Page 133 of Broken Pieces
All that’s left now is the dent in the mattress and the sting between my legs.
A memory I never asked for.
But a night I’ll never forget.
And the kind of silence that makes you realize how alone you really are in this world.
I shower fast. Cold water hits my skin, sharp enough to make me gasp, but it doesn’t do shit to wash him off. He’s still there. In the bruises on my hips. In the ache, I can’t scrub away, no matter how hard I try.
Zane Rivera is everywhere.
Under my skin. In my blood. And I fucking hate that I care. Hate that a part of me hoped he’d still be there when I woke up.
The apartment seems too quiet when I step out.
It’s too still, like it’s waiting for me to break.
I towel off, throw on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, and tie my hair up in a messy knot.
It doesn’t matter how I appear. No one sees past the front I put on, anyway. That tough-girl mask I wear like armor. If I look untouchable, they won’t see how cracked I really am underneath.
I grab my bag and head down the stairs, and that’s when I see him.
Zane.
He’s bent over an engine, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, grease staining his forearms. His jaw’s clenched tight, teeth grinding around whatever tension he won’t say out loud. With a wrench in one hand, he’s focused on the machine in front of him.
He doesn’t look up.
Doesn’t say a fucking word.
My chest squeezes, something sharp pressing beneath my ribs. I shift my weight, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands, or even how to stand without looking as if I’m falling apart.
The moment he looks up and sees me there, I do what any idiot girl with a broken heart does.
I smile.
Just a tiny one.
I lift my hand, fingers twitching in a pathetic little wave.
Zane gives me a single nod. Nothing more.
And it fucking burns.
I glance away before the sting behind my eyes turns into something worse. My throat’s tight, raw from everything I never said last night. The way I came apart while he was inside me.
I force myself to keep moving, one step in front of the other, so he can’t tell I’m breaking apart.
Rainer’s by the tool cabinet. He’s rough around the edges, but I like him. I always have. There’s a kindness buried beneath the gruff exterior. And I’m glad Zane has someone watching out for him, even if he pretends he doesn’t need it.
“Morning,” I say as I pass him, forcing my voice steady.
He looks up, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, hey there, Skylar,” he says. “You look like trouble.”
“Always,” I say with a smirk, though my stomach’s still knotted.
I push open the door, the morning air biting as it hits my face.
