Perfect Wreckage

by Cowles, Catherine

  Perfect Wreckage

  Catherine Cowles

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Kenna

  2. Crosby

  3. Kenna

  4. Crosby

  5. Kenna

  6. Crosby

  7. Kenna

  8. Crosby

  9. Kenna

  10. Kenna

  11. Crosby

  12. Kenna

  13. Crosby

  14. Kenna

  15. Kenna

  16. Crosby

  17. Kenna

  18. Crosby

  19. Kenna

  20. Crosby

  21. Kenna

  22. Crosby

  23. Kenna

  24. Kenna

  25. Crosby

  26. Kenna

  27. Kenna

  28. Crosby

  29. Kenna

  30. Crosby

  31. Kenna

  32. Kenna

  33. Crosby

  34. Kenna

  35. Crosby

  36. Kenna

  37. Crosby

  38. Kenna

  39. Crosby

  40. Kenna

  41. Crosby

  42. Kenna

  43. Crosby

  44. Kenna

  45. Crosby

  46. Kenna

  47. Crosby

  48. Kenna

  49. Crosby

  50. Kenna

  Epilogue

  Deleted Scene

  Enjoy this book?

  Acknowledgments

  Also Available From Catherine Cowles

  About Catherine Cowles

  Stay Connected

  PERFECT WRECKAGE

  Copyright © 2020 by The PageSmith LLC. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Editor: Susan Barnes

  Copy Editor: Chelle Olson

  Proofreading: Julie Deaton and Janice Owen

  Paperback Formatting: Stacey Blake, Champagne Book Designs

  Cover Design: Hang Le

  For Grahame Claire.

  Thank you for the endless ways you’ve supported me on this journey. The author gig wouldn’t be nearly as fun if I didn’t have you alongside me.

  Prologue

  Kenna

  PAST

  I waved frantically, trying to clear the smoke away from the oven with one hand as I attempted to open the kitchen window with the other. My efforts were in vain. The smoke detector let out a wail that was likely to make my brain bleed.

  “Blasted oven.” I ran for one of the barstools and tugged it over beneath the shrieking alarm. I climbed up, stretching on my tiptoes until I could just reach the device. I twisted it off and quickly unplugged the wire.

  “What in heaven’s name is going on in here? Do I need to get the fire extinguisher?”

  “I’m sorry, Harriet. I just…” I wasn’t sure how to finish that statement.

  Harriet fought to hold back a laugh as she shook her head, the lines creasing her face deepening with the movement. “Let me get these out of the oven, and you climb down off that death trap before you fall and crack your head open.”

  I carefully lowered myself to the seat of the stool and then stood, setting the smoke detector on the counter. “I really am sorry.”

  Harriet waved me off as she slipped on oven mitts. “You know you don’t have to apologize for things like this. We have to make mistakes—”

  “—so that we can learn,” I finished in tandem with her. My grandmother’s best friend had been preaching this line since I’d come to live with her seven years ago. One of many Harriet-isms that I’d come to know and love.

  She lifted the baking sheet up and frowned. “I’m afraid to say I don’t think these will recover. What were you trying to make?”

  I took in the charred black rocks on the pan. Just the sight of them had a burn lighting behind my eyes. “Biscuits.”

  Harriet’s gaze jumped to me at the sound of strain in my voice. “Oh, sweet girl. We can make another batch.”

  “I don’t have time. And I just…I wanted everything to be perfect. I swear I followed your recipe to the letter.” But somewhere along the way, something had gotten mixed up, and my plans had gone up in smoke. If that wasn’t a metaphor for my life at the moment, I didn’t know what was.

  “Take a deep breath.” Harriet ducked into the pantry and pulled out a Tupperware container. “I’ve got some crescent rolls from lunch you can take. What are they for anyway?”

  “A picnic.” One I’d spent hours preparing for, trying to think of every last detail. “It’s Grant’s and my anniversary.”

  Harriet’s expression faltered for a moment as she handed me the container. Her relationship with her grandson wasn’t always an easy one. And no matter what I tried to do to smooth the way for the two of them, it never seemed to work.

  Harriet cleared her throat. “I just talked to Clark a minute ago, and he said they were all headed for the mainland. Spending a few nights in Seattle before heading on a trip to Boston.”

  Grant hadn’t said a word about a trip with his parents. God, I hoped he hadn’t forgotten. “He texted me just a bit ago and said he was heading into town to pick up a few things. We’re supposed to meet on the beach in a few minutes.”

  She patted my hand. “I must’ve misunderstood. You two have fun. Just make sure you’re back by eleven.”

  I grinned at Harriet. “Never any curfew extensions from you.”

  “I’ve only got you living at home for a bit longer, let me rule those few months with an iron fist.”

