by Laura Lee
Beautifully Broken by Laura Lee
Copyright LAN Fiction LLC 2016
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Title Page
About Beautifully Broken
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Forty-six
Forty-seven
Forty-eight
Forty-nine
Epilogue
Note from the Author
About the Author
Also Available by Laura Lee
I KNEW HE WOULD RUIN ME FROM THE MOMENT WE MET. Everything about the man screamed confidence. Sensuality. Intelligence. Worldliness. But it was how he saved me that ruined me most.
Through him, I learned to end my path of self-destruction. I no longer needed to numb the pain with mindless one-night-stands and drunken blackouts. He made me feel worthy. Treasured. Optimistic about my future.
Here I stand four years later, in a coffee shop a world away, still broken…but beautifully so. My scars no longer hold me back. Instead, they give me strength and enrich my appreciation for the good things in life. I have hopes and dreams…faith that anything is possible. I am no longer the lost little girl fighting for survival. I have direction. I have courage. I am not without possibility.
I’ll always have Gavin to thank for that—Mr. Cooper, I remind myself. That’s who he is to me now: just a former teacher. I know what you’re thinking, but don’t worry. I was eighteen when we first met. Legally, we did nothing wrong. Morally? Well, I guess that depends on how flexible your morals are.
My name is Kat and this is my story.
THE SECRET TO GETTING AWAY with a fake ID is going to a dive bar. Stay away from grocery stores and classy places—they usually have scanners that can spot a fake a mile away. The last thing I need on my eighteenth birthday is a night in county jail. Or worse, I wouldn’t get the drinks that I so desperately desired. Lucky for me, dive bars are practically my only choice here on the Central Oregon Coast. I’m legally an adult now and that’s cause for celebration. Normally, I’d call up my friend, Dylan and he’d supply the alcohol…and the orgasms. The perfect combination to make me temporarily forget about all the shit I have to deal with. But that’s not what tonight is about. Tonight, I am officially free from the system. I no longer have to go to a group home, or be fostered by someone who’s more interested in a paycheck than parenting when my mom gets arrested for solicitation or possession of a controlled substance. She’s tried getting sober over the years, hence my entire childhood being one fucked up game of ping pong, but her addiction always wins. Heroin trumps daughter. Every damn time.
I never knew my father. Neither did my mother, I suspect. Besides the night he impregnated her anyway. The only thing I know for certain is that he’s Latino. I definitely didn’t get my dark features from Mom. Cybil and I couldn’t be more opposite physically. While she’s tall, fair, and willowy—I’m short, dark, and curvy. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. My curves are in all the right places and they help me appear older than I am. In case you didn’t catch it, yes, I call my mother by her first name. She doesn’t want any of her regular clients to know that she’s old enough to have a teenage daughter. She’s only thirty-four, which isn’t old if you ask me, but she tells people she’s twenty-four. It makes her more marketable. If anyone asks, we’re roomies. They’re usually too inebriated and/or horny to question it.
“What’ll you have, pretty lady?”
I raise my head and see the bartender approaching. His bushy eyebrows lift expectantly.
“Tequila rimmed with salt,” I reply as I lean over slightly, giving him a better view of my cleavage. In my experience, the portions are pretty generous when the bartender sees something he likes.
He stares at the boobage on display and gives me a smarmy smile. He grabs a bottle of Don Julio and begins filling the oversized shot glass to the rim. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”
He continues to leer as he sets my drink on the bar. Well, look at that; I didn’t even need my ID.
“Thanks,” I say. “You got any lime?”
He opens the garnish tray and plucks out a few wedges, placing them in a bowl. With his gaze still on my chest he asks, “Anything else I can do for ya?”
He’s really asking what I can do for him…and for what price. There’s a surprising amount of illicit sex in small towns, you know. I guess that’s what I get for choosing a place next to a seedy motel that rents by the hour. Too bad for him, I don’t have a habit to support. Not that I haven’t had the chance—there’s no way you live the life I’ve lived without being exposed to everything under the sun—but I’ve seen firsthand how powerful drugs can be and I have no desire to become another sad statistic. The irony of my current scene is not lost on me but I don’t have a drinking problem, if that’s what you’re thinking. If you must know, sex is my chosen vice. The main difference between me and my mother is that I don’t use it as a form of payment or to get paid. Getting off simply helps me turn down the volume for a while. Silence truly is a beautiful thing in my crazy, chaotic world.
I down the drink in one long gulp, chase it with the lime, and bat my eyelashes. “How about another?” There’s no way I’m interested in this jerk but flirting will keep the drinks flowing. Flirting like a pro is the one useful thing my mother has taught me.
He pours another and waits for me to bring the glass to my lips again. Before I can comply, a big guy on the corner shouts, “Yo, Stan! I’m empty!” Big Guy emphasizes his statement by clanking his mug loudly on the grimy surface.
