world that’s messy and unpredictable. He doesn’t know about the deep scars that pucker her stomach—or the deeper secret behind them. Since the violent night when everything changed, Casey has never let anyone get close enough to hurt her again. Now, she might be tempted to try.

  Chapter 1

  “Do you have that one new song by Dogface Thirty?” The girl tilted her overly tanned face and gave me a patronizing smile as she hollered up at me, one high-heeled toe tapping on the steps leading up to my booth. “I’m sure you’ve heard it. You know, where he says in the chorus, ‘I wanna bounce your big—’ ”

  “Yeah, I got it,” I interrupted with a polite smile in return. I hated that song and its misogynistic, stupid lyrics, but that didn’t matter. “I’ll cue it up to play as soon as I can fit it in.”

  “You really should. People want to hear that one, and sooner rather than later. Oh, and here.” She dug into her purse, flipped through a massive wad of cash, peeled off and tossed a single dollar bill on the corner of my equipment. Then she waggled her fingers and walked away, swaying hips encased in the tightest, shortest skirt I’d seen so far tonight.

  “Thanks so much,” I said to her retreating figure, fighting the urge to roll my eyes about her cheap tip. Oh, well—she didn’t have to give me anything at all, so I guess it was better than nothing.

  She either didn’t hear me or didn’t care about the edge of sarcasm in my tone, having disappeared back into the sweaty, raving crowd, which was currently tangled and dancing en masse to the deep, thrumming bass blasting out of my speakers.

  I popped my headphones back on and transitioned to the next song, a dub-step that recently came out and was hitting the indie charts big-time. While a few of the club’s patrons were full of themselves, like the lovely Oompa-Loompa chick, most of them were awesome and enjoyed my varied music mix. They would shimmy up to my table, drinks in hand and smiles on their faces, and toss me a ten just for playing a song they love. Being here made my weekend nights fly by.

  And I had to admit, there was something hypnotic and empowering about being the person to bring dancers to a fevered
pitch. Whenever I deejayed here and fed the crowd’s craving for good music, we connected in a way. Something I didn’t allow myself on campus or anywhere else. Up here I could watch them without actually being a part of their chaos.

  I took a swig of the dregs of my lemon water, fanning my plain blue tank top to cool the streams of sweat slipping down my torso. Gently, so my shirt wouldn’t pull out of my waistband and show my stomach scars. The Mask, one of the Cleveland area’s most popular dance clubs, typically heated up fast due to being packed, but tonight it was warmer than normal. Only an hour into my gig and I was already dying in these clothes. Perhaps if my outfit were smaller and sheerer, like the other girls’, I wouldn’t be sweating like this. No way in hell was that gonna happen, though.

  Justin, one of the bartenders, strolled over to me bearing a fresh glass of lemon water. “Here ya go, Casey,” he said with a friendly smile. His red-tipped hair was styled to perfection, and he wore a slim-fitted black tee and skinny jeans. Smart guy, playing up his trim body—women came on to him all the time. He was gay, but had no problem flirting with anyone to get a bigger tip.

  “Oh, you’re psychic,” I replied, tugging out an ice cube and rubbing it across the back of my neck. My hair was pulled up, but the thick tips of my ponytail clung to my wet skin. “It’s extra hot in here tonight.”

  “Sal said the air conditioner is on the fritz.” He snorted. “Let’s see how long it takes him to get it fixed.”

  “Probably never.” I chuckled. “He’ll make more money off these people by keeping them sweaty and thirsty. Clever man.”

  When I’d answered the ad in the paper three months ago looking for a part-time DJ in an up-and-coming dance club close to my campus, Sal had instantly struck me as a savvy businessman. Short, squat and completely unapologetic for his brashness, Sal had taken one look at me, rubbed a thick hand over his bald head and said, “You’re a DJ? Ain’t you a bit young, sweetheart?”

  Yeah, I looked younger than a freshly minted twenty-one-year-old, which made it hard for people to take me seriously. But when I’d assisted my older cousin John two years ago as he deejayed a distant relative’s wedding, I was instantly hooked. I saved up my spare money for several months to buy my own refurbed equipment and music and started working with him regularly, doing parties and other gigs.

  William had seen Sal’s ad and encouraged me to give it a shot, though with the way Sal’s eyebrow had crooked at me, I knew he was skeptical. So I’d looked Sal straight in the eyes and said, “I have an amazing music collection and I own my own equipment. I’m reliable, hardworking and I know music. If you want this club to be a success, fast, I can help you.”

  I had no idea where that had come from. Desperation? False bravado? I didn’t know, but I wanted this job for some reason. Needed it. Enough to blow smoke up his ass and make myself sound amazing.

  Sal had stared at me for a long moment, then laughed, clapping me on the back. “You ain’t too bad, kid. We’ll give it a trial run, see how it goes.”

  Three months later, I was still here.

  A group of young women, wearing nothing more than tiny, stretchy dresses and wide smiles, stumbled into the club, arms thrust in the air and whooping loudly. They looked trashed already, and it was barely eleven. I hoped they wouldn’t cause any drama. One girl had on a tiara and a sash—either she was getting married soon or it was her birthday. Odds were, one of her friends would come over and insist I had to put on an overplayed booty-grinding song just for her. Since they typically tipped the best, I accommodated their wishes as quickly as I could.

  Justin came back over, a mysterious grin on his face and a light beer in his hand. He put the beer on my side table. “This is for you.”