  “Fair enough.” That was the thing about living the majority of your childhood with a parent who couldn’t care less about you, having a strict guardian made me feel nothing but loved. When classmates moaned and complained about curfews and family dinners, I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Was it really so bad to know that people cared about you? Your safety and your well-being?

  I leaned forward and kissed Harriet’s cheek. “Don’t forget, you have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning.”

  She chuckled. “Always mothering me.”

  “Just looking out for you.” It was the least I could do for the woman who had given me so much. I’d been terrified when I first came to live at The Gables, sure I’d be sent away from Harriet’s sprawling waterfront estate and back to the home where I had been left alone to make myself dinner with the little we had in our pantry or to try and figure out how to use the washing machine so my clothes didn’t smell. But slowly, The Gables became home, and Harriet, my family.

  She cupped my face in her hands. “You’re a treasure. The best surprise gift of my life.”

  Guilt swamped me for what felt like the millionth time in the past two days. I’d almost blurted out my secret more times than I could count, hungry for Harriet’s wisdom and comfort. I swallowed the words back. “I should go.”

  She patted my cheek and sent me off with a shooing motion. I picked up the picnic basket and headed out of the kitchen. I tried to shove the guilt and worry from my mind as I made my way out the front door.

  Gravel crunched as I walked away from the large stone house, the rocks soon giving way to thick, lush grass that tickled my feet. The quaint guest house poked up on my right, and I could see Grant’s home in the distanc
e. I grinned, thinking about the time we’d gotten long-range walkie talkies and stayed up late into the night, swapping stories and sharing secrets.

  I searched the beach for Grant’s long, lean form, but the shore was empty. I crossed to the large piece of driftwood that made the perfect picnic spot. Spreading out the contents of the basket, I eased down onto the blanket, careful not to get anything on my dress. I glanced down at my watch. He was only a few minutes late.

  I took a deep breath and forced my attention to the ocean, hoping the rippling of the water would soothe my frayed edges. I’d written out what I might say to Grant, how I’d tell him, over and over, but nothing seemed quite right. I just hoped that in the moment, the right words would come, ones that eased instead of panicked, that assured him we were in this together.

  I thought it all through again, practicing the different things I might say, how I would voice them. Until the rumbling of my stomach brought me back to the present. I checked the time again. Forty-five minutes had passed in the blink of an eye. I looked down at my phone. No messages.

  Annoyance pricked at my skin. Grant knew that marking special occasions was important to me. Birthdays, anniversaries, I always did my best to make them special for the people I loved. Probably because my mother had never done so for me, other than the time she’d shown up smashed to my fourth-grade classroom with a dozen stale donuts. Grant knew my wounds better than anyone, which only dug the sting in deeper.

  A loud whistle pierced the air, and I turned to see Grant crossing the lawn towards the beach. I climbed to my feet, doing my best to keep the mixture of frustration and hurt in check. His eyes lit with a familiar heat as he approached. “Hey, babe. You look gorgeous.”

  “I thought we were meeting at five.” As soon as the words tumbled out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back. My harping on his tardiness would only ruin our night.

  Grant sent me a sheepish smile, the same one he always used before trying to smooth something over. “I ran into Joe in town. We started talking, and I lost track of time. I’m sorry, babe.” He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close. “Forgive me?”

  The familiar warmth spread through me as I snuggled closer. When Grant held me, it was the one time I truly felt safe and not alone. I wanted to bask in the sensation forever. “You’re forgiven.”

  He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small jewelry box and placing it in my hand. “This should make up for it.”

  The velvet of the case tickled my palm as excitement lit through me. I opened the box and gasped. The heart-shaped diamond necklace caught the fading sun in a glittering dance. “Grant, this is too much.”

  He cupped my face, tilting my head back. “You deserve the best. Happy Anniversary.”

  “Happy Anniversary,” I echoed.

  His lips met mine in a slow kiss that sent sparks through me. But as I pulled away, an overly sweet smell filled my senses. My nose wrinkled. “You smell like you rolled around in a florist shop.”

  Grant stiffened. “I hugged my mom before they left. I think she was wearing a new perfume.” He chuckled. “I don’t think it’s a winner.”

  It didn’t smell like something Annabelle would wear. But then again, my tastes were never up to her standards. I pushed the thoughts out of my mind and focused on the boy in front of me. The lock of golden blond hair that always swooped across his face, and the green flecks in his hazel eyes. He was beautiful. And he was mine. “I missed you.”

  Grant planted one more peck on my lips. “Missed you, too, babe.” His hand squeezed my butt. “You’ve been working too hard.”

  I forced my smile to stay in place. Grant never understood my need to work, to save. How could he when he’d never wanted for a single thing in his entire life. But I needed the sense of security, the knowledge that I could provide for myself in some small way.

  “I have the next two days off. But Harriet said you’re headed to Seattle with your parents?” I said it as a question, hoping he’d tell me that he’d only be gone for the day.

