Complicated Parts: Book 1 of the Complicated Parts Duet

by Ashley Jade

  I'm right on her heels, which is a good thing; because when a woman wearing bloody scrubs—the same woman Asher's currently yelling obscenities at—says Landon's name, she clutches her chest and sways.

  I fold my arms around her and we both fall to the ground. She's so hysterical I don't even think she realizes she's screaming Landon's name. Not that it matters, because inside I'm screaming, too.

  Screaming how sorry I am.

  Screaming how much I regret ever making Landon go to the cafeteria with me.

  Screaming how I wish I fought Preston harder in the elevator.

  Screaming how much I want to take her pain away...even though I know I'll never be able to.

  I'm screaming just like I used to.

  Because it hurts.

  Because it always fucking hurts.

  Because the pain never goes away.

  Death is a wound that never heals. You can't bandage, stitch, or fix it.

  It's chronic. Incurable. Permanent. Final.

  And it doesn't just end the life it takes...it destroys a huge part of those who are left behind. The people who are forced to continue living in a world where their loved ones no longer exist.

  It's a punishment no one deserves.

  “Preston said Landon was trying to protect you both when he was shot,” Breslin chokes out. “I didn't know he was there. Preston never told us. Why didn't he tell us Kyle shot him?”

  “I'm so sorry,” I whisper, even though I don't deserve her forgiveness. “I know it doesn't take back what I did, I just need you to know.”

  She stands up slowly, her limbs shaking like tree branches in a hurricane. “I don't—”

  I rise from the floor. “Kyle had no idea who Landon was. That's why Preston never mentioned he was with us when he was on the phone. He didn't want Asher to freak out and give Kyle a reason to hurt him. Kyle didn't shoot Landon until after the phone call.”

  She staggers back. “If he didn't know who Landon was, then why did he do it?” She looks me up and down. “You and Preston aren't injured. Did Landon step in when Kyle tried to attack one of you?”

  I start to close my eyes but think better of it. The least I can do is look at her as I confess. “Not exactly. I don't know the precise—”

  “What do you mean you don't know, Kit? You were there when Kyle shot him, weren't you?”

  My culpability is asphyxiating me, but she deserves to know the truth.

  “No, not technically.”

  “Where were you?”

  “In the elevator with Preston.” I take a step forward. “Landon attacked Kyle so we could have a chance to escape. He did more than protect us, he saved our lives.”

  A strangled sound breaks out and she grips her stomach. “You mean to tell me you just ran off? You didn't stop when Kyle shot him? Never tried to help him? Instead you left him to die by himself on the cold cafeteria floor...like some kind of sacrificial lamb?”

  My heart bottoms out and fractures right down the center. I go to hug her, tell her how much I hate myself, but she shoves me away.

  “Don't—”

  “She didn't leave him,” a deep voice booms behind me. “I pulled her in the elevator and refused to let her out. She didn't have a choice.” He walks up to her. “I know you're upset, but don't make her feel worse than she already does. If you're looking for someone to blame, blame me. Landon gave me an out and I took it.”

  The sound of Breslin's hand whipping across Preston's cheek is deafening. “You are the most selfish person I've ever met in my life.”

  He rubs the red mark she left. “Considering who your father is, I find that hard to believe.”

  I open my mouth to inform him this is not the time or place to be his typical mordant self, but Breslin surges forward. “Listen to me and listen good, you arrogant asshole.” She points to his chest. “If you ever felt anything inside this vacant cavity for your brother, you'd quit using him to clean up your messes and stay away...before he ends up just like my Landon.”

  Preston's firm expression falters. “Bre—”

  “No. Don't even try it. I'm not your brother, and I'm definitely not one of your little sluts, bookies, or poker buddies. You can't con or swindle me with your bullshit lines or excuses. I see you for the piece of self-serving shit you really are.”

  She takes a step back, her furious stare bouncing between us before resting on me. “I don't know what to say to you. But don't follow me when I turn around.”

  With that, she storms off...and the organ in my chest that was hanging by a thread, pulverizes.

  The events of the last twenty-four hours crash into me like a tidal wave and big, ugly tears retch out of me.

  In one long stride, Preston pulls me to him until I'm wrapped up in nothing but his warmth. A sturdy wall of protection between me and all the remorse and heartache I'm drowning in.

  I know I shouldn't let him near me, let alone touch and console me, but his arms are the only thing preventing me from hitting rock bottom.

  I can't even begin to understand it and I'm not so sure I want to. All I know is I need this. I need him right now.

  Even though it's nothing more than an illusion, I need to feel like someone in this world actually cares about me...or I'll shatter into so many parts, it'll be impossible to ever put myself back together again.

  “I've got you,” he says before he lifts me into his arms and starts walking.

  I know he does. It makes no sense, just like nothing else does...but I believe him.

  I latch onto Preston like he's an anchor, crying so hard I lose every ounce of air from my lungs with each sob.

  Even though we shouldn't be friends. Even though I detest the kind of person he is.

  Even though I should know better.

  I trust Preston Holden.

