by Kat Bastion
“One day? I just stopped. Stopped trying. Stopped overmanaging my son. I just let go. Once I did, an enormous weight lifted. Took a while, couple of weeks maybe, but eventually, my son started smiling again. So did my wife. Because I made time for her too—for us.”
He pegged a hard look at the woman directly across from him, then scanned his gaze across the circle until it landed on me. “Took a lot of heartache to realize the best gift we can give those we love is ourselves—whole and happy. We have to let them breathe, let them live and make mistakes. And we need to live too. We owe it to ourselves and to them.”
My head buzzed at Ron’s story. The parallels…the lesson…hit me hard.
When I glanced left, Logan stared at me with a soft expression. Then determination flashed across her face. She grabbed my hand and tugged me out of my seat and toward the corner of the room while the group continued, murmuring in the background.
She stared up at me, compassion in her eyes. “You said you can’t do both. You don’t have to. We will. I’m not thirteen anymore. You don’t have to handle everything alone. We do this together. I need you to live for you.”
I gave a weak nod, unable to speak with the cramp locking up my throat.
Logan needs me to be whole…and happy.
And fuck, I needed Kiki for that.
But first, I had to get my head screwed on straight.
Kiki…
Race day came without any fanfare.
And yet, I’d hit a major achievement before I’d ever stepped foot on the trail.
I’d finally begun to stop mourning the devastating loss of Darren; self-preservation demanded it.
In small increments, while pushing my limits with daily trail running and immersing myself in several new sculptures, I’d painstakingly stripped the “we” out of my head—and heart—and had slowly become a “me” again.
But the new me turned out to be profoundly different. I’d become a better version of independent me: brighter on the inside, ready to face whatever challenges awaited me on the outside. All because I’d loved and been loved. Because of Darren.
I’d even begun to trust with my art again: I approached the owner of Eiselmann’s Gallery, where we’d held the Industrial Grunge party, and made arrangements to create a few pieces to sell there.
But when I touched my Vibrams to the dirt, adhesive racing number affixed to my shirt and baseball cap tugged down low, I missed him. A huge part of me wanted to share the incredible experience of the race with him, show him how far I’d come.
The starting gun fired, its shot echoing off the rock walls of the mountain to my left, scattering my thoughts. Our pack of men and women took off together, one hundred and thirty-seven in total, according to the race official who’d checked me in at the starting area.
Not having raced before, I kept toward the back to begin, wanting to make sure all the extremists had full command of the trail at their breakneck pace. Runners had varying options to race: five miles (once around the four-mile lollypop loop and back to the finish line) or nine miles (taking a second turn around the loop). I went for the five-mile race.
Before long, I passed several runners, both women and men. A few bottlenecks occurred at boulder outcroppings, forcing me to scrabble up the steeper outside so I didn’t have to slow down.
In the last mile of the loop, while negotiating a downhill filled with loose granite and ducking under pine branches, my shoulder got jostled, a rude female competitor shoving her own path through. I stumbled, causing a slide of loose rock, then fell into a tumbling roll over jagged riprap along the edge of the trail.
Pain flashed into my head, my knees, and my hands as the world spun wildly. And then I finally skidded to a stop on softer dirt. On a dragged-out groan, I slowly rolled onto my back. I had a sudden splitting headache while I sucked in deep breaths, beginning to take stock of my injuries. I could breathe without pain. Always a good sign.
“You okay?” A deep voice rumbled above me.
I blinked open my eyes to see a dark-haired stranger staring down at me.
“Think so.” My mind flashed to another fall, another trail, and Darren’s concerned words: Shit. Kiki, you okay?
“Let’s make sure everything’s working.” The man assisted me up, then handed me my dusty baseball cap that had been knocked off my head. After a few seconds of arm and leg bending, and his quick check of my pupils, we verified I didn’t need immediate medical attention.
His thigh muscles twitched, and he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. I glanced at the race-number bib on his shirt. He wasn’t a racing official; he was a runner.
“Go!” I laughed, pointing down the trail. “Kick some ass for me!”
After he tore off, two other kamikaze runners whizzed by, bounding down the rocky incline at insane speeds. Once I sensed a safe opening, I walked onto the trail. Other than a headache which had dulled, scrapes and bruises that stung, and general soreness, everything seemed to be functioning properly for me to continue the race.
I took a couple of tentative skips, then settled into an easy jog down the incline, planting careful footfalls on packed earth. When nothing sparked with pain, I picked up the pace until I returned to my former racing speed.
From practice runs, I knew less than half a mile remained of the loop and half a mile of return straightaway, which led toward the finish line. My guard was up, every sense heightened after the fall. I actively listened for footfalls behind me, shoulders tensed, prepared to body check any other runner who felt trail running was a contact sport.
But the remainder of the race passed without incident. Four runners sprinted by in the last hundred yards. I increased my speed, nice and steady, until the finish line blurred by.
Cheers and shouts rang out from spectators, officials, and other race finishers.
But no one for me specifically.
Because I hadn’t invited anyone.
