Every Little Piece of Me: Orchid Valley, Book 1

by Ryan, Lexi

  I keep thinking about what it was like to wake up with Marston’s ring—the thrill of it and the dire realization that we’d never work together. I can’t take back the decision I made in his Vegas hotel room when I decided to walk away, and I can’t change the reasons it was the right choice, yet I feel myself second-guessing it anyway.

  Julian squeezes my hips, drawing them forward until our bodies are flush. He leans down, touching his forehead to mine. “The what-ifs in life can be brutal.”

  “Get out of my head,” I say, laughing.

  “Don’t let him spook you.” His dark eyes search mine. “Okay?”

  I wrap my arms around his waist and nod. “I’ll try.”

  “I thought I’d make dinner tonight, since Cami has dance. What do you say? Maybe your favorite lasagna, and we can share a bottle of wine.”

  I force a laugh. “My trainer wouldn’t approve of this plan.”

  He grunts and slides his hands around to squeeze my ass. “I don’t approve of your trainer. Can’t he see you’re already perfect?”

  “Hardly.” The coffee pot beeps, and I nudge Julian away so I can pour myself a cup, knowing even as I do that I won’t enjoy it. Trainer Matt, thief of joy, has made me swear off half-and-half as well as all the fun carbs. I forced myself to toss Marston’s butterscotch latte into the trash after he left—just to prove to myself that I do still want to look my best at my wedding in two months.

  “Is that a no?” Julian asks. I don’t miss the worry in his voice, and I want to reassure him that seeing Marston meant nothing but again, honesty matters.

  “It’s a no to the wine and lasagna, but a yes to dinner.” I take a sip of my un-doctored, utterly disappointing black coffee, and face my fiancé. “I can make myself a salad.”

  He grins. “It’s a date.”

  “I’ll put it on my schedule.” Easy. Steady. Rock-solid. This could be a good life.

  “I need to get back to work,” Julian says, taking my coffee from my hands and setting it on the counter. “But first . . .” When he lowers his mouth to mine, I do everything I can to turn off my brain. I don’t want to think about Marston right now. I don’t want to think about my friends’ warnings that my reluctance to plan this wedding has some greater significance. I want to lose myself in Julian’s lips and the sweep of his tongue across mine.

  I try, and little by little, it works.

  By the time Julian pulls away, we’re both breathless.

  “Before you leave . . .” I place a hand on his forearm so he won’t go too far. “I have more I need to talk about. Marston’s return complicates things.”

  Julian’s face falls, and he takes a step back. I wonder if he even realizes he’s retreating. I would too. Run. Run fast from this disaster you’re about to marry.

  “Remember what I told you about Vegas? How I thought he proposed to me that night?”

  “Then you came to your senses the next morning.” He takes my hand and squeezes. “You made the right choice to walk away. You told me yourself that the two of you can’t be together.”

  I nod. “The thing is . . . I woke up with his ring on my finger and thought I’d agreed to marry him, but I was wrong. He didn’t propose that night.” I let my gaze shift to the marriage certificate sitting on the counter. I brought it home from work, and now I’m not sure what to do with it.

  Julian turns to try to see what I’m looking at, but it’s not legible from here. “What is it?”

  “I married Marston Rowe.” I hate myself for every bit of shock, horror, and hurt that crosses over his beautiful features. “That’s a copy of our marriage certificate from Vegas.”

  He strides to the counter and picks up the paper, studying it like it’s one of his real-estate contracts.

  “He thought I knew.”

  Julian drags a hand through his hair. “You don’t even remember that night. How do you know he didn’t drug you and drag you into some seedy wedding chapel?”

  “Because Marston wouldn’t do that.” I’ve been honest with Julian about my history with Marston and about everything we went through together. Julian should know Marston’s not that kind of man, so the implication irks me a little.

