Heartbreaker (Unbreakable #1)

by Kat Bastion

  Blinking, I spun around, practically bumping into Darren again.

  I spotted more clothes thrown over every piece of furniture. Shoes had been lined up by the baseboard. Textbooks were stacked on the end of a tall sofa table that had been pushed against a wall; its other end held the light I’d switched on earlier. A wooden chair, the same style as in the kitchen, had been tucked under it.

  I stared a beat longer at the makeshift study desk, glanced at the clothes, then the sheet-covered couch. “You live down here?”

  “Yeah.” He gave a hard nod, then walked into the dark kitchen. “Want something to drink?”

  “In the living room? But…why? Isn’t there a bedroom for you?”

  He didn’t respond. When I twisted to face him, he stood half-turned in front of the open refrigerator, its inner light shining on his face. He raised a brow, then nodded toward the top shelf which was loaded with bottles of beer and cans of soda.

  “I’ll have a beer.” The earlier two from dinner had worn off. And the event on the roof, plus all the new information, had amped me up.

  “It was easier to move down here.” He popped open both beers and let the lids skitter across the counter before they stopped at a wall of stacked mail. “When my mom…”

  His voice cracked at the mention of her. Then his face screwed up in frustration as he handed me my beer.

  I put a gentle hand on his forearm. “How long has it been?”

  “Just over two years.”

  I took a fortifying few swallows. But then I put the bottle on the counter, suddenly deciding I needed to remain sober. We were venturing into unfamiliar territory for me: depression, surviving a loved one’s suicide—dealing with that unimaginable loss.

  My heart ached for him. For both of them. When he said nothing further, I stayed safe and stated the obvious. “You haven’t talked about it much.”

  “Not at all.” He gripped his beer with a tight fist around its neck, then chugged a good half of the bottle before coming up for air.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

  “No.” His eyes searched mine. “For the first time, I do. After it happened, I buried myself in everything I had to do to keep Logan and me afloat: made sure I was able to be her legal guardian, lightened my school load…took on more than one job to cover bills.”

  “That’s amazing, Darren.”

  “I love my sister. Had no choice. No way was she going into foster care.”

  “And that explains this” —I gestured to his living-room-turned-bedroom— “how?”

  The corner of his mouth tilted up just a little. “When she…”

  He exhaled a sharp breath, took a few more swallows of beer. “After it happened, Logan was a mess. She refused to give Mom up. The house only has two bedrooms: Mom’s and ours. One day, about a week later, I came back from work to find Logan had moved out of our shared room and into Mom’s. She’d dragged all of her clothes into there and locked herself in.”

  “Oh, wow.” I couldn’t imagine all of the memories that had to be in their mom’s room. Her clothes. Her personal treasures. Her bed.

  “Plus my stereo system and all my music,” he grumbled.

  “What?” I huffed out a laugh. “The music?” I listened as the evidence still blared loudly. “Alternative?”

  He nodded. “Some jazz. Lotta blues and heavier rock too. She plays it nonstop. Mostly the depressing stuff. But…it seems to be her way of coping. So I let her be.”

  My thoughts drifted back to the rooftop, of his sister and her struggle. “Logan also suffers from depression?”

  “Yeah. Runs in the family, I guess. We had a couple of nasty fights, with her a sobbing wreck halfway through. Then she would shut down completely—just stare at the wall. Whenever it got that bad, I couldn’t get through to her. After practically begging her, I finally convinced her to see a doctor.”

  “Did it help?”

  “Not really. The doc saw her for all of ten minutes. Gave her a prescription. The drugs only messed her up more. Then we went to a shrink the doc recommended: an easygoing middle-aged woman. But Logan seems okay with her.”

  “So she’s a little better now?”

  “Not sure how much better she is,” he muttered. “She keeps ending up on that fucking roof.”

  “Right.” I didn’t know what else to say. I’d be shredded inside too if someone I loved hurt that much.