A tiny romantic part of me hoped Darren would be there. But logic told me he couldn’t be. He needed to be strong for his sister. We couldn’t be “just friends.” And not once had he ever sent mixed signals.
Gasping for air, I jogged a few more strides, then slowed to a brisk walk, raising my arms over my head as I spotted the aid station. After my breaths slowed enough, I slammed a few small cups of their electrolyte drink.
Two medics sat behind a table on the end. One of them raised his brows at me and stood. But I felt fine, so waved him off and wandered past, planning to check out the two rows of vendor tents at the near end of the parking lot.
“Congratulations, Flash.”
My heart stuttered. The deep familiar voice slid over my skin like a sensual caress.
This isn’t really happening. I kept walking and lifted a hand to rub my fingers over my scalp through the canvas baseball cap. Must’ve hit my head harder than I thought.
“Flash?”
Darren.
I froze in place. “You’re real,” I whispered, unable to believe it.
My knees began to shake, and I spun around slowly so I didn’t crumple onto my ass.
There he stood. That shaggy black hair I loved so much framed his face. Those deep green eyes sparkled in the direct sunlight. A thin black T-shirt hugged his muscular frame, draped over faded jeans.
Beautiful.
Here.
His eyes suddenly widened and he rushed over, closing the seven-foot distance between us. “Oh, shit. Kiki…” His voice softened at my name and his hand raised, hovering over my left cheek. But he didn’t touch me. “Damn, baby, are you okay?”
I blinked. Nothing made sense. Clearly I suffered from a concussion. Because my gorgeous, sunshine-haloed hallucination of Darren had called me “baby.”
When I grinned at the vividness of the dreamlike experience, ready to touch my apparition to see if he burst into glittery golden dust with the slightest poke of my finger, my lip hurt.
“Ow.” I winced at the sudden stab of pain.
&n
bsp; He frowned. Deeply. “Kiki?”
His gaze roved down my body.
I followed it, glancing at the dirt caked on my shirt, the jagged rips in the knees of my pants, and spots of dark crimson spattered all over the fabric of both.
I sucked in a shaky breath, unsure about what was happening. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He swallowed hard, then let out a measured breath. “You have blood dripping down the left side of your face.”
“Oh.” I touched a finger to my cheek. Sticky...wet. Real.
Then I reached out, staring at my hand until it made contact with his forearm. Warm. Solid. Very real.
“You’re here,” I breathed out, amazed. And more than a little stunned over the fact.
“I am. Hope that’s okay.” He reached up for my sunglasses. “May I?”
When I nodded absently, he removed them. Then he squinted at my face, above my left eye. “It’s a clean cut about an inch long, just under your eyebrow. Bleeding seems to be slowing.”
The clinical words blurred, my injury inconsequential. After all, I had finished the race.
But he is standing right…
“What are you doing here?”
“We are here.” He nodded back over his shoulder. Logan stood beside the nearest booth. She waved excitedly, a huge grin on her face.
I lifted a hand and gave her a half-wave as a tentative smile began to form, but the pain in my lip stopped me again. So did my confusion.
“But…why?”
“Logan got me to see that I didn’t have to control everything. She helped me realize what was important.”
My heart began to thump harder. But I took a deep breath, refusing to jump to conclusions.
“Logan needs me whole,” he continued. “For her.”
He searched my eyes for long seconds. “For me to be whole—I need you.”
Overwhelmed, tears welled, threatening to spill over. “Us...couple...together?” My words sounded nearly incoherent through gasped breaths.
With care, he wrapped his arms around me in a tender embrace and gazed into my eyes. “Only if you’ll have me, Flash. Only if I’m lucky enough...” His tone lowered to a whisper. “Only if you need me too.”
Heart thundering, my body trembled. I slid my arms around his waist, then clung to him, reveling in what he’d said—what his weighted words meant. Because although I could trudge through life without him, if forced to, my humble, artistic, trail-running world was complete with him in it.
I let out a grateful sigh and tightened my hold, determined to never again let go.
“I do.” I rested my right cheek on his chest, closing my eyes. “I need you too.”
Darren…
The following night, Kiki and I had our first date—post reunion.
Actually, our first real planned date ever.
Before we’d left the race, she’d gotten medical attention, at my insistence. Then after we’d parted ways—Logan and me to our house, Kiki to hers—we’d texted almost nonstop. And had three lengthy phone conversations, the last of which continued late into the night until we’d started to nod off. Two weeks of zero communication had demanded it.
Now we stood in her courtyard in the cool night air, her hand clasped tightly in mine.
We stared out at the quiet patio space that seemed more alive from the party we’d held there. All of her cherished mismatched bistro sets had been returned to their places. Strands of clear party lights remained above us, swaying in the breeze. The brick planter, once sparse with only a few herbs, now overflowed with blooming plants.
Over the last hour, we’d fed each other Chinese takeout—one chosen entrée each instead of the whole buffet. Minutes ago, we’d tossed the demolished cartons into her trash can.
“Thank you. For everything.” She leaned against my side as her voice lowered to a whisper. “For loving me.”
“Thank you for letting me… for waiting.”