  Grant’s body seemed to string tight at my words. “Yeah, they want me to fly to Boston with them next week.”

  “Another business trip?” Clark often had his family accompany him to various conferences and events.

  Grant’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, a sure sign that I wasn’t going to like whatever he had to say. “Not exactly,” he muttered.

  “Then what are you going for?” Dread crept through my stomach. I hadn’t sensed anything amiss over the past few weeks, but I read it loud and clear now.

  “I’ve been trying to figure out the right time to tell you.” He toyed with the hem of his button-down shirt that hung casually untucked, and my stomach twisted into a painful knot. “I got into Harvard. Dad really wanted me to go. Said he’d get me a sick apartment if I agreed.”

  “Acceptance letters come out in April.” It was the only thing I could think of to say. It was the end of July now. Four months. A third of a year. And that whole time, we’d been planning a life together, one that was supposed to start in a matter of weeks. “I didn’t apply to any schools in Boston.”

  The wince he gave me was all I needed to know. Grant wasn’t planning on me coming with him. Tears burned the backs of my eyes. “How long have you known?”

  He reached out for me, but I retreated, and his hands fell back to his sides. “Not long, I swear.”

  The way his eyes shifted to the left told me that he was lying. That lie broke something in me. “Just a couple of nights ago, we were looking at apartments in Seattle online.” My breaths started coming quicker. “Was that some kind of sick joke to you?”

  “No, Kenna. Never. I just didn’t know how to tell you. I love you, but…”

  His words trailed off as he stepped closer. The scent of the perfume clinging to him had my stomach roiling. “But what?” My voice cracked on the question.

  “But I need some time to be free. We’re so young. I love you, but I’m not ready to settle down. We should spend some time apart before we do that. I think we’ll both feel better about it in the end.” He cupped my face, but I couldn’t even feel his hands. I’d gone completely numb. “You’re still my forever, I just need to have college on my own first.”

  My breathing picked up speed again as if no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get my lungs to fully inflate. My fingers began to tingle as I stepped out of Grant’s hold. Air, I needed air.

  “Kenna? Shit, are you okay? Just breathe.”

  Grant ran a hand down my back, and I didn’t have the strength to shy away from it. I was too consumed with the effort of trying to catch my breath. “I’m. Pregnant.”

  He recoiled as if I told him I had a flesh-eating disease. “Y-you’re what?”

  “Pregnant. I’m pregnant.” Just saying the words out loud made my breathing even out, as if they were a call to arms. My baby needed me. I couldn’t lose it now.

  “But you said you’re on the pill. Did you lie?”

  My head snapped up. “No, I didn’t lie. No form of birth control is one hundred percent effective.”

  Grant’s gaze narrowed on me. “But we used condoms most of the time, too.”

  Most of the time. My mind circled around the words. “Every time. You had one every time.”

  His eyes shifted—that same tell. But this time, it cut deep. “Once or twice, I didn’t actually put it on.”

  I stared unblinking at the face of the boy I loved. The one who’d been my first everything. From holding his hand in a darkened movie theater to letting him have the piece of myself I’d held onto for eighteen years. He’d made me feel special, cherished, wanted. And for a girl who’d spent so much of her life feeling like a castoff, being wanted was everything.

  “You knew how scared I was of this. Of being like my mother. Of people thinking I’m like her.” I didn’t regret my little bean, not one bit. I was going to love him or her with everything I had in me. But that didn’t change the betrayal of Grant�
��s actions. Apparently, he didn’t care enough about my fears to protect us both.

  He straightened. “If you were truly on the pill, it wouldn’t have mattered if I didn’t use a condom a few times. Hell, maybe you cheated on me. This baby probably isn’t even mine.”

  “How can you say something like that? You know me. You know that I would never do anything to betray you.” My heart was cracking. As if the organ had been submerged in subzero temperatures.

  The boy I thought I knew better than myself suddenly seemed like a stranger. I’d always known that Grant had a short temper. He was used to getting things the exact way he wanted. But I never expected that he’d turn on me. I was the one who listened when his parents were too busy with work and charity galas. I was the one who explained where he was coming from when Harriet lost her patience with him. I made sure he stayed on top of his schoolwork. I cheered him on at every football game. I’d held him as he’d cried when his grandfather died. How could he forget all of that in the blink of an eye?

  Grant began pacing back and forth. “You heard about Lacey, didn’t you? The parties? You think you can trap me?”

  I blanched, my mouth falling open, but I couldn’t seem to form words, and my mind rapidly spun. The sickly-sweet scent tickled the back of my brain. Lacey. It was the perfume of the girl who had made my growing up years on the island torture. Throwing my mom’s drunkenness and abandonment in my face more times than I could count. Tripping me in the hallway. Writing nasty things on my locker. The boy who was the love of my life, the father of my baby, smelled like…Lacey.