Perfectly Broken

by Prescott Lane

  With his warm breath against her neck, her body tingled with needy anticipation. She noticed he hummed the lines about love and continued on without missing a beat. Let me be the one you come running to. I’ll never be untrue. Peyton melted into his chest, the way he held her making her feel wanted, cherished, loved even. She smiled to herself and shook her head slightly, feeling like a silly schoolgirl. Times are good or bad, happy or sad.

  They moved together as one, as if they’d danced the song a thousand times. And it was more than dancing. Reed felt himself falling hard, powerless to stop it. Suddenly they heard clapping, but kept swaying in each other’s arms, not realizing the song had ended.

  * * *

  His heart beating fast, Reed drove Peyton home after the concert. He felt like he was going to be sick or have a heart attack. It had finally happened, the thing he’d avoided his entire life. He was scared and had no idea what to do. I love her.

  “You’re the one being quiet now,” Peyton said.

  “I was just thinking about you,” he replied and pulled in front of her house. Should I tell her? What if she doesn’t love me?

  Peyton rubbed his hand. “Want to come inside and tell me about it?”

  “Definitely.” He walked around his truck and opened her door, suddenly scooping her off her feet, carrying her towards the house.

  She giggled in his arms and pecked him on the cheek. “You ready to see my bed?”

  “More than you know,” he said, hoping — at last — to get past the threshold.

  “I’ve seen it,” a familiar voice called out from her porch swing.

  “Griffin?” Peyton cried, wiggling out of Reed’s arms. “What are you doing here?”

  Reed shook his head in disbelief. This douche, again? Griffin was like a mosquito on a crisp summer night, its mere presence enough to ruin everything, to say nothing of the annoying noise it made. Or maybe he was more like a termite, infesting anything and everything and capable of tearing down an entire house. Or a leech.... Wait, he’s seen her bed? He fixed his eyes squarely on Griffin.

  “I’m here because you won’t pick up when I call.” Griffin walked towards them, feeling Reed’s stare but not taking the bait. He’d come a long way to sort things out with Peyton. He didn’t want to get sucked into a confrontation with that womanizer — at least not yet.

  “You got on a plane because I didn’t pick up my phone?” she asked, confused.

  “Yeah,” Griffin said, as if it made perfect sense. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

  Reed couldn’t help himself. “Because she’s with me, man.” Peyton gave him a sideways glance.

  Griffin took a deep breath, keeping his focus on Peyton. “You’ve been with him like a month or so, and you’re already shutting out your friends?”

  “I’m not shutting out my friends.”

  “Right, she’s just shutting out assholes,” Reed added then received another glance from Peyton.

  Griffin again ignored him and took a step towards her. “You’re not talking to me, and usually you’re happy to see me — and I get a huge smile and hug.”

  Peyton cocked her head to the side, seeing Bret’s car coming down the street. “You came here for a hug, Griffin?”

  “Sure,” Griffin said and wrapped his arms around her. Peyton awkwardly patted him on the back like a sister would a brother.

  Reed winced. This guy is pathetic.

  “That’s more like it,” Griffin said then released her.

  “You should probably get going now,” Reed urged him.

  Griffin looked at Peyton. “He’s going to hurt you.”

  “No, I’m going to hurt you pretty soon.”

  Peyton put a soft hand on Reed’s chest, feeling the rage building inside. “Griffin, I’m sorry you came all the way from Chicago, but I’m not going to listen to this.”

  “Just think if you two want the same things out of life. Be honest with yourself,” Griffin said. “You want to get married and have kids one day. Do you really think he’s a family man?”

  His eyes cold and jaw clenched, Reed took a step forward, ready to put his boxing skills to good use. “Listen up, you little piece of shit.”

  Peyton grabbed his arm. “Reed!” She ran her fingers gently over his forearm, and he turned to her. “I can handle this. Would you give me just a minute?”

  Reed didn’t like it but turned and walked away — to make fun of Griffin with Bret, pulling into the driveway with Quinn in tow.

  “Do you know about his father?” Griffin asked quickly, knowing time was running out.