  XIV

  "What's that thing beating in my chest?And how do I get rid of it?" —Preston Holden

  “Excuse me,” some nurse wheeling a patient on a stretcher says curtly.

  Kit stirs in my arms, burying her face in my neck.

  “Move.”

  “This is a hospital, young man. Not a—”

  “I don't give a fuck, lady.”

  I plow past her and continue down the short hallway until I find our room. Once I'm inside, I head to my bed and pull the curtain around us.

  Kit sniffles. “She's never going to forgive me.”

  My jaw locks and I debate my next words carefully.

  What I want to tell her is that Breslin's a bitch, so it's really no great loss if she doesn't, but I know that won't help matters.

  Breslin's important to her. And judging by the frantic way she came in here earlier, Kit's important to Breslin.

  However, the girl knows how to hold a grudge. If Landon dies, the resentment Breslin will harbor for Kit will sever their bond.

  “She will,” I offer, giving her the standard crap people say. “She's upset right now, but she'll get over it.”

  “No, she won't. Don't you get it? I was the reason he was there in the first place.”

  Christ, I don't know how much more I can take of this. Kit's acting like she's the Grim Reaper and it couldn't be further from the truth. “You want to know what I really think?”

  She nods, easing back to look at me.

  I tighten my hold on her. “It's not your fault. What happened to Landon sucks, there's no getting around that. But you didn't put a collar around his neck and drag him there with a leash. Nor did you coerce him into going somewhere dangerous.”

  My thumb sweeps across her wobbly lower lip. “It was a school cafeteria. Millions of students all over the world eat lunch in one every day. But the thing is, whether it was a cafeteria or not, it doesn't matter—it could have happened anywhere, Kit. And the only person who could have predicted what happened today was the one who took it upon himself to walk in there and take the lives of innocent people. But that person isn't you, and it isn't me. There's only one person to blame for all of it,
and his name was Kyle.”

  She looks down. “I get that, but it still doesn't change the part I played in it.”

  I tip her chin. “You went to eat lunch with your friend, angry girl. That's all. There was no way you could have foreseen what was going to happen.” I shrug. “Technically you're the reason I was there too, but I'm not blaming you.” I palm her cheek. “Because I know, no matter how good the hand you start out with is, the river can change everything.”

  She scrunches her face. “The river? Is that some kind of poker analogy?”

  I laugh, not only because she's adorable, but because the double entendre isn't lost on me. “I take it you've never played.”

  She shakes her head. “I think gambling is stupid. No offense. I just don't see the point. You lose far more than you ever stand to gain.”

  I grin. “I see your challenge, Bishop, and I raise you one game.”

  “No.” She rolls her eyes. “I have no desire to gamble, let alone with someone like you.”

  I put my hand over my heart, feigning offense. “You wound me.”

  She starts to smile, but then without warning, she untwists herself from around me and stands up. “This is wrong.”

  I raise a brow. I have no idea what she means. “I'm not sure I follow.”

  She backs up, putting a few feet between us. “We can't be friends.” Before I can respond, she adds, “I appreciate what you did for me in the elevator and just now, but it doesn't change anything.”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “So, I'm only good enough to be your friend when you're upset and there's no one else around?”

  Her nostrils flare. “No, that's not it. Don't stand there and act like you don't understand why a friendship can't happen. Becca—”

  “Is a manipulating cunt,” I roar, frustrated with her inability to take off those rose-colored glasses. “Jesus Christ, how can you not see that? Are you that fucking gullible? That goddamn stupid?”

  Her hands clench at her sides. “I'm not gullible and I'm not stupid. I know more than anyone how Becca can be.”

  I smack my skull. “Then what the hell—”

  “She's who I thought about!” she screams, her voice thick with emotion. “After Kyle shot those first two students and I thought I was next...Becca flashed through my mind. Despite how much she hurt me, I wanted one more chance to tell her how much I loved her...and hated her. It didn't matter; I just wanted more time with her.”

  She wipes her tears. “There's a reason for it, Preston. I know you don't get it and I don't expect you to. Your relationship with her was very different from the one she and I had. You don't love her, and she doesn't love you. But I love her and I know she—”

  “Is playing you.”

  I don't know what Becca told her last night, and she's so far gone it no longer matters.

  I have to pull her out of Becca's vortex.

  I walk over to her. “I'm not telling you this to be a jerk, or because I have any residual feelings for her. I'm telling you because I know for a fact that even though you think you love her...she doesn't love you. She never did.”

  I tap her temple. “You didn't think about her in the cafeteria because it was a sign, or destiny, or real love, or any of the bullshit you're convincing yourself it was. You thought about her because that's how users and manipulators work. They invade your thoughts. Fuck up your psyche. They prey on innocent people like you, Kit. Trust me, I know.”

  My stomach churns with nausea, but I stuff it down. This isn't about me; this is about getting through to her. Making her see she deserves better than someone like Becca.

  She starts to turn away, but I grab her face and bend down so we're eye level.

  The air between us turns heavy. Charged with tension so dense it prickles over my skin.

  I know she feels it. I can practically hear her heart beating a mile a minute.

