Pieces Of Us

by Elks, Carrie

  Pieces Of Us

  Carrie Elks

  Contents

  Join Me!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  Also by Carrie Elks

  PIECES OF US by Carrie Elks

  Copyright © 2020 Carrie Elks

  All rights reserved

  2805202

  Edited by Rose David

  Proofread by Proofreading by Mich

  Cover Designed by Najla Qamber Designs (www. najlaqamberdesigns.com)

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are fictitious products of the author’s imagination.

  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.

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  Thanks for reading! Carrie xx

  1

  “One more signature,” Meg Ryker said, sliding yet another slip of paper full of tiny black print across the table. “Don’t look so worried. It’s your last one as Autumn Garner.”

  Autumn took the paper from her lawyer and scrawled her name – her soon to be old name – across it. How many times had she practiced this signature until it was exactly how she wanted it? With just the right amount of swirl and loops without looking too forced. And she’d never need it again.

  She was Autumn Paxton now. Back to the name she thought she’d given up for good. It felt strange, like putting on a sweater you’d grown out of. The arms were too short, the knit too tight against her bust.

  She glanced again at the piece of paper, with Non-Disclosure Agreement printed across the top. It was the final piece of the settlement, and it had taken her and Josh almost twelve months to negotiate.

  Twelve months of feeling in limbo. Of wanting to be done with the marriage she never should have agreed to in the first place.

  Now she was free, and she had no idea what to do.

  “So that’s it?” she asked, passing the agreement back to Meg.

  “That’s it.” Meg laid it on top of all the other papers Autumn had to sign since Judge Benedict had given the go-ahead to dissolve the marriage. “I just need to exchange these with your husband—” she laughed, correcting herself, “I mean your ex-husband’s lawyer and then it’s all complete. You’re a free woman.”

  “Without a home or a job.” Autumn chewed her lip.

  “Ah, but with more than enough money to buy both. This is a good thing, Autumn. You got almost everything you wanted. Now you get to decide what to do with the rest of your life.”

  “You’re right.” Autumn smiled at her. She’d spent enough time mourning her failed marriage. “And at least I got to keep the shoe collection.”

  Meg laughed. “I noticed the ones you’re wearing today. They’re beautiful.”

  Autumn lifted her foot to admire the yellow patent pumps she was wearing, with sky-high heels and a familiar red sole. Pretty shoes were her one weakness. Ever since her mom bought her first pair of sparkly pink glitter shoes when she could barely walk five steps.

  “I guess these are my divorce shoes,” she said, twirling her ankles.

  Her sister, Lydia had put it a little more crudely, squealing loudly and clapping with glee when she saw them. “They’re screw-you-Josh shoes. I love them!” she’d said. “Promise me you’ll wear them to court.”

  And so she had, teaming them with a sober grey skirt suit with yellow piping, and hoping to heck the Judge didn’t have something against bright yellow shoes.

  “So what are you and your shoes planning to do next?” Meg asked, pressing the intercom button on her desk.

  “I’ve no idea.” And it felt weird. In spite of the crazy shoes, her life had always been regimented. Studying hard at school, then at college before finally getting her MBA. Then she’d done it all again in business, working for a huge Manhattan real estate firm before starting her own with her husband, building it until they were one of the movers and shakers in the Manhattan office space business.

  And now that firm was her ex-husband’s, thanks to the sheaves of paper she’d just signed. She’d been generously compensated for letting him buy her out, but it still felt strange. For the first time in her adult life she was unemployed.

  Like her change in name, it didn’t seem to fit.

  “Well while you’re thinking about it, let’s drink to your future.” Meg beckoned her assistant in. He was carrying a tray with two glasses of champagne, which he handed to Meg and Autumn before quietly walking away. “To new horizons,” Meg said, lifting the glass up. “Good luck with wherever life takes you.”

  Autumn clinked her glass against her lawyer’s and took the smallest of sips. It was delicious. If Lydia were here, she’d say it should be, thanks to the small fortune Autumn had paid for Meg’s services. But it was worth it. That much she knew.

  “New horizons,” Autumn said, taking another, longer, sip. “Whatever they might be.”

  * * *

  “This calls for tequila,” Lydia said later that night, beckoning the bartender over to the table where she and Autumn were sitting. “Four shots,” she said, her voice slurring ever-so-slightly. “And another bowl of those nuts. They’re delicious.”

  “Where the heck do you put all that food?” Autumn asked her sister, looking up and down her tiny form. She was wearing a flowy white dress, completely inappropriate for the cool New York spring, yet so very Lydia.

  “Same place you do. We were born with good genes.” Lydia grinned at her. “How does it feel to be a Paxton again?”