  “Yes, Reed told me about that.”

  “I’m sure you don’t know everything,” he said. Peyton threw her hands up and walked a few steps to her door. She reached for her keys in her pockets, as Griffin gently grabbed her arm from behind.

  Suddenly the lightning flashed, the unexpected touch of a man’s hand from behind — a different hand but triggering the same response, bringing her back to college, to the nasty construction site, the moment before her face was in the dirt. On instinct, Peyton pulled a hand from her pocket and swung around blindly, slapping Griffin squarely in the face, knocking him backwards into the porch railing, snapping it with a loud clack.

  The noise startled Reed, and he turned back to the porch, racing back to it, finding Peyton in shock, in tears, her whole body trembling. He darted his eyes to Griffin then lunged at him, seizing hold of his neck. “What the fuck did you do?” Reed screamed, throwing Griffin to the ground.

  “Stop!” Peyton cried.

  Reed jumped on top of him, assuming a ground-and-pound position, striking Griffin in the face over and over again, making sure the asshole paid with blood for whatever the hell he’d done, his blood squirting out from his nose and eyes and splattering onto the porch.

  Peyton screamed again. “Stop!”

  Bret caught Reed’s arms, pulling him off of Griffin and holding him back. But Reed continued to swing, wanting to land a few more punches.

  “Stop, man!” Bret barked and pushed Reed back.

  Griffin wiped his face, blood oozing from his nose onto his hands, as Reed steadied himself then scrambled over to Peyton, her head in her hands, sobbing. But Quinn was already there. She looked at Reed with venom then pointed to Bret. “Let Reed and my brother kill each other. I don’t care.” Quinn then ushered Peyton inside and slammed the front door behind her.

  Griffin got to his feet, still holding his nose, a trickle of blood now flowing from the gash above his eye. “She’s too good for you, Reed!”

  Reed picked up the snapped railing. “You want some more?”

  “Just leave, Griffin,” Bret ordered, once again holding Reed back as best he could.

  “We both know you’re going to fuck this up with her,” Griffin said.

  “Fuck off,” Reed said, gripping the railing in his hand.

  “It’s just a matter of time,” Griffin said. “And when you do, I’ll be there waiting.”

  “You should get the hell out of here, Griffin,” Bret said, knowing he couldn’t hold Reed back much longer — and that Reed had the capacity to kill the man, and seemed intent on doing so tonight. But Griffin didn’t budge. Bret tried to get Reed’s attention. “Leave him alone. You should check on Peyton.”

  Reed dropped the railing on the porch and walked inside the house, calling out for Peyton. Quinn met him in the foyer and pushed him outside, flashing him a look that she was glad he’d pummeled her brother. Her eyes then landed on Griffin, still standing on the porch. She stomped towards him and without hesitation or fear, slapped him across his bloody face. Then she leaned in close so only he could hear. “You grabbed her from behind, you idiot.” Then she slapped her brother again.

  Reed thought about handing Quinn the snapped railing for a third blow but decided not to involve himself in the sibling rivalry.

  “As for you,” Quinn turned to Reed, “you’re not going anywhere near Peyton tonight.”

  “Why don’t yo
u and your brother go,” Bret suggested, “and Reed and I will take care of Peyton tonight?”

  Quinn looked at her boyfriend as if he had three heads. “How about this,” she countered, “you and your good buddy Reed can sleep out on the porch with my stupid ass brother like the animals you all are?” Then she walked inside, slammed the door, and locked it.

  * * *

  Peyton woke up with the dawn, finding Quinn asleep in bed with her. Her head hurt. She’d barely slept. She couldn’t believe what had happened. It happened so fast. She replayed it over and over in her mind. She hated that a simple touch from behind could still trigger her, could bring her to slap her friend, could bring two men to violence. She got out of bed and walked downstairs.

  She found a note slid under the front door. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you and scare you. I should’ve known better. I’m heading back to Chicago. Take care of yourself. Griffin.