Slimy Stan, as I’ve now named him, winks at me. “I’ll be back, sweet thing. Don’t go anywhere.”
I roll my eyes as he walks away to bleed the tap. I lift my glass and say, “Happy fucking birthday to me.”
The tequila burns my throat as a deep voice rumbles behind me, “Why is such a beautiful woman drinking all alone on her birthday?”
My shoulders stiffen as I set m
y glass down. I turn around to fend off this douche but I’m frozen once I see how gorgeous he is. Screw the alcohol. This is what I need tonight. My eyes travel across his flawless face, highlighted by turquoise eyes, a strong jaw dusted with stubble, and full lips. He licks said lips and I shiver when I think about what that tongue could do to me. My eyes continue their descent over a pair of broad shoulders that taper to a trim waist and long legs. He’s wearing a faded Led Zeppelin tee and a pair of dark jeans. Both show off his toned physique brilliantly. He’s built, but not bulky. Ruggedly handsome too—like an old-fashioned movie star. Simply put, he’s breathtaking. Also, unquestionably out of place in this shitty establishment.
He smirks when he notices my obvious perusal. “May I have a seat?”
I gulp, feeling strange little flutters in my stomach. I nod my head toward the adjacent stool. “Please do.”
“May I buy you another drink?” he asks. “Perhaps something a little more… diluted?”
I laugh. “I’d hate to break this to you buddy, but it doesn’t work like that.”
He crinkles his brows and runs a hand through his sandy blonde hair. “Care to elaborate?”
I smile. “If you’re looking to get in my pants, the less diluted the alcohol, the better.”
Sexy little crinkles form around his eyes as he returns my smile. “Is that so?”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
He signals Slimy Stan. “Bartender, can we get another round? I’ll have a bottle of Rogue IPA, and my friend here will have...”
I trace my fingers over the rim of my shot glass. “The same.”
Stan scowls when he notices my new friend. He quickly masks his displeasure and says, “Sure thing.”
Sexy Eyes flashes his perfect grin again. “So, Birthday Girl, do you have a name?”
“I do,” I say, “but I’m not giving it to you.”
He frowns. “And why’s that?”
I tip my freshly delivered bottle to my lips. “Because I have a strict no-name policy for one-night stands.” It’s true; I do. It’s less complicated that way.
His eyes widen in surprise but I don’t miss the underlying interest. “Well, then you have no worries. I’m not interested in sleeping with you. So what’s your name?”
I laugh to cover the sting of his rejection. “So, let me get this straight. You’re telling me that if I wanted to drag you into a dark corner right now and fuck your brains out, you wouldn’t be interested?”
He nods his head slowly and places his hand over mine. “That’s exactly what I’m saying—I’m not interested in a mindless fuck. With you or anyone, for that matter.”
Jesus, my panties are soaked from just listening to his resonant voice, even if the words are toxic to my fragile self-esteem. I bite my lower lip and give him another good once-over. “You’re not tripping my gaydar—which if I may say so, is pretty damn accurate—so what gives?”
He rubs his chin thoughtfully and smiles. I can’t help but fixate on the subtle scratching sound the motion makes. “So, a man has to be gay to turn you down? I never said I wasn’t interested in getting to know you. Asking your name seems like a great way to start.”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued by this guy’s approach. “It doesn’t matter which name I give you—I could easily lie to placate you. But why bother? Let’s just call this what it is and move forward. Sound like a plan, Sparkles?”
He laughs. “Sparkles?”
“I give people nicknames,” I explain with a shrug. “Your eyes—they’re really blue…and sparkly. Hence, Sparkles. No real names. No complications.”
“You couldn’t come up with something a little more…manly?”
I wink. “Nah, I like Sparkles.”
He laughs. “As amusing as this game is, I’d like to at least know the reason behind your no-name policy.”
I slowly cross my legs as he watches with blatant interest. “I already told you; it’s less complicated that way.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Well, that’s a cop-out if I’ve ever heard one. Could you at least give me something a little more original? Or better yet, how about the truth?”
Nope, because if you knew how fucked up I am, you’d go running for the hills. This conversation is teetering dangerously close to the edge of an abyss that I can’t afford to fall into again. I put my fake bravado in place and give an exaggerated sigh.
“Look, Sparkles. Can we forget about any games and just get on with this?”
“And what exactly is this?”
I lean forward and slowly move my hands up his powerful thighs. “I want you.” Holy hell, I really do. I can’t remember ever wanting to lose myself in someone this badly. I go a little bit further to whisper in his ear. “And I know you want me, despite your earlier denial. Do you think I can’t see your jeans tightening? Hear your breath hitch?” I lick the shell of his earlobe. “See your pulse racing as your eyes trace my every move? Why don’t you take me somewhere so we can make that happen?”
He braces his hands on my arms and shifts me back onto my stool. He assesses me briefly before asking, “Is it really your birthday?”
I smile wide, easily predicting his next question. “It is.”
He raises a single brow. “Which one? How old are you?”
