Exquisitely Broken (A Sin City Tale Book 1)

by M. Jay Granberry

  If the look in her eyes didn’t let me know loud and clear it was over, the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place does.

  And then I hear it—gut-wrenching sobs on the other side of the door.

  I lay my face on the cold metal surface listening to heartache flow from her in waves. “Help me,” I whisper, looking up at the starless sky. This would be the perfect time for divine intervention, but no one answers back.

  The overwhelming sense of loss cripples me and I drop to the ground. I didn’t realize it would feel like this, a pain so sharp I want to crawl out of my skin to get away from it.

  I sit there long after the door closed, praying to whatever is up there that Sin will open the door and tell me we can work it out, but that never happens. Instead I hear the first chords of a song. The melody is the same haunting sound of her tears.

  And that’s when the walls of bullshit that I’d hunkered down behind cave in, and I’m hit with wave after wave of emotion. Regret and shame vie for the dominance to take me down first and I can’t fight it.

  I give up

  After minutes of sitting outside the door, I walk away. In my mind, me leaving isn’t forever, it’s until. Until I can figure out how to fix it. Until she’s ready to listen.

  Fuck this day! I just want to rewind time. Go back to that horrible moment and change my mind. I want to spit in temptations face and tell my pride to go fuck itself.

  Every mistake, every misstep plays in my mind on a warped loop. It’s like a scratch on record that’s stuck on one cracked piece of music. As I drive down the freeway back toward our house, I fight the urge to turn the car around. Go back to Adam’s house and post up until she’ll talk to me. Have a real conversation about the hard ugly truth.

  I try to blink back the tears that have been threatening to fall since Sin left, but this time I can’t. My eyes glass over, blurring the road in front of me.

  NOW

  Sinclair

  “Ms. James, are you listening to me?” Jeanine glances up from her cell phone. Her short hair is pulled back with a red headband the exact shade of her glasses and instead of her traditional power suit, she’s wearing a black and gold T-shirt with The Hotel logo blazed across the front, black jeans, and black tennis shoes. Casual looks good on her, but only Jeanine can make jeans and a T-shirt seem tres chic.

  I’m dragging. The eight o’clock wake-up call was super early, considering Jake left the villa sometime around five. There are bags under my eyes. The six cornrows I’ve plated into my hair are lopsided and lumpy. I have on the same shirt as Jeanine, but I cut a larger hole in the neck, so it hangs off one shoulder. It’s supposed to reach at least ninety degrees, so I opted for jean shorts.

  “Do I have a choice not to?”

  “And who says that rock stars aren’t bright?” She taps a nicely manicured nail against her lips.

  “I didn’t,” Adam says, swinging his guitar around his back.

  “Et tu, Brute?” I say, laughing.

  “Brutus was a coward who stabbed Caesar in the back. I did it right to your face. Gotta respect that,” he says with a wink.

  “No. I really don’t.”

  “Well, you should. You ready to roll. We’re supposed to be on stage at ten and it’s already eight thirty.” He pulls out of his phone, confirming the time before returning it to his pocket.

  We’re doing a stripped-down acoustic set for a fun run downtown to support Take Refuge, the only battered women’s shelter in the valley. The Hotel is a major sponsor, providing music and food alongside resources for the women that are seeking help.

  According to Jeanine, it generates thousands of dollars for the shelter each year and when Jake brought it up one night in bed, I wanted to help because his passion for the project was contagious and because I wanted to see him outside of midnight and four walls. And I want to do something that helps.

  Tired of waiting on us to get moving, Adam takes charge, directing the roadies that will be transporting our equipment and giving our security clear instructions. In true Adam style, he takes charge, completely disregarding the instructions Jeanine already gave the crew. Jeanine gives Adam a sidelong glance, irritation making her eyes narrow and her lips pinch

  “Is he always that autocratic?” she asks, still watching his back as he leans in to speak quietly to Seth and Aiden. Adam taps a fist on each guards shoulder, apparently finished with whatever it is he had to say, he turns his back on the men, and I see Seth melt from over here. So, they’re definitely still a thing.