  Peyton sighed. Of course Griffin wasn’t a threat to her — or to Reed. He was as harmless as a teddy bear — though a strange one with a fascination for HGTV and unannounced visits to New Orleans. Note in hand, she opened the front door, stunned to see Reed asleep on the porch swing. She quietly scooted back inside. She opened a table drawer in her foyer and dropped the note inside, making a mental note to pitch it later before Reed ever stumbled upon it.

  She came back out and knelt beside him, tenderly touching his hair, examining his face, scanning his body. She found a few mosquito bites but no evidence of a fight — until her eyes came upon his hands, bloody and bruised. Peyton looked down at her own hands, remembering a few years ago when hers looked the same. She kissed his hands and lowered her head to his chest.

  Her soft touch awakened him. He gently moved his hands into her hair and kissed the top of her head. Pulling her onto his lap, he looked her up and down. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?” Peyton shook her head. “I was so worried, and Quinn wouldn’t let me see you. She kicked me out of the house.”

  “You slept out here all night?”

  He rubbed his eyes. “I couldn’t go home.”

  She tenderly touched his hands. “They look so bad.”

  “What did he do to you?”

  “I turned to go inside, and he grabbed me from behind.”

  “He shouldn’t have put his hands on you.”

  “He didn’t mean anything.”

  Reed shook his head. “He came here to trash me, so he could comfort you.”

  “He didn’t trash you.”

  “Oh really? What do you call him bringing up marriage and kids? He thinks he’s better for you.”

  Peyton exhaled. “Since you brought it up again, how do you feel about those things?”

  “I don’t know. My family wasn’t the best example.” He grabbed the back of his neck and looked away, pissed this was now the topic of conversation. “You know, this is exactly what Griffin wanted — to make you doubt me, to have you question me.”

  “He’s not doing that. He has a girlfriend!”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “Look, I can’t deal with this now. It’s too early in the morning.”

  Reed squeezed his battered hands. “You may not like to hear it, but he got what he deserved last night.”

  “He’d never hurt me. I overreacted and so did you.” Peyton got up and gripped her locket. “I don’t want you fighting with Griffin anymore, OK?”

  Reed smiled in return. “You should tell Quinn that. She slapped him a few times.”

  “OK, I’ll talk to her, too,” Peyton said quickly, twisting her hair into a messy bun.

  “I actually have a new respect for her.”

  “I’m glad because she and I are going out tonight. We need some girl time.”

  Reed didn’t like hearing that but didn’t want any more drama. Peyton was still as fired up about last night as he was. And she’d now built a wall between them, faster and thicker than he, the architect, ever could. He wondered whether he should’ve just gone home last night, given her some space, and not surprised her this morning. “Sounds fun,” he offered.

  Peyton raised an eyebrow. “You’re not a good liar. Come inside. Let’s clean up your hands.”

  * * *

  Reed looked over at his Super Bowl photo: Tracy Porter with hands extended and Peyton Manning flat on his back. It didn’t provide the usual jolt. He was exhausted, aggravated, and pissed at the world — really just Griffin and Heather, who’d taken a wrecking ball to his relationship. It wasn’t long ago that Peyton agreed to sleep at his place, and Heather ruined it. Then Peyton invited him to her bed, and Griffin ruined it. Now Peyton seemed more distant than ever.

  While at work during the day, they’d only exchanged a few short texts, basically just Reed telling her he had a handyman come by to fix her porch railing and clean up Griffin’s blood, though he didn’t put it in such stark terms. He looked down at his company for the night — a roast beef po-boy — and wished he’d hit Griffin a few more times. He reached for a bite when he heard a knock at the door. He jumped up, hoping Peyton had changed her mind about stupid “girl time” and instead come over to surprise him — maybe for make-up sex.

  Reed wrinkled his nose when he opened the door and saw Bret. “Peyton went out with Quinn?” Reed asked and invited his friend inside.

  “A few hours ago. They wouldn’t tell me where.”

  “How bad was the outfit?” Reed asked.

  “Bad?”

  “You can always tell how upset they are by how tight or short the dress is.”

  Bret laughed. “Then I guess you are in deep shit. Four-inch stiletto, fuck-me heels.”