“Twenty-two,” I answer without skipping a beat. “How old are you?”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a pull from his bottle. “Twenty-six.” He pulls out his wallet and throws a couple bills onto the bar. He stands and reaches out to take my hand. “C’mon, Birthday Girl. Let’s get out of this shithole.”
I beam in victory. “Lead the way.”
I BEGIN WALKING TOWARD the right when we get outside.
“Where are you going?” Sparkles asks.
I nod toward the sleazy motel. “Which room is yours?”
He looks insulted. “You think I have a room there?”
I shrug. “Sure. I mean…why else would you be in that bar?”
He pulls out a set of keys and hits a button to unlock the shiny SUV five feet away. “I had a flat. I went inside to wash my hands after changing the tire.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “A flat?”
He kicks the back tire. The obvious spare tire. “Yep.” He slowly looks me over. “I’m not sure I want the answer…but what were you doing in there?”
Trying to forget. “I was waiting for you.”
I’m not the best liar but I’m a great deflector.
He laughs and opens the passenger door. “Okay, Red, I get the hint. You’re not big on personal questions.”
“Red?”
“I have to call you something,” he says. “Your dress and your lips…they’re red.” He gulps as his eyes lazily roam my body from head to toe. “They’re also driving me crazy.”
“Good crazy?”
He nods enthusiastically. “Definitely good crazy.”
I laugh. “Well, if you don’t have a room, where are you taking me?”
“There’s an all-night diner a few miles down the road.”
“Honey, if you want pie, I’ve got something better to offer. Why don’t we just get a room?”
His eyes widen. “Red, of that I have no doubt. But I’d like to buy you a meal and talk for a while.”
I try to hide my shock that he doesn’t want to get right down to it like everyone else always does. Nobody’s been interested in me for conversation before. Doubt really starts to creep in as to whether or not I can handle this.
“That’s really not necessary.”
He nods toward the car. “Actually, it is. Call me old-fashioned, but I’d like to know a little bit about the women I’m intimate with.” He holds up a hand when he sees me smile. “I’m not saying that’s going to happen, but if you’d like to take this any further, which you’ve already implied you do, I’d like to break bread and share some conversation first.”
Damn it. I want him so much and he knows it. I have to figure ou
t a way to take back the power before I transform into a heaping mess of vulnerability.
“Fine. We’ll eat first.” I dig my car keys out of my purse and unlock the beat-up Civic that’s parked right next to his vehicle. “But I’ll follow you.”
His lips twitch. “Whatever you want, Red.” He walks around to the driver’s side and starts his ignition.
I turn my key over as well. “Whatever you want, Red,” I mutter.
This guy had better be fucking dynamite in the sack. I can feel Pandora’s box opening in my brain and I’d rather not disturb it. All sorts of crazy comes out when that happens.
I follow him up Highway 101 to the north end of town. I knew exactly where we were going once he mentioned an all-night diner. There aren’t many options around these parts. I’ve spent a lot of time sitting in the worn vinyl booths at Rose’s. I just hope that no one recognizes me. The place becomes a stoner’s paradise after midnight which means I have less than an hour to convince this guy to get naked. Not that I’m a stoner; we’ve already covered that. But there isn’t a whole helluva lot to do in this sleepy town so my friends are. Well, the two that I have anyway.
We each pull into a parking spot and exit our cars. I suddenly get nervous and think about bolting when Sparkles says, “Wow, I wasn’t sure if you were really going to follow me.”
His incredulity reminds me of why I’m here. It’s so contradictory to the confidence that seeps out of his pores. I don’t know how to explain it, but this guy is different. It’s clear that he’s a decent human being. Not that it matters when all is said and done, but it’s nice to change things up once in a while. Ya know?
I clear my throat. “Uh…yeah.” Shit. Awkward much?
He smiles and nods toward the entrance. “Shall we see if they have cake, Birthday Girl?”
I already know the answer but I play along. “Sure. Why not?”
He holds the door open for me. Huh. Clearly this guy didn’t get the memo that chivalry is dead. “Ladies first, Red.”
I step across the threshold, making sure to lightly brush against him. “Thank you.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels, adjusting his growing hard-on. Don’t get me wrong; he’s being discreet. I just know men. I know how to read every little nuance that says they’re aroused. Sparkles is playing hard to get, for reasons I still haven’t determined, but he’s undeniably affected. He feels this crazy energy that’s bouncing between us just as much as I do. Our eyes meet and I swear it feels like the earth just came to a grinding halt. My muscles tense, my chest tightens, and I get this strange tingly sensation right beneath the surface of my skin. I’m frozen in place, staring into azure pools, the color reminding me of the Caribbean. My God, his eyes are the most beautiful pair I’ve ever seen. Have you ever heard the saying, ‘The eyes are the windows to your soul’? I’ve always thought that was a cheesy line but this guy—these eyes—make me seriously reconsider my opinion.