  “I’ve always been a Paxton,” Autumn reminded her, ignoring Lydia’s eye roll. “Well I have! I changed my name, not my gene pool.”

  “I’m glad you’re not a Garner anymore. Josh didn’t deserve you.”

  “I’ll agree with you on that.” Autumn finished the mojito Lydia had ordered earlier for her. “And I’m happy to be a Paxton again, I guess.”

  “Dad’s happy, I bet.”

  “Not really.” Autumn shook her head. “He’s still upset about the divorce.”

  “He called me yesterday, asking why you gave up the business so easily. He wanted me to persuade you to let him help with money.” Lydia’s eyes softened. “I know how much the business means to you. We both do. I’m sorry you lost it.”

  “It was meant to be.” Autumn smiled at her, determined not to get upset. She’d shed too many tears already. Josh didn’t deserve more. “This way it�
�s a clean break. I don’t have to use his last name for anything.” Garner Real Estates was all Josh’s now.

  The bartender brought over the tequila shots, and Lydia passed two to Autumn. “Okay, we have to do this properly. Lick, salt, tequila, and lime. You got it?”

  “I know how to do a tequila shot,” Autumn told her, amused at Lydia’s shocked expression.

  “You do? When did you learn that?”

  “At college.”

  Lydia wrinkled her nose. “That’s like learning about champagne at school. You should go to Mexico and drink tequila there. It’s delicious.”

  “Maybe I will,” Autumn said, though they both knew she wouldn’t. Where Lydia was the free spirit, Autumn was the sensible one, doing exactly what her father expected of her. It had been that way for as long as she could remember.

  A shrink would probably say it was their reaction to their mom’s death when Autumn was five and Lydia was only a toddler. Not that it mattered. She liked who she was.

  “Okay, then. Let’s do it.” Lydia dragged her tongue across the back of her hand and sprinkled salt along the moistened skin, passing the shaker to Autumn to do the same. Licking it off, they banged their shot glasses on the table, swallowing the tequila in one go before sucking on the limes.

  “Oh god,” Autumn said, already feeling the alcohol rush to her head. “That’s strong.”

  “It’s José Cuervo. You should try the good stuff.” Lydia wiggled her eyebrows.

  “I have two more shots for you,” the bartender said once they’d finished the second they’d ordered. “Courtesy of the gentlemen over there.”

  Autumn followed his gaze to the bar, where two suited guys were leaning on the counter, smiling at her and Lydia. She shot a pleading look at the server. “Please tell them thank you, but we’re not interested.”

  “Who said we’re not interested?” Lydia asked, her eyes sparkling. “They’re pretty cute.”

  “Okay, I’m not interested.” She grimaced. “I got divorced today, remember?”

  The bartender blinked as though a pair of headlights were trained at his eyes. Autumn tried not to laugh. “It’s okay, I initiated it.”

  “In that case, congratulations.” He set the shots on their table. “I’ll pass the message back to the gentlemen. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

  “You’re going to have to get back in the saddle sometime,” Lydia said when they finished the third shot.

  “No way.” It came out more slurred than Autumn intended. “I’m not interested in guys. Maybe I’ll stay single. It’s safer that way.”

  “You’re twenty-nine. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You don’t want to spend it alone. Not every guy is like Josh.”

  The two suits walked over to the table they were sitting at, and gave them a dazzling smile. “Ladies,” one of them said, the ring on his wedding finger catching the light. “Can we join you?”

  “Not every guy?” Autumn said to Lydia.

  Lydia laughed then looked at the suit who’d asked to sit with them. “I’m so sorry, but my sister here is swearing off guys.”

  The suit’s smile widened. “Let me give you my number, anyway. Call me if you change your mind.” He passed them both a business card, as though they were at the office rather than in a bar.

  When they’d gone, Autumn turned to Lydia and raised her eyebrows. “I think I need another drink.”

  Lydia grinned. “I thought you’d never ask. Come on, let’s find another bar and celebrate properly. It’s not every day you get divorced.”

  * * *

  She couldn’t see out of her left eye. And if she was being honest, the right one was blurry, too. Add that to the fact her mouth tastes as furry as a monkey’s behind, and it didn’t take a genius to realize she was hungover.

  Ouch! Yep, there was the banging headache to remind her that she and tequila definitely didn’t mix. Why, oh why had she drunk that last shot?

  And the five before that…

  Today was supposed to be the first day of the rest of her life. She’d planned to spend the morning going through her closet a la Marie Kondo, throwing out anything that didn’t give her joy. And then working out what the hell would give her joy post-divorce.