  Reed rubbed his temples in pain then suddenly had an epiphany. “You’re a damn liar. Peyton would never dress like that.”

  “I had you for a minute! You looked like you could puke!”

  “Real fucking funny. By the way, your girlfriend shocked the hell out of me — turning on her brother like that.”

  “Quinn’s very protective of Peyton,” Bret said.

  “Obviously,” Reed said. “It’s really over the top, though.”

  Bret paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Quinn’s like that with everyone she loves.” His phone dinged with a text. Now he was the one who looked like he could puke.

  “What is it?”

  “Quinn is asking to go on a double date tomorrow night,” Bret said, frowning.

  “Aw hell.”

  “This can’t be good.”

  * * *

  Peyton set her phone next to the sink and stood at her bathroom mirror, brushing her long, brown hair. She wondered if Griffin would ever call her back. She left him a message apologizing for the way she overreacted and for Reed’s violent behavior. Griffin was such a good guy, a sensitive sweetheart. The man would never hurt her.

  Going out with Quinn last night was just what Peyton needed to decompress, to try to get past her embarrassment, her brokenness on full display. But she hadn’t fully recovered. A chill ran down her spine hearing the porch railing snap and Reed’s fists crash into Griffin’s face, frightening her but at the same time, making her feel safe, like he’d never let anything bad happen to her again. Still, it made her question whether Reed could handle her past.

  She knew Reed wouldn’t have attacked Griffin unless he thought Griffin truly had hurt her or posed some sort of threat. And she only had herself to blame for that. She draped a piece of hair over her scar then put down her brush and looked at herself in the mirror. He was just protecting me. She took a deep breath and looked forward to going out with Reed — and with Bret and Quinn, too, getting ready down the hall. They were always good for a laugh, and she wanted the four of them to be close. Plus, it was a chance for Quinn to hopefully build on whatever little positive movement she’d made towards Reed.

  Her phone dinged with a text from Reed. I’m downstairs. Take your time.

  Reed sat on the sofa and flipped on the huge TV. Then he heard footsteps coming dow
n the stairs.

  Bret entered the den and turned off the TV. “So it’s worse than I thought.”

  “We’re double dating like we’re in middle school again,” Reed said. “How could it get worse?”

  Bret plopped down on an adjacent chair. “Quinn has on her pissed-off panties.”

  “Her what?”

  “White cotton granny panties. She’s got her pussy under lock and key.” Bret laughed. “The only ones worse are her period panties.”

  “Bret,” Quinn yelled from the doorway, “you did not just tell him what panties I have on!”

  Peyton patted Quinn on the back then sat on the sofa next to Reed. “Yeah, he did. You have on your pissed-off panties.” Reed chuckled and gave Peyton a kiss on the cheek.

  “My what?” Quinn cried, throwing a hand on her hip.

  “Bret has a Panty Personality Gift,” Reed quipped, though Quinn didn’t crack a smile. Reed reached for his neck, and Peyton leaned over and rubbed it for him.

  “A pair of panties is worth a thousand words,” Bret said, stroking his chin like a great philosopher.

  “Peyton, are you hearing this?” Quinn asked.

  “Oh, I’m hearing it.” Peyton looked down at Reed’s battered hands and rubbed them gently with her fingertips, offering him a reassuring smile.

  “Maybe we should analyze yours?” Reed asked.

  Peyton straightened herself. “I’m wearing hiphuggers that say ‘I dare you.’” She cracked a huge grin. “I also have a pair that say ‘SMACK!’”

  “Don’t encourage them, Peyton,” Quinn said. “You’re not helping.”

  “Sure she is,” Bret said. “Hiphuggers or boy shorts say a girl is laid back — always in a happy-go-lucky mood. No drama with that girl.”

  Quinn sat down on the floor, defeated. “Please enlighten us some more with your panty wisdom.”

  “Well, you’ve got the thong. This girl is feeling sexy. She’s a guarantee lay and probably a good one.” Bret flashed a smile to Quinn. “I know when you wear a thong, I’m getting lucky.”