  I squinted at him. “Uh, thanks, but you know I don’t drink.” Never while I was working and rarely any other time, even my nights off when I was at home. Drunk people lost control, said and did things they regretted.

  “It’s not from me.” He nodded his head toward the bar. “One of the guys there bought it for you.”

  Someone had bought me a drink? I scanned the bar, looking over the crowd. So many people packed in there that I couldn’t tell who it could be.

  “Well, it was nice of you to deliver it personally,” I said, giving him a wry smile.

  He grinned back, winking boldly. “I wanted to see your reaction.”

  I knew why. No one ever bought me drinks. I didn’t dress sexily, didn’t flaunt my stuff or make myself front and center at the club. The music spoke for me, and I was happy that way.

  But someone had noticed me anyway.

  “He’s really cute, too, by the way. If you don’t want him, I do.” Justin sauntered back toward the bar, waggling his fingers over his shoulder.

  My heart thudded. I was flattered and uncomfortable at the same time. Who was my mysterious benefactor? Should I acknowledge it? Would it be rude to not do so?

  My hand shook just a bit as I lifted the beer and nodded my head toward the bar. I couldn’t see the guy, but I figured he could see me and my thanks. Then I took a tiny drink to be polite and put it back down on the table.

  The next couple of hours flew by. Despite the growing heat, the club was packed and extra feisty tonight. A couple of girls in my business finance class had taken a break from the dance floor and came up to me to say hi, beer bottles in hand. I’d given them a polite smile in return and told them to let me know if there was anything they wanted to hear.

  Break time. I needed a stretch and some fresh air, stat. I set up the mix CD to play through, gave a wave to Justin to let him know I was taking my break and slipped out the back door near my DJ booth. The air outside wasn’t that much cooler than in The Mask, but a refreshing breeze slipped down the alley. I leaned against the warm brick, lemon water in hand, and sighed happily, taking a sip of my drink.

  Normally the alley had a few smokers milling around and a couple of drunk people making out hot and heavy—not bothering to hide the sounds of their horniness—but no one was here right now, which gave me a moment of much-needed quiet. I took a deep breath and rolled my stiff neck.

  Then a deep voice from about twenty feet away in a pitch-black part of the alley broke the silence. “Uh, is this spot taken?”

  At the guy’s voice, I nearly jumped out of my skin, sloshing my water all over my arm. I slipped my free hand to my back pocket and patted my pocketknife to make sure it was still there. I’d never had to use it, of course, but better safe than sorry—especially since no one else was around. “Who’s there?” I was proud of the way my voice sounded smooth and confident, despite the tremor in my hands.

  A tall, black-haired guy in faded jeans and a white T-shirt came out from the darkness, holding his hands up in front of him as a universal sign of nonaggression. I recognized him—he was in my philosophy class. Couldn’t remember his name, but his green eyes struck me just as hard now as the day I’d first seen him in class two weeks ago. He’d cracked a couple of philosophical jokes with our professor that went over everyone else’s heads, and they’d laughed for almost a minute, to the point of her practically wiping away an amused tear.

  His odd sense of humor hadn’t put off any girls, though—he’d already attracted two in our class who sat on either side and flirted nonstop. I sat right behind him, and despite my best efforts had noticed how broad his shoulders were, how nicely a T-shirt hugged his lean torso. I’d also noticed how piercing a girl’s giggle could really get when she was in serious man-hunting mode.

  The guy had a wry grin on his face as he stepped closer, stopping about ten feet from me. He ran a hand over his mess of black hair, and I could see the muscles in his arms flexing. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. It’s hot as hell in there, and I ducked back here to cool off.”

  “Hot as hell out here too,” I said cautiously, eyeing him. My upper lip beaded with moisture. I forced my shoulders to relax. He wasn’t acting odd or anything, but I’d keep a close eye on him anyway.

 
He glanced at my water glass, the spilled liquid drying rapidly on my skin. “Sorry, I’d have sent something else to you if I’d known you weren’t a beer fan.”

  My heart thudded in surprise. He’d sent me the drink? “Uh, thanks. But why buy me something at all?” I blurted out. God, I sounded so awkward. And unappreciative. I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea about me, but I didn’t need to be rude either. Grandma would have given me the evil eye for being so ungracious.

  He crooked his head and a slow smile spread across his face. “Why not?”

  I raised one eyebrow at him and pursed my lips, not really sure how to reply. Master flirter, I was not.

  “You’re Casey, right? We’re in philosophy together,” he said, tucking his hands into his back pockets and rocking back and forth on his feet. “I sit right in front of you, as a matter of fact.”

  I nodded, trying to ignore the way my heart rate kicked up a notch. So he’d noticed me too. For some reason, that realization made small tingles cascade across my flushed, damp skin.

  “I’ve never met a DJ before. How do you pick what music to play?” he asked suddenly, sliding over to lean on the brick wall, facing me but not moving any closer. He crossed his arms in front of his chest as he studied me.

  “Um, I . . . do a mix of stuff I dig and stuff the crowd wants to hear. Mostly top-played songs that everyone knows, but also some B-sides and indie hits,” I replied, feeling a bit too off-kilter to sound intelligent. The way he was staring at me openly, yet giving me patient space, threw me off.

  Sure, I’d been hit on before—pretty much any woman with working female parts would get picked up in a bar by some guy at some point—but after a couple of minutes of clumsy conversation, the guys backed off, realizing I wasn’t going to be an easy lay. This guy was different, though. He ignored my awkwardness, keeping his mood casual, nonthreatening.