Shred of Decency (Shattered Hearts of Carolina Book 2)

by Jody Kaye

  I reach up under Aidy’s shirt. My thumbs inch toward the underside of her breasts. A tiny moan escapes her, bolstering my nerve to explore a little further. The skin on her belly is so soft. Almost as silky as the satin of her bra.

  With one hand I pull the elastic from her ponytail so I can feel her hair between my fingers as I fuse our mouths together. The other cups her breast. Her nipples are hard points under the fabric. We’re both breathing heavy. I tug her up onto my lap. Her legs straddle my waist. She’s got a firm grasp on my biceps while I nibble up her neck, giving her tit the attention it deserves.

  Aidy’s clothes have become more feminine since our date. She hasn’t put on another dress, but I’ve noticed her curves show a lot more and she’s less likely to cover herself the way someone hunkers down with the flu would. I’d like to think she’s making herself pretty for me. However, Cece has reassured me I’m a dumbass and girls chose what they wear to make themselves feel better. The confidence boost makes them more attractive.

  Since she seems to like what I’m doing, I run my hand over Aidy’s covered ass. Dragging her closer to the throbbing erection trapped by my jeans, I’m hoping a little friction might be what we both need.

  I’m blocking out the mistakes I’ve made and reasons I don’t deserve the woman sitting on my lap. If we have an expiration date—if Aidy’s only mine for a few weeks or a few years before she moves on to someone better—then making each moment count is my priority. I want to get her off, see her head thrown back as she reaches the tipping point. Someday run my fingers through those waves of violet cascading across my pillow, across my skin.

  I flick the clasp on the back of her bra and slide my palm underneath. She writhes and my name slips past her lips, cracking between syllables. I use the hand that undid the clasp to hold Aidy steady and flip her onto her back, lifting her shirt to get my first peek at her soft pink-tipped nipples.

  As I’m about to latch on, all hell breaks loose. Aidy’s hitting my chest with her palms, shoving me away and scrambling to get out from under me. She’s so distraught she can’t even stand as she clamors off the couch. Caught up in the moment, the fear on her face doesn’t register until she flops down on her ass, ineffective at covering herself, and starts crying. She looks up at me and I see through her devastation. The dead blue stare is back.

  “It’s not you.” She tries apologizing while righting her clothes.

  Something about her bra is driving her nuts. Aidy doesn’t seem to care that I’m even in the room. She flashes me while ripping the thing out from the arms of her tee and pulling the shirt over her torso.

  Aidy has nothing to be sorry for. I know it’s not me. Whatever someone did to her is the exact reason why I haven’t pushed for Aidy to come upstairs to my room. Although, I regret my actions a few minutes ago. I was so caught up in how she felt against me, how much I want her in my bed, I’d forced those demons to the periphery of my mind. I don’t want them here with us.

  I sit up and forward, scrubbing my face. Then I slide to my knees onto the carpet to face Aidy.

  “I’ve done stuff before.” She wipes a fat tear toward her ear, staring at the design on the wing chair as I settle crisscross before her.

  I’ve had my heart broken. My future ripped out from under me. My self-esteem annihilated. My self-worth stolen. Yet, nothing prepared me for the uselessness, the utter incompetence, and the desolation that obliviates my soul watching her reactions.

  Aidy can’t meet my gaze.

  “Tell me what happened, Sweet Pea.” I run a knuckle over her pants. She doesn’t flinch the way I expect her to. I hook our fingers together like a lifeline.

  Her eyes brim as she struggles with the words she doesn’t want to speak and I don’t want to hear. Tears slide down her cheeks.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong.” The hurt in her voice is clear and powerful. “I know you won’t hurt me, Morgan.”

  “But someone did,” I whisper.

  Aidy’s whole lower lip disappears beneath her upper one. She tosses her head from side to side as if shaking away a horrible memory. It’s then when everything she’s been trying to hold back and protect herself from comes crashing down.