  Julian ignores this and pulls out his phone, tapping quickly on the screen. “It only takes thirty-one days to get an uncontested divorce in Georgia. Looks like most divorces are settled in sixty days, so we’ll be well under that if we pull some strings to move things through faster.” He lifts his head and gives me a tender smile. “We can fix this.”

  “He kissed me,” I blurt. “Last night and again this morning.”

  At this, he freezes, his whole body tensing and his jaw going tight. “And did you kiss him back?” he asks, his voice deadly soft.

  “No. Of course not. I’m marrying you. He just . . . did it, and I wouldn’t feel right not telling you.”

  “That motherfucker,” he mutters. He drops the paper and his phone and comes back to slide his arms around me, holding me tight against his chest. Normally, this is comforting, but right now, his arms feel like a cage. “Jesus. You scared me. I was worried for a minute this was making you have second thoughts about our wedding.”

  I squeak. I was way past second thoughts before Marston showed up, and Julian knows it. He had to campaign hard to talk me into this marriage, and while I haven’t shared every moment of panic with him, I have kept him up with my fears and doubts. “I mean, I can’t get married if I already am, but we just have to figure out what the next steps are.”

  “We’ll work on this together. Call your dad’s lawyer. I bet he knows someone who can push the paperwork or whatever through quickly.” He buries his face in my hair and draws in a long, ragged breath. “Scared the shit out of me.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

  He grips my shoulders as he pulls back. “Have you said anything to Cami?”

  “What? No. Of course not.” I shake my head. “I’m still trying to make sense of my thoughts.”

  His shoulders sag. “Okay. I’ll do a little research today, and we’ll make a plan over lasagna and wine.”

  “Over salad and water for me. Gotta fit into that wedding dress.” I force a cheerful grin and hope it hides my doubts. As in, will we be able to fix this fast enough that there’ll still be a dress to fit into?

  “Tell me Trainer Matt goes away after the wedding,” he says.

  I smile. “Of course. I’m not going to be the woman who gets up at four a.m. for personal training for the rest of her life.”

  “Good. Because feeding you is in my vows, and I won’t let anyone stand in the way of those.” He gives me one final kiss, and we both know he’s not just talking about Matt.

  Chapter Four

  Brinley

  October 20th, before

  My favorite time of the week is the time I get with Marston. It doesn’t happen as often as I’d like, but moments with him still feel like a breath of fresh air after years of being trapped underground.

  We have to be creative when we see each other. Sometimes we go to Lake Blackledge, sometimes we hike, and sometimes we drive out of town—miles away and back in the same night just so we can eat dinner or go to the park someplace where we’re free to talk and hold hands. It took some convincing to get Marston to drive my car, but mine is better than his, and the highway doesn’t scare him like it does me.

  Tonight was a drive-for-hours night, and we talked about everything and nothing. My parents believe I’m at Stella’s house, because she’s the best friend ever and insists on covering for me any time I need it. “Your house has become half prison and half shrine to a dying girl. Get the fuck out of there!”

  I squeeze Marston’s hand when he takes the exit to Orchid Valley. “Why does it always go so fast?”

  He flashes me a tentative smile. I know he wants more time together as much as I do, but the more I try to think of a way to tell my parents about this relationship, the more I know they’d freak out. Last week, I discovered t
hey were reading my texts—something I’d suspected but hadn’t known for sure. It’s like the sicker Brittany gets, the more they need to control me. “We could go to the lake for a few minutes before I take you back to Stella’s.”

  I lean across the console and kiss his shoulder. “Yes, please.”

  And with the promise of just a few minutes more with him, my mood lifts, and I fill the rest of the drive with happy chatter.

  Marston never complains when I ramble. He says he likes knowing what I’m thinking about and wants me to feel like I can tell him anything—from the most trivial thought to the most awful. While I haven’t been quite brave enough to share the ugliest and scariest thoughts that lurk in the darkness of my mind, I’ve never felt judged by a single thing I’ve shared with him. He might be the only person who doesn’t look at me and try to evaluate me. When he looks at me, he sees me as I am, and that’s who he wants. Me—not some prettied-up version.

