Page 99 of Broken Pieces
I close the wallet shut and shove it back into my pocket, then move to the stove to make lunch.
Chapter Sixteen
Skylar
Thesunhangslow,throwing gold across the stairwell by the time I reach the top step.
Below, metal clangs, tools scrape, along with a muttered curse I can’t quite make out.
I tell myself not to turn. Not to glance at him. But it’s Zane. And somehow, he’s the one I keep searching for without meaning to.
He looks happy under the hood of some beat-up car, sleeves shoved past his elbows, arms deep in the guts of the engine. Grease smears the inside of his forearm, a dark mark against skin that always runs too hot.
His mouth moves, lips forming curses I can’t hear from here, probably aimed at a bolt that won’t budge or a hose that refuses to line up. Yet his movements stay calm, steady, and focused. Rooted in something that holds.
He looks happy.
I turn back to the door before he catches me staring.
My fingers wrap around the handle, and I slip inside. The door clicking shut behind me.
I drop my bag at the end of the bed and stand still for a second, frozen in the quiet.
I let out a breath I swear I’ve been holding since I woke up. The air leaves my chest slow and shaky, too heavy to carry any longer.
This isn’t home.
It’s worn-down floorboards and second-hand furniture. A borrowed place with borrowed warmth.
A just-for-now.
But, fuck, it’s something.
And right now, that’s more than I had yesterday.
I close my eyes and let the stillness settle. No one watching, waiting, or pressing.
For once, I don’t have to be anything but me.
Cassie was already waiting out the front of the school this morning, arms folded tight across her chest, foot tapping like she’d been rehearsing the lecture all night. Her face said everything before she opened her mouth.
She was pissed.
Pissed I’d ignored every single one of her texts. Let my phone blow up for hours last night and never once picked it up. She had no idea where I was, and that alone would’ve been enough to set her off.
She gave the same energy back.
Loud, relentless, not giving a shit who heard. She told me I was reckless, that I shut people out when shit gets hard, that I never let anyone help until everything’s already gone to hell.
I tried to tell her she had no right to make that call or to go to Zane behind my back.
But somewhere between all the shouting, I also told her thank you.
Because as much as I wanted to be angry, I knew the truth. She did it because she cares. Even if her brand of loyalty comes armed with fireworks and a middle finger.
I grab my homework from my bag, mostly out of boredom, and carry the pile to the kitchen table.
My books thud against the wood as they drop. The table shifts under the weight, one leg shorter than the others, the whole thing leaning toward the wall as if trying to escape.
