Flawlessly Broken (Broken #2)

by Anna Paige

  The thought made me laugh. “Good for Clay. I’d go for broke as long as I was spending stepdaddy dearest’s money.”

  “Actually, one of the reasons I was so desperate to get in touch with you was that I need your help with some of the planning.” She said it tentatively, like there was more to come and I wasn’t going to like it.

  I checked the knot that held my robe closed and opened the bathroom door, tiring of the annoying echo. “Okay, what do you need me to do?”

  I made my way down the hall and Spencer stepped out of the kitchen, my re-warmed coffee held out in offering. I accepted it with a stiff nod—not wanting to move my head too much for fear of awakening Zeus and his lightning bolts—before going to sit at the counter. I watched as Spencer moved around the living room, collecting our glasses from the night before and folding the blanket he’d used to cover me when I dozed off.

  I was poised to tell him to leave that to me when Ali hesitantly spoke in my ear. “Since I can’t get away and the deadline to finalize some of the orders is approaching, I need you to help pick out the flowers and centerpieces. Maybe even the cake.”

  “What? I can’t do that. You’re the bride, that’s your choice to make.”

  “You know me better than anyone else on Earth. I trust you to make the right decisions. Besides, if you don’t do it, I’ll be stuck with whatever my mother picks and you can imagine what that would entail. I’d end up with bouquets the size of Macy’s floats and a cake that looks like a disco ball. I wouldn’t put it past her to use real diamonds on the damn thing just to show off.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “I know you hate spending time with her but she doesn’t know me well enough to make it my day even if she wanted to, which she clearly doesn’t. I need your help with this, Talia. Please. I need my maid of honor.”

  Dammit. I looked up at Spencer as an idea popped into my pounding head. “What about the Best Man? Should he have a hand in this, too?” I was so going to hell for this, but misery loved company and I still felt the need to get back at him for being so bossy—even if it had been kind of sexy.

  Ali was silent for a moment and Spencer stopped what he was doing to give me a suspicious look. Scraps of the paper he’d been cleaning up fell from between his fingers as he waited for me to clue him in.

  I said nothing.

  Ali covered the mouthpiece and spoke in hushed tones for a minute, probably to Clay. They were always together these days. They were so cute it was sickening.

  “Actually,” she hedged, “that is a really good idea. There’s a gap in the schedule at CBD and Spencer has nothing going on for at least two weeks. Maybe he would like to help out. Should I have Clay ask him?”

  I watched him watching me and smiled. “Nope. I’ll take care of it.” I met his eye and spoke evenly. “And if he argues, he and I are going to have a problem.”

  He raised a brow in challenge at the exact moment Ali muttered, “Oh shit, this just got interesting.”

  I smirked at him in defiance.

  Yes, it did.

  Spencer

  I HAD NO frame of reference, but I was pretty sure that the look on Talia’s face meant I was in trouble.

  A ripple of excitement skittered across my skin. She was feeling feisty this morning, and I was always up for a challenge. I puffed out my chest a bit and squared my shoulders in anticipation before it occurred to me what I was doing.

  You can’t engage this woman in a power struggle, stupid. You may win the battle but you’ll lose the fucking war. You always do. Stop this shit and go home before it’s too late.

  As she chatted on her phone, golden eyes shining in the morning light, I thought it might already be too late.

  Talia

  I AGREED TO meet Ali’s mom at the florist in a couple of hours, and Spencer was going along for the ride.

  Poor guy. But there’s a reason they say no good deed goes unpunished.

  I disconnected with Ali and turned to him, smiling innocently and suppressing a wince as my head protested. “Ali said to tell you that you have an appointment Wednesday to get fitted for your tux. And since my head is still spinning from the fall, she thought it best if you drove me to the flower shop this afternoon to meet with her mother.” A few bats of my lashes for emphasis, then... “And there are a few other things that have to be taken care of this week in preparation for the wedding. As best man and maid of honor, the tasks seem to have fallen on us. Hope you don’t mind.”