  “Adam is many things,” I say, shrugging my shoulders before turning my attention completely on Jeanine. “But I’ve never thought of him that way. He’s actually pretty chill once you get to know him.”

  “I have introduced myself three times, Ms. James, there will not be a fourth. He is still dismissively high-handed and excessively rude.” I don’t say anything because I can’t argue that fact. Adam is not a fan of Jeanine’s and it shows. I, on the other hand, have grown to appreciate her candor. In the words of Venetria, although she be cunty, she be good.

  “Are shorts and boots a thing now? Jeanine asks, eyeing my legs and Dr. Martens. “It’s almost as ridiculous as high heels and shorts.”

  I point at myself. “They are for this girl.”

  “Your fashion choices are… interesting as always, Ms. James.”

  “Not really. I’m more of a wear what my hands land on kinda girl, and today this is what you get. Whatever I wear is fashion. One of the perks of being me.” I wink at her cheekily. The corner of her lip pulls up into a smile and she shakes her head.

  “You ready to go?” I ask, already heading for the door.

  We enter the garage. Our group breaks in half to fit in two SUVs. Once seated our drivers make quick work of getting out of the hotel parking garage. We roll up to one of the few vacant lots in Downtown Las Vegas. A temporary stage has been erected, news crews are already there, leaving barely enough room for the people actually participating in the fundraiser but it’s tame. The reporters aren’t manic or crawling over each other to get a sound bite. They’re lounging around the area, drinking coffee, and eating donuts. A couple wave as Adam and I climb on stage to start the sound check.

  There are groups of volunteers clustered together at various stations. Most are dressed in colorful T-shirts that have different company logos on the front and denote what task their group will perform. The people at the water station are wearing light blue. The people at the sign in table are wearing horrible Easter egg yellow. From the stage, locating our group is easy. We’re the only people wearing black shirts, and in a sea of pastels, the contrast is striking.

  From my perch I watch Jeanine make a beeline for a tall grizzly man with skin so weathered it looks like cracked leather. He has a full beard and a beer belly. They speak for a couple of minutes before he hands her a stack of papers attached to a clipboard. Jeanine walks over to our group, which has convened in front of the stage. She places two fingers in her mouth and lets out an ear-piercing whistle.

  “All right then, listen up. Before we get started, I want to give you a few guidelines on dealing with the media. If they want to speak with you, they must go through me. In the case of Ms. James and Mr. Johnson…”

  At the mention of his name, my eyes snap up and immediately find his. Are you as tired as I am? Maybe we should have gone to sleep after the first or second round. Did we really need to go for a third? He nods, a knowing smirk pulling at his lips.

  Jake’s T-shirt is identical to the rest of us. He’s wearing dark jeans with a backward baseball cap and sunglasses on the back of his neck. And for a hot second, I see him as he was ten years ago with a shit ton of swagger and no responsibility, or at least not the kind that made his shoulders heavy and crease his brow even in sleep.

  “The media is here to cover the race, not the two of you. If they ask about your personal history redirect them to the foundation, if they persist, redirect them to me,” Jeanine continues.
r />   “Our team is working with Clyde. His mother founded the shelter thirty years ago when she lost her sister to domestic violence. Clyde still handles the day-to-day operational needs of the facility, and he is also the head brewer at Glitter Gulch Brewery.” Jeanine looks over her shoulder at the man she was talking to earlier.

  “Say hello, Clyde.” He waves one hand while stuffing his mouth with a donut.

  “Ms. James and Mr. Beckham will take care of the entertainment. The rest of us will function as liaisons for the various stations, ensuring that the water station does indeed have water, that the sign-in booth has swag bags and entry bracelets, and that we count and secure additional donations. You get the gist. Check with me if you are uncertain where you are needed. Make me look good, people.”

  The group turns toward Clyde to get started. Contrary to his appearance Clyde is soft-spoken and exceptionally well organized. He breaks them into pairs. Then hands out supplies based on assigned tasks. Jake holds my gaze for a long beat before turning away.