  “He drugged me. I can’t piece it all back together. I don’t know if I want to, and I wish I could make it all go away.”

  “Fuck.”

  She flinches at my phrase. Her shoulders hunch and she cowers the way I had with my back pressed giant the cement block wall of my cell.

  I do something I’m almost certain I shouldn’t. I touch Aidy. I tip her chin, making her eyes meet mine.

  “When, Aidy?” I ask, not so much gathering her up as wrapping my body around hers as a shield.

  “The first weekend back on campus this fall.”

  She sobs and I press her head close to my chest, my heart wildly punches in my rib cage, trying to get out, and ready to pummel the person who did this to her.

  Perhaps my gut reaction is vengeance because I’ll never get retribution. However, that has to wait.

  While traveling my own trail back from despair and falling in love, I hadn’t realized the one thing capable of bringing me back to the breaking point was the crushing reality it has happened to her too.

  A part of me is glad Aidy can’t see my tears as they fall, dampening and matting her purple locks as I rock her and cry. When she begins shaking, I worry whatever I did to trigger her has sent Aidy into shock. I wrap one of Owen’s blankets over her shoulders, brushing my nose against the soft cotton and inhaling his innocent scent.

  “I feel stupid for thinking it was worth waiting, Morgan. For believing anyone saw it as a gift. That it was special at all.”

  There is never a justification for rape, and somehow Aidy admitting she was a virgin beforehand brings her assault to a whole new level of human disregard.

  “Since high school, I spent years listening to my girlfriends tell me about their first times. All the dirty deeds they’ve done. And whether or not they loved those boys, I thought I would. I was naive to believe the person I was with would be the one I’d spend the rest of my life with. That we’d be married. Or, at least, get married. That they’d be my first, last, and only.

  I want to be her last. I want Aidy to be my only. I want to not have a complete understanding of what she’s telling me, and for her to not to have to tell me at all because she never went through it.

  “He took. Like it was nothing. Like my choice to wait was insignificant. He didn’t care if we could have been something… I don’t know, bigger. That it might have been the gift I gave him, instead of the one thing I had to give—more important than anything else—he stole.

  “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. I must sound insane. Immature. Men don’t even have to think about this. About being used and tossed aside like yesterday’s trash.”

  It’s what I am; The garbage my parents, the university, and society didn’t want to bother with. Yesterday’s news. The kid who could have gone somewhere, but went to prison. Surrounded by others who felt as disposable. And if you’re nothing, you treat others as if they are worthless.

  What are they going to do, lock you up? How is that punishment if you are already there?

  My fingers itch, and I fold the corners of the blanket, making crisp edges in the fabric. While Aidy’s still shivering, my temperature has gone thermonuclear. I’m clinging to her, afraid to let go of the one thing I’ve staked everything going right on. But there is also a scorching burn on my skin. My flight or response conflicts with the need to comfort Aidy. I have to let go of her and I try not to make her think I’m scrambling away when I bring the blanket to her chin before getting to my feet.

  The atmosphere shifts as quickly as it had when Aidy shoved me off of her. It’s paralleled by my concern that she thinks the reason I can’t touch her is out of disgust.

  It is, though, isn’t it? There is an air of repugnance in Aidy’s revelation since the only way of ensuring she doesn’t
take my need for space as revulsion is confessing this piece of her existence mirrors mine. I could have gone my entire life without revealing the truth to anyone.

  But if I have any chance with this woman—where she felt safe enough to tell me what happened—I owe it to her to do the same. She needs to understand I’m not willing to keep our relationship alive while she wonders if I view her differently. And I wouldn’t take this step for any other person but Aidy.

  I’m in the middle of not grasping my reality. At first, we were kissing. I felt like I could enjoy the way Morgan touched me forever. There were endless possibilities for the night.

  Admittedly, none of them included sleeping in Morgan’s bed. But I wasn’t lying when I said I’d gone farther than second base.