  He just looked at me for a moment, clearly processing everything I’d said. He straightened a bit as if preparing for battle. “First off, I absolutely don’t mind taking you to meet Eileen this afternoon. You shouldn’t be driving.” The condescending way he said it set my teeth on edge even though he was merely agreeing with me. “Second, I don’t need a fitting. I already have a tux.”

  His phone chirped in his pocket and he retrieved it with a roll of his eyes, clearly not liking the interruption.

  When he glanced down at the screen he let out a curse. “Son of a fucking bitch.”

  My little game was instantly forgotten. “What? What’s wrong?”

  He stepped over to the counter where I was seated and turned the phone so I could see it. There on the screen was a picture of a really beautiful tuxedo with the entire crotch area cut out. Below the photo was a text that read: You don’t have one anymore. Have fun at your fitting, fucker.

  The contact banner showed Clay’s name.

  I looked from the picture to Spencer’s glaring face and back several times before I couldn’t contain my laughter anymore. I laughed so hard tears streamed down my face and white-hot pain seared through my head, while Spencer stood there looking at me blankly. It took several attempts to get myself under control because his cross expression only added to the hilarity of the moment. It was only after I turned away from him that I could get myself together. My head throbbed even after I stopped but it couldn’t be helped.

  As I turned my seat back to face him, he said, “I don’t see how this is funny. That thing was Versace.”

  I burst out laughing again and managed to squeak out, “At least you weren’t in it when he decided to chop the crotch.”

  He blinked at me once and cracked up, his laughter booming through the kitchen.

  My God, it was such a beautiful sound. Deep and raspy, it seemed to well up and bubble over like magma. I didn’t even mind that the noise made my head pound. I’d never heard him laugh before, but I sure as hell wanted to hear it again. Not polite chuckles or an amused snort, I wanted what I was hearing now to go on for ages.

  When we both settled down, I was holding a hand to my aching head and grinning like a loon. There was much to be said for comic relief. “Okay, now you have got to explain why the hell your best friend just violated your expensive formal wear. Is this the kind of stuff guys do to each other? Because it kind of makes me want more guy friends. That was hilarious.”

  His eyes lingered on my hand, watching me rub the knot on my head with concern. I moved it before he had a chance to change the topic and his eyes returned to mine. “No, we don’t generally take things that far. Clay must have decided to get back at me for what I did to him when he needed a tux last year for the Gala with Ali.” He smirked, looking proud of himself.

  “And what did you do to him?”

  “I threw him to the wolves. Well, technically it was the office staff. Our assistants are both constantly trying to mother us, so when he told me he was looking to take an employee on what I was pretty sure amounted to a date, I had the mother hens take him to get a nice tuxedo. To this day he’s uncomfortable around them because they both saw him in his boxers.” The smirk morphed into a snicker.

  I raised a brow and shook my head slowly. “I’d have cut the tux with you in it if I were him.”

  He chuckled and waved off the comment. “I’ll probably wish he had by the time it’s over.” He started around the counter toward the refrigerator. “How about we just grab some breakfast here and skip
the restaurant until after the meeting with Ali’s mom?”

  Oh, right. I promised him breakfast at Canary. Whoops. I stood from my seat, taking a moment to fight off a wave of nausea. Probably from not having anything except booze in my stomach for a couple of days. Well, that and a few carrots that Spencer forced on me. “Sounds like a plan, but I’m the cook around here. You can refill our coffees while I get this going.” He’d bought what looked like an enormous, decorative, insulated container of coffee back from the shop on the corner—a strong Italian roast that I absolutely adored—along with plenty of creamer and sugar. Watching him refill our cups, I saw why his breath had smelled like vanilla. Flavored creamer.

  I took my coffee strong and black with just one packet of sugar but I suddenly wanted to taste it the way he took his. Or maybe just a secondary taste from his full lips...