  “She’s on her fourth drug. Two mellowed her out too much. Third turned her into a rage machine. This one seems to be doing okay, so far. It’s only been a week. But at least no windows are broken.”

  Ahhh…the cardboard and duct tape.

  “And you don’t feel like sleeping in your own bed?”

  “Nah.” He tipped up his beer, finishing the last of it, then shot the empty bottle sliding across the counter until it clinked into mine. “Even if I wanted to, who could sleep through that? Besides, she started to leave in the middle of the night to go to that damned roof. I need to make sure she doesn’t sneak out.”

  “But don’t you work at night?”

  “Yeah. Have to. But we made a deal. She promised me she would be home, that I would know where she was at all times. For the two of us to make it a go on our own, it has to be that way. She understands.” He sighed heavily. “Even though she sometimes breaks that promise.”

  “Good that she texted you. At least she’s trying.”

  They had it rough. That they were on the same page, even with their problems, helped.

  “Oh…my…” Something I hadn’t noticed earlier grabbed my attention. I crossed the room, then lifted a small black T-shirt from where it had been carefully laid out on a far table in the corner. “This is...”

  “Animal.”

  “I was going to say adorable.” The shaggy Muppet character beamed his toothy grin at us, drumsticks raised high.

  Darren smiled and took the tiny shirt from me, spreading his open palm under it. “Animal is the reason I became a drummer. I loved watching him, and Mom encouraged me. She bought me this T-shirt for Christmas when I was four. She bought me my first snare drum the following year.”

  “That’s awesome.” My heart warmed at the story. I gently plucked the shirt from his hand by its shoulder seams, then arranged it on the table exactly as it had been.

  The song above changed again. This time into a thumping pulse that stirred my soul. “What is that song?”

  He cocked his head, angling an ear upward. “That’s ‘Jungle’ by X Ambassadors with Jamie N Commons. Another drag rhythm.”

  Like he’d been playing at the garage. And I now realized, Logan.

  “C’mere.” He tore the sheet off the couch and whipped it up in the air, letting it settle flat onto the floor. “Lay on your stomach. I’ll show you.”

  I hesitated, narrowing my eyes.

  He arched his brows, then grabbed my hand and tugged downward.

  “Okay.” I turned my head, watching him as I narrowed my eyes again. “But no funny business.” The entire night had unsettled me.

  “Trust me.”

  Unsure about whether it was him or me I worried about trusting, I stuffed down my apprehension and stretched onto the floor.

  The moment I relaxed, firm hands pressed onto the center of my back. They spread apart, one toward my butt, the other, my shoulders. Then he began drumming with the rhythm of the song. At first, a light patter. Then a heavier beat.

  “There’s the drag.” He thumped down harder at the end of a set of four. “That last downstroke—it’s as far as you can drag out the beat before you lose the rhythm.”

  The contact was intimate. Drumming was his passion. With those muscular forearms, he gently pounded the rhythm that flowed from his head onto my body. Warmth traveled from his touch. The thumping grew heavier, harder.

  When he spread his hands wide during a pause, then brought them back in again, his hand slipped under my shirt. The calluses on his fingertips tickled as he traced lightly up m
y skin, dragging the material upward. Then he began drumming with greater intensity on my flesh. My shirt kept working up, exposing more and more of me.

  His fingers slipped under my bra strap. Then he pulled against the stretchy fabric, pausing. “Skin-only okay?”

  Unable to think straight or form a reply, I gave a quick nod.

  Then with a flick, the tension slacked. I sucked in a ragged breath, mind blown that he’d taken the liberty—and I was letting him.

  He smoothed his hands over my bare skin, then resumed drumming. As if he hadn’t just partially undressed me.

  The intimacy of the moment grew.

  My breaths shortened with every thump of his hands.

  The freshly bared territory that he used expanded, first venturing up toward my shoulders, then down, all the way to the top line of my hips, lower over my ass cheeks. Heat flooded everywhere, arousal ratcheting up with every heavy beat of my heart.