  It wasn’t Morgan laying me back, which was a problem. It was the satin against my armpits; the way my bra bunched up over my breast and under my shirt freaked me out. The sensation overrode all else. The next thing I knew, I was punching him in the chest to get him off, landing like a fool on the floor.

  I never expected his arms around me, the heat of his body protection from the icy humiliation.

  What was I supposed to say? How did I make Morgan understand I wanted him too, but my brain short-circuited?

  Right as I was moving forward, forgetting about Brandon, his actions drench me like a cold bucket of water.

  If I hadn’t told Morgan, would I have lost my chance with him? Have I anyway by revealing the reason I wasn’t offended by what he did, as much as repulsed by what someone else had done? Will my revelation lead Morgan to view me the way I worry others will?

  For as comforting as his arms were, he was quick to get up and stride across the room, stopping at the kitchen table with his back to me.

  Heat, rage, radiates off of Morgan and I’m fearful of his next words.

  Morgan shifts to the side. He looks at his shoes before glancing up at me.

  “Not all guys use people, Aidy. But some of them, you’re right, a hole is a hole.” I can see his pulse beating in his neck and the way his jaw ticks. Something dark flashes in his eyes. “For some, it isn’t even sex. It’s about power. Putting someone in their place and letting them know the pecking order.”

  His face softens for a moment and he looks away. It’s not that Morgan can’t stand the sight of me. It seems as if he wants to crawl into a hole deeper than the one I’ve dug. I’ve seen the same reaction from the other woman in my counseling sessions.

  My fingers press to my lips and I blink back tears. Not for me, but for Morgan. I finally understand the space he gives me. How he never pressures me to do things I’m not ready for. Why he backed away the times he did. They had little to do with my assault, but what he endured.

  Again I feel an enormous sense of naiveté. Morgan hates talking about his time in prison and, because of this, I don’t press him. There’s so much about those months he’s kept to himself.

  Revealing this?

  If my heart could ache more than it does over my rape, it does for him.

  The DA put Morgan away on a what-if scenario. Yet, no one ever considered the other what-ifs; what if Rob hadn’t had a chance? What if sending Morgan to prison meant more than him taking responsibility? What if it meant accepting the terror people don’t speak about?

  And suddenly, I understand what Morgan means when he’s mentioned people have said worse things to him. Undoubtedly, someone wished this on him as retribution. And someone else extracted it. Likely telling him he was worthless while they attempted to prove it.

  I pad across the floor and reach out to touch his shirt sleeve. He’s turned, studying out the window, yet still aware of my presence. I pause because I don’t know if my touch will comfort him and I don’t want to invade his space. But Morgan held onto me like a buoy when I needed a path back to the surface.

  My fingers tug at the fabric of his shirt. Morgan’s gentle hand moves to the back of my neck. He pulls me close. His lips press against my forehead.

  “What happened to you is why you don’t sleep. This is why you’re struggling in school, and why you’re always here in Brighton.”

  Open my mouth to argue, wanting to remove my assault from the conversation and focus on everything Morgan’s endured. The stern look on his face shows me he won’t let me in any further. He draws his line and I’m left to imagine the horrors he endured. Yet, the way he holds me lets me know at this second he needs me as much as I need him.

  “I sleep on the carpet.”

  His chin grazes my scalp. “It happened in your room? How can you stay there?”

  “It’s not as if I have a choice.” I leave out how I’ve over-pondered the women attacked in the homes, who can’t break a lease, can’t sell, can’t get away even to stay somewhere for a few nights to a place like this.

  “Hailey must’ve—”

  “Hailey doesn’t know, Morgan. I don’t want her to. If I never had to tell anyone I’d be fine with it. The one other person besides you who knows has sworn they won’t tell K—” I worry my lip before her name slips out.

  Morgan tips my chin. “Who is it?”

  “Sloan, she found out by accident. Swear you won’t tell Kimber, Morgan. I can’t come back here if she finds out.”

  “Aidy, we love you more than you grasp. But I won’t tell her.” Morgan sighs like he’s beaten down.