  The carton of eggs in my hand started to slip and I barely managed to snag them before they hit the floor. My head protested and another wave of nausea hit just as Spencer took the eggs from me and set them on the counter.

  “See? You need to go get checked out. You shouldn’t be this dizzy. I’m taking you to the ER.” He sounded so concerned, it was endearing.

  “No. I got dizzy because my blood is still fifty percent alcohol and I need to eat. That’s all. Stop worrying.” I didn’t mention the nausea, sure that if I did he would throw me over his shoulder like a caveman and force me to the hospital. His manhandling might be mildly appealing—okay, really appealing—but my independent nature rejected the idea.

  He pursed his lips in annoyance and ushered me back to my seat at the counter. “Fine.” He placed my coffee in front of me with slow precision. “You drink this. I’ll make breakfast. I’m sure I can handle bacon and eggs without burning the place to the ground. It won’t be as fancy as you would have made it, but you’ll just have to slum it this morning and you can wow me with your culinary prowess another time. Okay, chuckles?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Okay,” I groused. “But I prefer sweetheart to chuckles, just so you know.”

  He smiled at me over his coffee cup. “Sweetheart it is, then.”

  Something occurred to me as I sipped my own steaming beverage. “How do you know how I drink my coffee?”

  The look he gave me told me I’d missed something. “From the hospital, remember? We took turns getting coffee for everyone in the waiting room. Yours was by far the least complicated and that made it easy to recall.” He smiled and sipped.

  “I think I fell asleep on you a few times that weekend, too,” I told him, thinking of last night’s sleeping arrangement.

  He nodded. “Mostly on my shoulder. That waiting room was cramped but we all wedged in there just the same.”

  “It was a bad couple of days. I hate hospitals.”

  Another nod. “I think most people feel that way. And that’s probably why some people are so stubborn that they don’t go even when it would behoove them to do so.” His tone left no question to whom he was referring.

  “Possible. But maybe some people avoid hospitals because they’ve spent more than their fair share in them and just the thought of that antiseptic smell and those bare walls is enough to make them physically ill.” Shit. I hadn’t meant to say all of that. I turned my gaze to the contents of my mug, not sure how to continue.

  The sounds of him cracking eggs into a bowl and tossing the shells into the trash gave me hope that he’d let the comment pass unquestioned.

  That lasted all of two minutes.

  “When were you in the hospital?” His voice was soft, curious but not prying.

  I stared at the counter in front of me. “When I sat for months in a stiff, plastic chair and watched my daughter die.”

  HIS STUNNED STARE greeted me when I looked up, leaving me a bit confused.

  He didn’t know? How was that possible?

  “Surely, Clay told you. Didn’t he?” My voice had lost a bit of its depth, sounding tinny and small. I’d shocked myself by mentioning Amelia at all, but I’d thought it was no big secret since Clay knew and Spencer was his best friend.

  Apparently, guys really don’t talk to each other.

  He cleared his throat and returned his attention to his task, his gaze lingering on my face a second longer than necessary as he turned. “No, Clay never said anything to me. I’m so sorry for your loss. I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for you. I apologize for my careless and inappropriate question. It was none of my business.”

  Maybe it was something in the air. His voice sounded tinny and thin too.

  I tried to reassure him. “Don’t apologize. You had no way of knowing. I shouldn’t have set the conversation in motion. I genuinely thought you knew since you’re so close with Clay.” A dull ache started in my chest at the thought of her sweet face. “I don’t usually discuss what happened but it’s been on my mind a lot this week, so I suppose that’s why I just sort of blurted it out like that. I apologize. You’ve already been sucked into enough of my issues for one day.”

  He shook his head, still facing away but regaining the commanding tone that made my heart race. “Don’t do that. You have no reason to apologize. And I haven’t been sucked into anything. Ali may have asked me to check on you but I came here because I wanted to and I’m still here for the same reason. Whatever you want to talk about—or not—is fine with me. Understand?” He turned to me with a raised brow that dared me to argue.