  The song ended. His hands stilled in the growing silence, resting on me.

  And I felt exposed. Not just from the pulled-up T-shirt and unfastened bra.

  From everything: the sister I hadn’t known about; the story of their mom and his childhood; learning of his struggle, how difficult he’d had it, why he’d never let a woman get close.

  I sucked in a hard breath, then shot backward onto my bent legs. I clutched my shirt and bra to my chest. “I…I need to go.”

  With big gulps of air, I tried to calm myself.

  “Now?” Surprise tightened his features.

  I nodded wildly, reaching back to refasten my bra. “Yeah. It’s been a long day.”

  Filled with lots of unexpected events.

  And one big revelation.

  I’d let it go too far without realizing it—I’d let Darren get too close.

  Darren…

  Kiki had gotten spooked.

  Normally a happy chatterbox, for the last day and a half, she’d pulled back to one-word answers in texts. Hadn’t answered my calls.

  Yeah, I got it. We were both trying to deal with new shit.

  In fact, Tuesday night shocked the hell out of me. Not because of Logan being on the roof, but how my sister reacted to another girl anywhere near me. She’d been interested in Kiki, had drawn her closer, wanted to get to know her.

  Which was a first. A complete one-eighty from the cold indifference or hateful glares that had happened in the past.

  And yet, I was different with Kiki too. Maybe that was the reason.

  But the sudden frostiness from Kiki? Not cool. And it ended today.

  I couldn’t wait until afternoon to see her. So last night, I’d requested a morning run.

  Her reply?

  Fine

  When I woke up, I sent another:

  Meet you at your place.

  The same one-word gem fired back, minutes later:

  Fine

  Today I would push her. See what she was made of. Physically. Mentally.

  Because I no longer wanted Kiki at a distance. Her as just a friend would no longer work. And I for damn sure didn’t want her for only a one-night stand.

  No. Kiki didn’t know it yet, but if she wanted to run from me? I would chase.

  I pulled beside her car, then shifted into park. But I didn’t get a chance to cut the engine before she opened the passenger door and climbed onto her seat.

  “Hi!” She fastened her seatbelt, then stared at me.

  Her tone had an unhealthy level of cheer so early in the morning. And I hadn’t had enough caffeine yet. When I reached to the floorboard to grab the tray of coffees I’d brought, she bent down at the same time.

  Our arms brushed, her left, my right.

  The backs of our hands touched for a brief second. Our fingers tangled together. And we paused there, like the shock of the contact needed a moment to settle in, and we didn’t want to break away, not yet.

  Until we did. Suddenly. She yanked her hand back, curling it into her chest. Then she cleared her throat and with her other hand, lifted the cardboard tray.

  We both leaned back, out of apparent danger.

  She unscrewed her coffee from its holder, then lifted the tray, offering me mine. I stared at her the entire time while I grabbed my cup, waiting for her to say something.

  Until she didn’t. And I’d had enough of the awkward. “You okay?”

  “Of course.”

  Flippant.

  “Bullshit.” Yep. I was calling it.

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  She inhaled a deep breath, then let out a heavy sigh, her upper body collapsing against the seatback. “It’s too early to talk so much. Can’t we just run?”

  “No. We talk. And it’s way beyond time for it.”

  “Fine.” There was that word again—no better said than texted. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Us.”

  “There is no ‘us.’”

  I let out dry laugh. “Keep telling yourself that. Doesn’t make it any truer.”

  She brought her cup to her lips, took several swallows while staring at the dashboard, then pulled the paper cup down to her lap. She stared at it, picking at the seam of the protective sleeve at the top until it pried apart.

  In a quiet voice, she finally said, “There can’t be an ‘us.’”

  “Why not?”

  “There just can’t.”

  “I’m calling bullshit again. Throwing a big yellow bullshit-fowl flag into the air.”

  “Haven’t you ever been rejected before? You’re not taking this very well.”