  “You’re playing with fire, Sin,” Adam says in a tone so low, that only I can hear him.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I ask startled at his proximity.

  “Jacob Johnson was a bad choice ten years ago and he’s a bad choice now.”

  “How’d you know?” I ask.

  “I knew after the first time it happened.”

  Of course, he did. I knew it was only a matter of time before he would if he didn’t already

  “You don’t hide it well. Neither of you do. If you’re trying to keep this thing under wraps, maybe don’t eye fuck in public.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “You were. And so was he. What are you thinking, Sin? You know this dude, and you’re still falling for his bullshit,” he whisper-shouts, shaking his head like a frustrated puppy.

  “Not all of us live our lives, hiding in the shadows,” I snap, and his shoulders hunch forward like that verbal jab hit him square in the chest.

  “That was a low blow, Sin. Real low. You know why I’m not…” He cuts off the flow of words, his fingers digging at his scalp in a way that makes me wince in pain. “Why I can’t… It would be a mess—”

  “And we’d clean it up and you’d be happy. Seth loves—”

  “Don’t say another fucking word,” he growls, holding up his hand and turning his head so his face is no longer visible, and takes deep, deep breaths.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, placing a hand on the hard muscles of his arm. “I don’t know what I’m doing with Jake. I don’t. And it might end up in an even bigger disaster, but right now doing whatever we’re doing is the only thing that feels right. He feels right and I want that feeling for as long as I can have it. I want my happy. And I want you to find yours too. So, if Seth—”

  “We don’t talk about Seth. I can’t…” He swipes a tired hand down his face. “I can’t go there. Not right now.” He turns to face me, those oh so blue eyes red rimmed. “Be careful, Sin. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “I will,” I say, frowning as I take notice of the tired lines around his eyes. “You okay?”

  “I’m not.” He looks up at the sky when his eyes water. “I’m really not.” I immediately pull him into a hug, the guitar stopping me from totally embracing him. He drops his head to my shoulder. Jesus. I’ve never seen him like this. I’m normally the emotional one. What did I miss? We stay in that awkward pose for a couple more seconds before taking small steps backward.

  “Whatever it is I’m here. Just say the word and I’ll cut a bitch,” I say, moving my hand in a slicing motion. A small grin pulls at one side of his mouth.

  “What if I’m the bitch that needs cutting?” His eyes travel to the edge of the stage to land on Seth before coming back to mine.

  “Then we go with plan B.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I haven’t figured it out yet but when I do it’ll be good.”

  He laughs but it’s a brittle sound, joyless.

  “Adam?”

  “What’s up?”

  “I’m always around if you want to talk it out.”

  He studies me for a long, drawn out moment before covering his eyes with a pair of sunglasses. “Somethings are better left unsaid,” he says almost himself as he strums an open E chord.

  We move through our sound check in silence. It isn’t tense or uncomfortable, but I give Adam a wide berth. There are some subjects I don’t want to broach either. We both take solace in the ritual of preparing for a show, testing chords, checking mics, adjusting the stage sound and making sure that the house, or in this case, the outdoor stage sound is at the right levels. And by the time we finish, it’s okay.

  We’re Adam and Sin, the professional musicians, the people that play when our hearts are empty and broken, that smile through the pain, that pour every ounce of ourselves into the music and let it smooth the rough edges and triage the broken parts.

  The stripped-down set goes off without a hitch. We try out the new song and the base of the acoustic chords echo in the cavern of my chest. It tells my story without the frills or fillers. It’s audible sex, lovemaking expressed with soulful riffs and sweet melodies. After the last chord fades the crowd stays silent, suspended in the moment, before a loud applause erupts.

  Adam and I share a significant look as we’re bombarded by the cacophony of sound. The earlier argument forgotten. The applause confirms that “Quenched” is just as good as “Exquisitely Broken.”