  I kind of wanted to balk at his tone but there was something about him, his presence was calming and exhilarating at the same time. And more than that, he was easy to talk to. Even without questions, he made me want to tell him things. That wasn’t something I was used to and it was unnerving. I kept myself at a distance from people for a reason, but every time I looked at him I couldn’t for the life of me remember what that reason was.

  Even now, with that same old ache burning a hole in my chest, I wanted to tell him about my Amelia. I took a moment to contemplate the reasons why I was telling him and decided it didn’t matter. I needed this and he wasn’t complaining, so I charged forward before I could change my mind and mentally scurry back into the darkened depths of my pain.

  “Amelia was two when she was diagnosed with leukemia. Toddlers usually have bruises from falls and the misadventures typical of someone that age but she kept getting bruises in places that we couldn’t explain. She was always tired, napping more than was normal for a child that age.” I saw those early days in my mind as I spoke, vivid as if it were happening right in front of me. “There were constant visits to the pediatrician, reassurances that I was just not seeing her bumping into things, that maybe she was waking in the night and I didn’t know it or that she was tired because of a growth spurt. All things that made sense but felt wrong in my ears even as they said it. I knew better. I knew something was wrong with my baby and they just kept putting me off as some overprotective, worrywart mother.”

  My fists clenched in my lap, so I reached up to grip my mug as a distraction. Spencer saw the motion and nodded to the near-empty cup. I smiled softly and handed it to him to refill, continuing with my story before I lost my nerve. “Anyway, by the time I got anyone to listen, her white blood cell levels were through the roof.”

  He sounded angry when he asked, “Why the hell didn’t they listen sooner?”

  I shrugged miserably and sipped my coffee. “Because I didn’t know her family history. If I’d known so much hinged on that, I would have lied.” I fought back the lump in my throat. “I just didn’t know.”

  “Why couldn’t you give them a family history?”

  “Well, I’m adopted—my birth parents are unknown because I was abandoned—so I have no idea what medical history my birth parents have, and Amelia’s father...” How was I supposed to explain that? Shit.

  “Derek?”

  A jolt of shock punched through me, and I sucked in a breath, the pulsing vein at my temple threatening to explode. “I talked about Derek last
night?”

  Spencer tried to shrug it off but I could see that my reaction bothered him. “A little, not much. And I’m still not sure what to make of it.” He tilted his head and gave me a half smile. “You were pretty buzzed by the time his name came up.”

  “Well, I suppose the least I can do is clarify things, huh?” I let out a self-deprecating chuckle.

  “Only if you want to. I told you, you’re not obligated to tell me anything.” His reassuring tone made this whole thing so much easier. The fact that he was okay with me not talking just made me want to talk more.

  I took a deep breath and smoothed my robe, busying my trembling hands. “To answer your original question, no, Derek is not Amelia’s father. He and I were high school sweethearts. Young, optimistic, and determined to stay together even after deciding to attend colleges in different states.” I forced a swallow and dropped my voice a bit. “We hadn’t seen each other for several months when I got pregnant with Amelia.”

  “I think I get it,” he said. His voice was angry, his stance rigid.

  What the?

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I was instantly defensive. Did he think I’d cheated, that it was some anonymous hook-up or something?

  He held up a hand. “Not what you think. You said something last night that I think explains why you didn’t have the biological father’s medical information to give. You don’t have to talk about that.”

  Shit. I scanned my memories trying to remember what I said.

  He must have seen the confusion on my face because he said, “You said you’d never willingly cheat on anyone. Willingly being the operative word and therefore requiring no further explanation. Okay?” He held my eye and reached out to touch the hand I’d been resting on the countertop. “I’m pretty good at reading between the lines. I didn’t mean to sound angry. Please know it wasn’t intended toward you. Not ever.” I nodded appreciatively and he returned to assembling our omelets, instinctively knowing it was easier for me to talk when he wasn’t looking at me.