  My mind races with scary images of what it must have been like for him. They bounce off of the ones my imagination superimposes on my rape. Overwhelmed, I start to cry again. “I’m sorry,” I say, using the backs of my hands to wipe away my tears.

  “You don’t have a damn thing to be sorry for.”

  “I pushed you off of me. I made you have to relive all these horrible things.”

  “I think about horrible things all the time. The worst one is you not coming back here. You’re what makes it seem like enduring all the miserable stuff had a point. Tell me next time if it’s too much. I’ll stop. I’ll do what it takes for everything to be right for you.”

  I whisper a little thank you.

  “Last kiss of the night, Sweet Pea, then I’m putting you to bed. You need to sleep. We both need to decompress. I’ll be here in the morning. Promise me you will too. Tonight is a bump in the road. We’re getting through this,” Morgan says with conviction.

  I want to believe him, so I press my lips to his, letting Morgan lead me to the guest room where I’m certain he’ll do exactly as he says.

  It’s a long night, separated by two flights of stairs and surrounded by our thoughts; good and bad. But when elusive sleep drags me under, I’m not wrong for staying over. The next morning Morgan’s back by the sunny window, waiting to kiss me good morning. If we have enough dignity to stand by the other through this, we can manage anything.

  I rub the back of my neck and yawn before digging my thumb and index finger into my eye sockets. I picked up a camping mattress pad for Aidy’s dorm floor, but the nights I stay there to watch over her have me as bleary as Aidy was haggard earlier in the semester. There have been a few times I’ve sacked out in Hailey’s Papasan and I get the appeal of it.

  The first night I dropped her back at the dorm was torturous on us both. There might not be much I can do after the fact besides snuggle up next to Aidy, but being near her seems to be helping all-around.

  So now Hailey’s side of the room is sporting an unused top bunk. Since she’s there when I am, it’s a total hands above the covers situation. I wouldn’t think of trying to love on Aidy in her dorm. From my point of view, it puts too much pressure on her and I don’t want to do anything to trigger her again. Back in Brighton, it is a different story. We wait until the house is unoccupied. I’m also the fool who kept asking if what I was doing was okay until Aidy told me as much as she appreciated me being sweet, I had to stop ruining the moment. She’d let me know if I was taking things too far.

  One downside is the tiredness. Making sure I’m in the right place at the right time for work and my ni
ghts at the dorm didn’t go unnoticed by the guys. Skye, and especially Jasper, caught on in a flash. I’m burning the candle at both ends and frustrated as fuck on the days Aidy is in class and I’m hanging about the factory. I don’t want to chance having Brandon anywhere near her.

  “Whatcha got there?” Skye leans over, inspecting the search results.

  We’re in his cave: a first-floor backroom at the mill filled with servers and monitors. Considering what we’re up to, and which ones Skye allows Jasper to touch and not me, I’m assuming most don’t support Carver’s legit business interests.

  In another room down the hall, TV screens mounted to the wall are attached to more servers. Those belong to Trig. I’m not stupid enough, anymore, to believe when Trig locks the door to the room while he’s in there with Jake or Carver, it has nothing to do with the fiber I’ve installed.

  This may have started out as an industrial era manufacturing plant, but what it’s producing nowadays isn’t fluffy or lily-white. It had only taken one set of eyes over my shoulder for the other two younger guys to see right through what I wanted to know about Brandon, recognize why I needed to know it, and pull the blinders off of how easy the information could be to get.

  Amongst other departments at Pinewood College none of us will admit to, Skye’s shown me how to hack into the registrar’s office. Apparently, when you have girl problems around here, they become more than your own business. It didn’t take long for Skye’s taunting over Trig not showing me all of the ropes turned into genuine concern for why I was digging for the information I’d been cryptic about.

  “Junior. Pre-med.” I scroll. “Decent grades. Ah, here we go! Academic probation.”

  “When? For what?” Skye asks.

  “All it gives me is a reference code.”