  It’s nearly dark when he pulls into the small parking area by the loading dock, and I know our time here will be brief.

  There’s another car in the lot, but it probably belongs to someone who’s watching the sunset from their boat on the lake. We’ll have plenty of privacy by the time we slip into the woods.

  We step out of the car and hold hands as we cut across the grass to the trail that runs along the water. We’ve walked it so many times that we could probably navigate it with our eyes closed.

  “Stella’s going to be so jealous when I tell her you bought me ice cream,” I say.

  He laughs. “I offered to bring her along.”

  “She doesn’t want to intrude. She thinks—”

  “Brinley? Is that you?”

  A light bobs at the trailhead, and then Roman Humphries steps out of the trees and comes into view.

  I don’t know the name of the girl on his arm, but I recognize her from school. She’s a freshman, and she clings to him, laughing at some shared joke before she says, “You said no one else comes out here.”

  “They usually don’t,” Roman says, coming closer. He flashes the light in our faces, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the blinding glare. “No fucking way. Brinley, what are you doing out here with Death Rowe?”

  Marston’s head snaps back at the verbal blow, but he steps forward. “What did you just call me?”

  Roman chuckles, delighted with himself. “Your last name is Rowe, right? Death Rowe.”

  My stomach cramps as I look back and forth between Roman and Marston. “Don’t call him that.”

  Roman sneers in my direction. “It won’t make a difference. That’s what everybody calls this guy. Seems appropriate for a kid who’s on his way there.”

  Marston is so still and so quiet beside me, but I feel the fury rolling off him. This is a disaster in the making. Fear that it could end with trouble for Marston sticks like a bramble of thorns in my throat. I take his arm and tug him back toward the car, but he doesn’t move. “Come on, Marston. Let’s get out of here.”

  “What’s the rush?” Roman pulls something from his pocket. A cigarette? He puts it between his lips and lights it with the other hand, taking a puff before strolling toward us and offering it to Marston. When it passes in front of me, I smell skunk. Pot, not tobacco. “Want a hit, Death Rowe?”

  Marston’s entirely still except for the tic in his jaw.

  “Silly me. I forgot.” Roman takes another drag before leaning forward and blowing smoke into Marston’s face. How could I have ever liked someone like that? Why did I ever believe he was worth crying over? “You’re on probation. They catch you with this in your system, and it’ll be back to juvie for you.”

  “Back off, Roman.” I tug on Marston’s arm again, but he’s immovable.

  Roman blows in his face one more time and laughs. “Hope I didn’t disrupt your plans with this one,” he says, nodding to me. “I’ll go so you can enjoy her. I know I did. Just last weekend, actually.” He winks, then takes a single step around us before Marston’s fist connects with his face with a sickening thwack. Roman collapses to the ground, face in his hands. “Fuck.”

  “I’m calling the cops,” the freshman girl says.

  “Don’t!” Roman growls.

  “I should.” Her eyes blaze with anger as she sneers at Marston. “He can’t just go around punching people.”

  Roman whips his head up and glares at her. “I have all that weed in my car. Do you want me to go to jail?”

  “Marston, come on.” This time when I tug on his arm, he takes a few steps back, but he doesn’t turn to go.

  His angry eyes bore into Roman. “Don’t talk about her like that again.”

  I lace my fingers through his and squeeze, trying to communicate with the grip of my hand. He doesn’t matter. He doesn’t know us. Don’t let him ruin this.

  As if Marston can hear what I’m so desperately trying to telegraph, he finally turns toward the car and we walk away, hand in hand.

  I don’t speak until we’re on the road again, headed, I realize with a sinking heart, to Stella’s. “It’s not true.”

  He doesn’t take his eyes off the road or reply.

  “Marston, I need you to look at me and tell me you believe me. It’s not true. I’ve never let Roman touch me. Not last weekend. Not ever.”

