Our Broken Pieces Read online

  “Do you need to go home right now?” I ask him. I see his eyes look away from mine quickly and return with a grin that seems to tip unevenly on one side. He’s nervous too, the air between us seeming to grow thick as I wait for his answer.

  “No. I just need to be back by eight.” We have about three hours, and I’m pretty excited at the idea that I could get to spend them with him. After the fun I had last Friday with Angie I realized what a mistake it was to close myself off to the possible friendships around me, and I don’t want to miss this chance to get to know Gabe better. “We could hang out for a little bit if you’re up for it.” His hand moves to the back of his head, where he slides it over his bristly hair.

  “Okay.”

  “Yeah?” He seems surprised. I laugh and nod my head. “Cool. Are you hungry? We could grab something to eat.” I’m never hungry anymore, but I don’t tell him that right now because I am dying to spend more time with him. I quickly text my mom to let her know I’m out with a friend and I won’t be home until curfew.

  “Sure.”

  Gabe points to his truck in the corner of the parking lot. “I’ll drive.” We weave our way through the few scattered cars and he clicks the key fob, unlocking the door for me, but still moves to the passenger side to open it. I climb up and buckle my seat belt as he shuts the door and walks around the truck. Once he’s buckled in he fires up the engine and music fills the cab.

  I’ve never heard the song that is playing, but immediately my body wants to move with the beat. I don’t, of course—that would make him think I was totally crazy—but I lean over a little to see if his stereo display will tell me the name of the singer. “You can change it if you want,” he says when he catches me looking at the screen.

  “I like it. I’ve just never heard it before. Who sings this?”

  “Ed Sheeran.” He turns up the volume and waits a minute so I can hear the chorus. The singer’s thick accent makes it hard to understand the words at times, especially when they’re sung quickly, but I love it. The passionate voice contrasting with the smooth sound of the guitar chords seems to resonate in my chest.

  Gabe is watching me and he turns the volume back down slightly so he can talk. “I saw him in concert once. Maggie wanted to go and somehow talked me into coming along even though I thought I would be the only guy in a sea of twelve-year-old girls. There were a lot of middle school girls, but there were a lot of guys there, too.” He puts the truck in reverse and throws his arm across the back of the seat so he can look behind us as he pulls out. It occurs to me then that I want him to touch me again, which I realize isn’t exactly something I’d want from a friend, but I quickly dismiss the thought. His hand feels so near to my skin and yet so far away at the same time.

  “I’ve never been to a concert.” His eyes flash to mine and a look of disbelief crosses his features.

  “Never? Not even an embarrassing boy band or screechy pop diva?”

  “No,” I say, laughing. “I love music, I guess I just never had any one particular group or singer I felt like I had to see live. Was it fun?”

  “It was great. He plays with a loop station. It’s incredible to watch. It’s just this guy with his guitar, a microphone, and this machine. He walks out onto the stage and plays the first layer of music, the steady background guitar rhythm, and he records it. Then he plays the next layer, then his background singing. Finally when all the layers are playing together, he jams out on his guitar and sings like it’s the easiest thing in the world, only you know it can’t be. He’s the entire band.” We are stopped at the edge of the parking lot, and I can see how impressed he is by the way his eyes widen and his hands mimic playing the guitar as he walks me through the steps.

  “Sounds like I missed a good show.”

  “You have to see it,” he says adamantly. When I give him a small nod he asks, “What sounds good to eat?”

  “Honestly?” I ask on a sigh, leaning back into the seat. I look at the side of his face, the way his dark eyelashes frame his unique eyes and his strong jaw creates a sleek line against the smooth skin of his neck. He’s so different from Brady, and I wonder if that is adding to his allure.

  He looks left and then right, past my face so he can catch the break in traffic. Once we pull onto the road he looks back to me. “Honestly.” My eyes drift down to his lips and then back to his eyes.

  “I haven’t really been excited about food lately.” His single nod lets me know he understands, and I turn my head back to look out the front windshield. Maybe it’s because I know he’s in therapy too, or maybe it’s because of how he was when he comforted me in the bathroom, but I don’t feel like I have to pretend with him. My mom would pat my hand and my sister would launch into some pep talk about needing to move on and not let them have this power over me. I wait for him to jump in with some sort of intervention, but refreshingly he just listens.

  We pull into the parking lot of a little ice cream shop. He parks us right in front and then cuts the engine. “How about a shake?” My eyes drop to where his hand is now resting on the seat between us.

  “I could do a shake.” I can’t remember the last time I had one. My stomach seems to wake up a little at the idea and, if I focus hard, I can feel the small pang of hunger.

  We go inside and order our shakes, which Gabe pays for, but instead of sitting at one of the tables inside we get back into the truck. “I want to show you something. Do you want to go for a little ride?” he asks.

  I nod my head, afraid to open my mouth and allow him to hear the excitement in my voice. Getting to know him is exhilarating. I don’t ask where we’re going now as he sips his shake and pulls back out onto the road. It doesn’t matter; I just want to be in his company.

  “I have a few more books for you if you’re interested.” He leans back against his seat as we drive down the small road.

  “Sounds like you read a lot. Do you read different genres or do you have a favorite?” I ask.