  Those full lips of hers part to take in more air and my cock strains against my zipper, taunting me with what I've wanted to take since the moment she scowled at me on that bridge.

  I lean in and Kit trembles, those wide eyes staring at me like I'm crazy. Hell, I just might be.

  But I'm not folding...fuck that. I'm betting max and going all in.

  She places her hand on my chest. “Pres—”

  I close the space between us.

  Instantly, her body melts into me, her fingers gripping my hair as I coax her mouth open. I groan when the tip of her tongue flicks mine in the sweetest little tease...right before she bites my lip so hard I taste blood and her knee recoils, attempting to strike me in the nuts.

  I back up, narrowly dodging the intrusion, much to the relief of my frightened family jewels. That's now twice in one day she's tried to attack them.

  She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “What part of I'm in love with Becca and lesbian do you not understand?”

  I spit blood on the floor. “I was trying to—”

  “What, convert me? Or fuck me and make me all confused in hopes of luring me away from her?”

  “Are those my only choices? If so, I'll gladly go with the latter.”

  She narrows her eyes. “You're unbelievable.”

  I wink. “I know.”

  “I don't mean that as a compliment, you freaking narcissist.”

  My jaw works. “Get over yourself, Bishop. It was a goddamn kiss, not Chinese torture.” I hold her gaze. “Don't act like there was nothing there. Lesbian or not, I know you felt it.”

  She shakes her head. “The only thing I felt was someone using me as an escape in order to avoid their own problems.”

  “I don't—”

  “That's just it...you don't.” She starts walking toward the door. “You don't care how your actions affect other people. You don't care about the damage you leave behind. The only thing you care about is yourself.”

  “Kit,” I whisper, willing her not to leave.

  Our eyes meet and my chest closes up.

  If looks could kill...I'd be grateful.

  Because the look she's giving me is worse than death...it's the cold, hard reality.

  She's seeing the real me for the very first time.

  “You know how users and manipulators work because you're one of them, Preston.”

  She walks out, leaving me with nothing but the taste of blue raspberry on my lips and a spasm in a heart I wasn't so sure I had.

  But I know it's there now. I feel it...and it fucking hurts.

  XV

  “You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart.” ― Franz Kafka

  Don't turn around, I tell myself as I continue marching down the hospital corridor.

  I'm not sure where I'm going, but anywhere is better than being in that room. With him.

  Kissing me.

  Kissing me like my sexuality doesn't mean a damn thing.

  Kissing me like I'm not in love with the girl he wants nothing to do with.

  Kissing me...like I belong to him.

  “Baby doll!” a voice I know so well I hear it in my dreams screeches.

  I turn just in time to see Becca run down the hallway and my heart leaps out of my chest.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, breathless.

  She hugs me. “Where else would I be? I was in my first class when I got the school alert on my phone informing me some maniac was in the cafeteria shooting people. When they finally let us out, I overheard a few students talking about a video posted on YouTube of him holding a pink-haired girl at gunpoint. It had almost a million views before it was taken down.”

  Tears lodge in my throat. “I can't believe you came here for me.”

  “Of course, I—”

  She doesn't have a chance to finish that statement because I incline my head and kiss her.

  I kiss her the way I wanted to when I thought my life was over.

  My heart starts to flutter...until it stops and tumbles over itself like a faulty car starter on a cold winter morning.

>   All I can think about is where my lips were last.

  “Are you okay, baby doll?”

  Becca's voice zaps me back to where my focus should be.

  I give her a small nod. “Yeah, just a little shaken up still I guess.”

  She pouts. “You know, it's too bad we don't have our apartment anymore. I'd take you home and nurse you back to health.” She loops her arms around my neck, pulling me close again. “I'd even—”

  The sound of someone clearing their throat cuts her off.

  “Kit Bishop,” a voice dripping with disdain says.

  I angle my head and recognize the man standing there as one of my Nanna's assistants. Why a seventy-year-old woman has personal assistants is beyond me, but she has several.

  “Hi, Reggie.”

  “Reginald,” he replies tersely.

  I know.

  I look past him and his stuffy demeanor, hoping to spot my Nanna. No doubt she's off somewhere fuming due to my lip-lock with Becca. “Where is she?”

  His lips purse. “If you're referring to your grandmother, I'm afraid she's not here.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

  He peers down his nose at me. “She sent me to collect you.”

  “To collect me?” I unhook Becca's arms from my neck. “Has she listened to any of the voicemails I left her?”

  “She did,” he assures me. “Hence, I am here.”

  “Why isn't my Nanna here?” I grit through my teeth, not caring that I sound like a toddler in the middle of a tantrum.

  You'd think the one day my Nanna would drop everything for me would be today.

  “Ms. Bishop is indisposed. My instructions are to bring you back to your dorm when you're through here.”

  “Let me get this straight,” I say, feeling like a volcano about to erupt. “She told you to take me back to the campus where I was almost killed today?”

  Reggie looks around, visibly uncomfortable.

  “You know, Reg. I think I'm good.” I reach for Becca's hand. “You can tell her I got a ride home from someone else.”

  Reggie looks up to the ceiling. “Very well.”