She gave a silent nod. Then she spun in front of me, grasped two fistfuls of my shirt, and tugged me down until my lips gently crashed into hers.
Gratitude filled my heart as I wrapped my arms around her, sighing into our kiss.
She abruptly pulled back, then grabbed my hand and tugged me toward her front door. “C’mere. I have something I want to show you.”
My chuckle echoed out as we entered her warehouse. “I have something I want to show you too.”
“Not that.” She smacked my hand away when I curved it around her hip. “I want to show you something I made for you.”
“Not yet,” I growled out the correction, crowding her into my arms when we reached the stairs that led to her loft.
As we climbed, I kept her in my hold and nuzzled her neck. Every shudder and tiny moan she made imprinted into my brain, etched into my heart.
“Stop.” Her eyes lit with mischief when she opened the door, spun around, and put a hand up between us. “Wait. For just two minutes.”
On a steadying breath, face tilting down, I tracked her every move while counting down the seconds. “One nineteen, one eighteen, seventeen…”
Pressing her lips into a firm line, trying to fight her smile, she went into her kitchen and pulled open the nearest drawer under the counter. Then she carefully removed something wide and flat. She held the edges with care before resting it on her dining table.
“Ninety-eight, ninety-seven,” I teased, drawing closer to have a look at what she’d made.
My counting stopped as my jaw dropped open. “Animal,” I whispered.
The beloved Muppet character had been sketched in bold black lines on heavy white paper.
She touched my arm with a nod. “After teaching a few classes, I dug out my charcoals. And…even though we weren’t together, I just…” She took a deep breath. “Drawing him made me feel close to you.”
“I love it,” I rasped out. “Made something for you too.”
I caught the confusion furrowing her brow right before I turned and stepped away from her, facing her bed. I lowered my head, reached a hand over and between my shoulder blades, then grabbed my T-shirt and pulled it off.
Leaving one arm bent up, I rotated back toward her.
She gasped, then came closer. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s you.”
Her fingers traced along the new crescent of ink, as thick as my crescent. It curved forward over my chest, its point culminating over my heart.
“When?”
“Days ago. Once I believed I could have” —I got choked up with all the things that flashed into my mind: love, happiness…her— “and hoped you would have me.”
She swallowed hard. “I love it,” she whispered.
All of a sudden, a devilish look crossed over her face. She planted both hands on my chest, then shoved hard. I landed flat on my back on her bed seconds before she pounced on me, straddling my body.
She searched my eyes for a moment and hers softened with emotion. Then her lips brushed across mine, once, twice, before they opened further.
I wrapped my arms around her and sighed into our extraordinary kiss, so damn glad I’d chased after the girl who thought she could only handle a one-night stand.
Then I tightened my hold, warmth filling my heart when she murmured against my lips, “Let’s stay here forever.”
Please read on for an author’s note from Stone
Note from Author Stone Bastion
Enjoy your sneak peek of Rule Breaker, the next novel in The Unbreakable Series
Rule Breaker
I’m a drummer.
Why drumming?
It’s the core—the driving force—of every song.
Awestruck by blues and rock greats who gathered at my house when I was a kid for jam sessions, I picked up my first sticks before kindergarten…and never looked back.
Rhythm took root in my veins and underlaid my whole perception of the world. It pulsed a constant soundtrack in my head and still does to this day.
One moment that resonates with me?
My high school’s first ever drum-off.
There were two of us. We were known as the jazz drummer—that was me—and the rock drummer. Everyone knew his strength was power, mine was speed. Over the years, students and teachers alike debated who was the better drummer. The week before graduation, we decided to put the matter to rest once and for all.
A hush fell over the audience before we began.
One of us laid down a short burst of rhythm.
The other matched it perfectly, paused, then volleyed back something new.
He mimicked my jazz.
I mirrored his hard rock.
Each changeup passed with longer and more complicated patterns. The performance continued for a sweat-inducing fifteen minutes, back and forth, tension building to a crescendo.
Until a heavier pause followed our last matched set.
Breaths ragged, hearts pounding, muscles burning, we gave each other a nod. Then we began a rehearsed extended sequence as a finale, commanding every piece on our drum kits.
After the final bass tone echoed into the auditorium, utter silence followed for a few seconds. Then thunderous applause erupted, everyone jumping to their feet.
That day, we proved either of us could hold our own against the other—there was no better.
Life is filled with special moments. That was a good one.
As authors, we weave glimpses of our reality into the stories we write and greatly enjoyed doing so with Heartbreaker. Like Darren, I loved Animal as a kid, drummed on my girl’s (Kat’s) back to rock music, even considered a career in sound engineering…
My wish? That you enjoyed Darren and Kiki’s story and experienced a taste of the passion of drumming in Heartbreaker.
If you did enjoy it, please consider leaving a review for the book. Your thoughtful feedback is greatly appreciated by both us and future readers.
Thank you for reading and sharing Heartbreaker.
~ Stone
Mase…
The wave can kill…or save.
Its staggering force humbled—kicked my ass often. But when I pointed toward the curling crest, shot up from its thundering energy, then caught perfect air…the rest of the world faded.