  “Not from a woman who wanted me.”

  “Do not.”

  “Do too.” In the silence that followed, our words echoed in my head. “What are we, five?”

  Amusement flashed in her eyes. “Apparently.”

  “What’s the problem? You wanted me. I had roadblocks to that happening. They’re gone now.”

  “Did you ever consider that I only wanted you when I couldn’t have you?”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Sure it does.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You were fair game when I could have something only physical. Now it’s too late.”

  “Buuullshit.” My new favorite word. But there was a big stinking pile of it between us, and I wasn’t done shoveling yet.

  “Truth.” She gave a half-shrug.

  “Maybe your misguided understanding of it. Look, Kiki. I haven’t been able to have any kind of relationship with a girl since…since Logan bottled up and lashed out.”

  “What’s suddenly changed?”

  “She seems to like you.”

  “That’s part of the problem.” Her voice quieted.

  “What? I still don’t get it.”

  “That’s the reason we” —she pointed a finger back and forth between our chests— “can never happen.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Why is that, exactly?”

  She stared at me, tilted her head a little, then exhaled a slow breath, compassion softening her expression. Her voice lowered. “Because I like you.”

  My chest felt heavy at the weight of her statement: the tone in which she said it, like that fact represented our beginning and end, and the way she stared at me, like she wanted me so badly but for all of our sakes had resigned herself to the fact that it could never happen.

  Shit had gotten too real in here.

  We were in serious need of some mood lightening.

  “So you wanted to fuck my brains out when you didn’t like me?”

  The corners of her mouth twitched. “Pretty much.”

  “But now that I’m a decent guy, sex is off the table?”

  “Not…quite.”

  Confused as hell, I shook my head, gripped the steering wheel, and put the truck in gear. So I was close to the reason, but no cigar. “Don’t follow. Gonna need more.”

  We pulled out of her neighborhood, then onto the highway toward the longer trail I’d planned on tackling bef
ore she replied. “It’s complicated.”

  I grunted. “Sounds familiar.”

  Yet my excuse thrown back at me didn’t sit well in my gut.

  “Sooo…do you need help with gear for the 70’s party?” Kiki crossed her arms over her chest again.

  “Nope.” Yep. If she was going to shut down and change topics, I wasn’t playing along. In fact, I thought as I sped down the highway more determined than ever, I wasn’t playing at all.

  Kiki…

  As Darren drove and the tension in his truck thickened, my thoughts twisted into a chaotic mess. My head began to hurt. It matched my aching heart.

  Shutting him down bothered me, but I had no choice.

  I couldn’t handle more.

  Fear had paralyzed me the moment I’d let down my guard on his living room floor—that I could want someone that badly, straight to my soul; that I might reach for it, let it happen.

  And then lose it. Lose him.

  Better to have loved and lost? My ass. Loss after love was devastating. It shredded you apart. It crippled your ability to trust in love ever again.

  Or maybe that was just me.

  But my heart felt heavy with guilt the entire ride to the trailhead. Darren’s frustration radiated off of him. I didn’t want to close him out, but letting him in wasn’t an option.

  The instant we parked, he shoved open his door. “Let’s go, Flash. You wanna survive this race, we’ve gotta up your game.”

  I jumped out as his door slammed shut. “Up my game?”

  “You started the training methods I emailed you about, right?”

  “Yes. Even-paced trail runs. On alternating days, wind sprints on the uphills.”

  “Good. Today’s a new trail, but this run’s also for time. Four miles. Push your limits. Sprint the steeps. Run the straightaways.”

  Right. Punishment. “And the downhills?”

  He dropped me a deadpan expression. “Use your head.”

  Don’t fall on it, in other words. “Got it.”

  While he tightened his left shoe, I tore off, running toward the gentle incline of the trail. After nearly two weeks of running every day, I knew my upwards speed, knew when my muscles burned, knew how much I’d get from them before they gave out.