  He slows down and pulls into the dark lot of a service station. After throwing the car in park, he leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. “I know.” His voice is gruff, thick with emotion and repressed anger. “But that’s the shit he’s going to spread about you just because you’re with me. You don’t deserve that.”

  After unbuckling my seatbelt and then his, I crawl across the console and into his lap. I take his face in my hands and relish the feel of his scruff beneath my fingertips. “Look at me.”

  When he opens his eyes, he pulls in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. The rage seeps out of him, the firm set of his mouth softening, the tension in his shoulders melting away.

  “Do you want to be with me?” I ask.

  “Guys like Roman—”

  “Screw Roman. Do you want to be with me?”

  “More than anything.” He lifts a hand and skims his thumb along my jaw. “You know that.”

  “Remember the night we met? You told me if I were yours, you’d never let me go. Did you mean it?”

  He grabs my hips and pulls me tight against him. “I’d never let you go without a fight. Not as long as part of you was mine.”

  “I’m yours.” Smiling, I shake my head. “And I don’t mean part of me. I mean every little piece.”

  Chapter Five

  Brinley

  Present day

  When I get home from work, the condo smells like heaven. The scent of garlic bread and Julian’s red sauce meet me at the door. I follow the smell to the kitchen, where I find Julian at the counter chopping vegetables.

  It’s easy to imagine a life with this guy. He helps around the house—he’s handy with tools and good in the kitchen. He’s good to Cami and has always treated me right. Savvy’s so hung up on passion, but passion makes you reckless. It makes you break your parents’ hearts when they’re grieving. It makes you get married in Vegas to someone who doesn’t want the same life as you. What Julian and I have might not be passionate, but we’ve always had chemistry. Over the last six months, we’ve ventured into new territory and found we’re compatible in more parts of our lives than just the bedroom. Instead of casual hookups, we started dating and spending more time together, and it’s been good. Steady.

  “How was your day at work?” Julian asks, flashing me a grin.

  “It was all right. Kace came to bid the steam room remodel, but I already know Mrs. Wright is going to shoot him down. He threw out some numbers while we were talking, and there’s no way.” I shake my head and lean on the island opposite him. “That’s tomorrow’s problem, right?”

  He pops a piece of raw carrot in his mouth and smiles around it. “That’s right.”

  “How was y
our day?”

  “Nothing special. Met with one of my property managers and went over some plans for the apartments on Spruce.”

  The front door whooshes open, and the walls rattle as it’s slammed again just as quickly. “Mom, do you know where my dance shoes are?” Cami calls, jogging into the kitchen. Like it always does, my chest swells at the sight of her—dark hair in a high bun, that ever-present smile curving her lips.

  I look to Julian. “Duty calls,” I whisper. “I think they’re in the laundry room.” She sprints in that direction, and I follow her. “How was your afternoon with Mia?”

  “Fine. We learned a new TikTok dance. Mia recorded us doing it, but she’s going to send it to me.” She bends to drop her jazz shoes into her dance bag. “I can’t believe I’m missing lasagna night.” She straightens and hoists her bag onto one shoulder before rubbing her stomach. “It smells so good, and I want to dive face-first into it.”

  “That might result in some painful burns, so I don’t recommend it,” I say, and my mood improves tenfold at the sound of her giggle. “And anyway, there’ll be plenty of leftovers.”

  “Save me half the pan!” She grins. She looks just like her father when she smiles like that. The reminder of him used to make me sad, but I’ve long made peace with the fact that my daughter spent the first ten years of her life in a one-parent household.

  “Of course,” I promise, returning her smile. “How was school?”

  “Good, but I just want it to be spring break already.” She wriggles with excited energy.

  “Just a few more days.” I do my best to sound cheerful, but it’s hard. She’s spending her spring break and her birthday at Disney with her dad, and I’m dreading an entire week without her. “How’d your math test go?”

  “It was easy, but Kellan got caught cheating off Mia and had to sit in the principal’s office until his parents came to have a talk about it.”