  Finally, her left eyelid unstuck and the light came flooding in. Slowly, she sat up and took in her surroundings. Her bedside table was strewn with papers, which on closer inspection looked like her divorce agreement. Her laptop was open, though at least she’d changed the stupid screensaver picture of her wedding day on a beach in the Bahamas to a less emotive image of the desert at night. She didn’t need a reminder of what she’d lost every time she opened it.

  Leaning to grab the laptop made her stomach turn a double somersault, and she had to swallow down the nausea. This is why she didn’t drink. That and the fact that the last time she’d gotten drunk in Grad School she’d ended up texting her professor to tell him his wire-frame glasses were very sexy, and to see if he would be interested in a date.

  Oh god. She hadn’t drunk texted anybody last night, had she? Please don’t say she messaged Josh. Her heart galloped in her chest as she rooted around for her cellphone, unable to locate it on the mattress or the table or anywhere else she would have put it.

  Then she remembered she had to surrender it as part of the divorce settlement. Company property. She was husbandless, jobless, and phoneless. Maybe that was a blessing.

  As if it could read her mind, the landline phone that she never used began to ring next to her, dancing on the table as though it couldn’t believe its luck. Autumn lifted it and gingerly placed it to her ear, pausing for a moment to remember her telephone etiquette.

  “Hello?” Her voice sounded like her throat was full of gravel.

  “Hey, tequila girl. How’s the hangover?” Lydia’s voice was way too cheery for Autumn’s liking.

  “It’s brutal. I’m never drinking again.” She turned her head too quickly and winced at the sudden shot of pain.

  “I kind of like you when you’re drunk,” Lydia continued, her voice full of humor. “And when you’re single, too. Remember the karaoke bar we went to? At least five more guys asked me for your phone number. I told them you didn’t have one, so I took theirs instead. Do you want me to email them over?”

  “Stop teasing me. I’m dying.” Autumn leaned her head back onto the padded leather headboard, her eyes still firmly closed. It felt better that way. Maybe she’d go back to sleep. Hopefully when she woke up this would all turn out to be a bad dream.

  “I’m not teasing. You sang a fabulous version of I Will Survive. Then you told everybody you were going to spend your divorce settlement on something stupid and frivolous, just like your marriage.” Lydia laughed. “Come on, you remember that, don’t you? I can probably find a video of it. Lots of people had their phones held up.”

  The worst thing was, Autumn could remember it. Or at least she was beginning to. Hazy visions of that bar danced behind her eyelids. Fleeting ones of her grabbing the microphone and how everybody laughed when she told them she was a divorcee at the age of twenty-nine, and open to offers from Mr. Right-Now.

  She was definitely never drinking again.

  “Anyway, that’s not why I called,” Lydia said. “I was just returning the message you left me last night. I must have been asleep when you called.”

  “I left you a message?” Autumn blinked. “When?”

  “Lemme check…” Lydia paused. “Okay, it looks like it was at three in the morning. You sounded so excited, but I couldn’t quite make out what you were saying. It sounded like you bought something with your name on it, but I’ve no idea what.”

  That pulling at the base of her stomach turned into full blown nausea as Autumn tapped her password into her laptop. Her screensaver was replaced by a web page with a photograph of a long pleasure pier stretched into a sparkling blue ocean, complete with a big restaurant halfway down, a large boat parked at the end. Autumn scanned down, her eyes swimming as she t
ried to take in the small black print describing the pier and the small town of Angel Sands where it stood, followed by an email address for interested parties to submit a bid.

  With her breath caught in her throat, Autumn pulled up her sent emails. Of course, there was one sent at three that morning. And naturally, it was to the real estate company listed on the web page, offering the full asking price and telling them she was able to pay cash and close very fast.

  She’d even given them her attorney’s contact details.

  “Autumn?” Lydia said. “Are you okay?”

  “No,” she said, her voice thin. “Not really. I think I bought a pier in California.”

  2

  Griffin Lambert lifted his board out of the surf, tiny droplets of water clinging to his suit and tanned body. He shook his thick brown hair and spray launched in all directions, like a dog drying itself after a swim.

  At six-five, he was taller than anybody he knew. His first teenage growth spurt had come at the tender age of thirteen and hadn’t stopped until he was almost twenty-years-old. But it wasn’t just his height that drew looks as he pitched his surf board into the sand and unzipped his neoprene half suit. It was the bulk he’d built up over years of working and surfing. The kind of muscles that the gym could never give you.

  “Hey!” a voice called out.

  He looked up to see Lorne Daniels approaching. The seventy-year-old man was wearing bleached cut-off denims and a lurid pink-and-orange hibiscus shirt, unbuttoned to his mid-chest.