  I catch a glimpse of Jake out of the corner of my eye. He’s at the check-in station directly across from the stage, leaning on a table and openly staring with sultry eyes that say, Yes. I want to do all the things you sang. I want you. The sweep of his gaze is a warm caress that I feel across my skin and my body pulses with desire. We were naked in my bed a handful of hours ago but that doesn’t stop me craving him again, to taste him, to drown in the sensations of his naked skin against my naked skin. Lust, unfiltered and untampered, rockets through me. I stumble through an awkward thank you, my brain foggy with obscene images. Jake on his knees, my leg draped over his shoulder. Jake behind me his big hands palming my breast. Jake in me, around me, on me. Yep obscene and absolutely filthy.

  Adam and I step off center stage. Hidden behind the curtains I blow out a shaky breath.

  “You good?” Adam asks, his distracted gaze focused behind my shoulder.

  “I’m fine.” Don’t worry about me. My ex-boyfriend, who you have a profound dislike of, has a scorching, sexy stare that turns me into a walking, talking sex fiend. Nothing going on here. As you were.

  “Okay. I’m gonna bounce. You’ll still have…” He raises his sunglasses, his eyes narrow into slits. I follow the direction of his gaze and see Seth laughing with one the volunteers. The guy is handsy, but Seth doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seems to be enjoying himself. Adam lowers the sunglasses, but not before, I see the flash of pain across his features.

  “I can’t tell you what to do, Sin, but he’s not worth it,” he says, turning his head away from the two men. “Maybe we only get one love in our lifetime. One passion. And for us maybe that’s the music. You know? Maybe we don’t get to have two passions, two loves. Maybe it’s selfish to want more.” He’s talking as much to himself as he is to me.

  “But maybe we have it all. Maybe we get everything.”

  “People like us don’t get everything,” he says with a shake of his head

  People like us? People that don’t have roots and makeshift families? Or people that have music as an integral part of our lives and need the validation of strangers as much as the adoration of a significant other.

  “But maybe we have it all.”

  “Open your eyes, Sin. When you come from the places we come from, have seen the things that we’ve seen everything is not part of the deal.” Adam walks away toward the back of the stage, irritation making his naturally relaxed gait stiff. He slips down the narrow steps out of sight.

  The minute he disappears
from view, the smile drops off Seth’s face and his physical presence sags. His new friend, Handsy the Beard, gives him a quick hug and sidles away.

  I walk across the now vacant stage and stop next to Seth.

  “Seth?”

  “Sin,” he says in warning, blowing out a frustrated breath. I ignore the tone and keep going because I care about them both, because more than any other person I know Adam deserves to find his person.

  “Adam is…” I pause, looking for the right words. “Complicated.”

  “No offense, but you don’t have to tell me about Adam. I know him. I know him in ways that…” He sucks his lips into his mouth, cutting off the flow of words. Seth opens his mouth like he’s about to say something but snaps it closed as quickly.

  What is going on between these two? When you live with someone day in and day out, you learn their moods and patterns. For example, Seth knows all about Jake. Like the fact that Jake normally shows up around ten or eleven at night and is gone by eight in the morning. He knows I haven’t told the guys, and even though he’s doing whatever he’s doing with Adam, I know with full confidence he won’t discuss my private business.

  Just like he sees things, I see them too. Since arriving in Vegas, he’s been giving Adam a superwide berth. Not in the “I hate you, stay away from me” kinda way. More in the self-preservation “I need a break before this ruins me” kinda way.

  “We done here?” He moves back to a topic that we can discuss easily. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starved.”

  After touring for years and going through stages where I wanted self-expression and fame and money and all the things that come with celebrity, it now seems trite. Because I showed up in Las Vegas nestled comfortably in all those things and secure in my feelings about the Jacob Johnson. Then in less than twenty-four hours, he blew all those absolutes out of the water.

  He’s breaking through every barrier, addressing every objection, and I’m over here rooting for him to prove me wrong, to prove Adam wrong, to prove that we can have something real and glorious because I want that. And I think I want it with him.