  “It’s funny you ask that; I used to read only nonfiction. My favorite books were autobiographies of sports legends or war heroes. But then my family went through a bit of a tough time, and I found myself picking up fiction instead. I guess it felt like more of an escape or something. I used to think it was a waste of time. I’m not big on pretending, but I’ve found that sometimes authors can tell a story so convincingly that you have to keep reminding yourself it’s not true.”

  “I know! I had to remind myself of that when I finished the book you gave me. If I didn’t have that to hold on to I would have been a crying mess.” I take another sip of my shake as Gabe laughs.

  “I would never get emotional over a book,” he says jokingly and I laugh at the expression on his face. I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who gets swept away by the words on the pages of a great novel.

  “What’s the worst story you’ve read?”

  I hesitate to tell him because I wonder what he’ll think of me. “I’m embarrassed to share,” I finally admit.

  “Don’t tell me you read fanfiction about Justin Bieber. I’ll have to make you walk back to the office,” he teases.

  “No.” I shake my head and chuckle. “I read a lot of romance novels on my Kindle.” I crinkle my nose and eyes as I wait for his judgment.

  “My sister loves reading romances. You guys could probably have a pretty steamy book club if you ever met. Tell me about the bad one.”

  I feel my shoulders relax. I’ve never met a boy who could talk books the way he can. Brady didn’t like reading and used to get irritated when I wanted to tell him about something I’d read. He once made fun of a romance novel he found on my Kindle and ever since then I’ve been deleting them the minute I finish the story. “It was a story that hooked me with the blurb. It was a romance and the characters were young. I like stories where I can relate.”

  Gabe is smiling and sneaking glances at me when it’s safe. He’s clearly interested in what I’m saying so I push on. “I loved the first five chapters.
The main character was falling for this intriguing guy. They go on a few dates and then just when it starts to get interesting, they both die and become vampires.”

  Gabe laughs out loud. “Vampires?”

  “Stupid, stupid, vampires!” I laugh. “Look, I don’t judge people who are into that. I get that some girls love the idea of sexy vampires falling for humans, but I don’t want to read it myself. I feel like that little fact should have been mentioned in the blurb.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “You’re telling me! I was already invested in the characters. I had given that author a few hours of my free time and then she clubbed me over the head and dragged me off in a direction I didn’t want to go.”

  “What do you mean she dragged you off . . . you finished it!” He points at me when he assumes correctly that I couldn’t let the story go without reading until the end. “Really, Everly?” he teases. “I never pictured you as a fang chaser.” I open my mouth in pretend offense, but laughter tumbles out after just a second. I close my eyes and push my head back against the headrest. We are both laughing hard now, and my free hand moves over my stomach. The muscles are sore after just a few minutes because I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.

  “My sister made me read the Twilight series,” he admits when we are finally calming down, and that gets us started again.

  “She made you?”

  “Okay, maybe just the first one. But I had to know how it ends. If you tell another soul my secret I’m going to deny it.”

  I’m smiling so big my cheeks hurt as I cross my heart with my finger. The road wraps around behind large office buildings and a few department stores. Gabe tells me about a famous veteran from our hometown who flew airplanes in World War II. The small airport at the end of the road is named after him. As we bounce over a few of the worn patches of pavement I notice his notebook on the floor between us. I wonder what his therapy homework is and if he’s been in counseling for a long time. I pull the cold, thick shake into my mouth, taking the opportunity to sneak a glance at him while he focuses on the road ahead of us. I’m not sure where he’s taking me, but being with him is making me feel better than I have in a long time. Finally he pulls into an empty lot near the airport.

  The sun is beginning to dip behind the taller buildings as he backs into a spot near the fence. We get out of the car and move to the back of his truck and he lowers the tailgate, setting his shake on it and then turning to me. There is no way I can get up there. Even with it lowered, the tailgate is well above my waist. I set my shake down next to his, thinking that maybe we are just going to stand here.

  The roar of a jet engine grows louder as a private jet taxis down the runway past us. When it lifts up into the air we watch it gain altitude and fly away until the sound is only a faint noise in the distance. I drop my gaze back to Gabe and he holds his hands out. I realize he’s offering to lift me up onto the tailgate of his truck and that chivalrous gesture causes a flush to spread across my cheeks and down my neck. His eyebrow rises in question and I nod, accepting his help.

  His warm, strong hands are on my hips, the heat of his body close enough for me to soak it up, and the scent of him already familiar as he grips me and lifts effortlessly, setting me down on the tailgate.

  He doesn’t pull his hands back right away, and I feel my breath catch as I look down into his eyes. It’s a completely innocent gesture he’s just performed, but now his large, toned body is between my legs, his arms resting on my thighs as he looks up at my face. I wonder if his skin would feel soft around his eyes and scratchy at his chin. His gaze dips down to my lips for a brief moment.

  Gabe quickly steps away. The truck shifts for a second as he easily jumps up and takes a seat beside me, handing me my shake from the spot next to him. I lean back on my hand and watch as another plane, this time a small propeller plane, takes off over us. I’ve lived in this town my whole life and I had no idea this parking lot even existed, let alone the entertainment it provided.

  “So what do you do when you’re not at therapy or stuck at school?” he asks, his gaze following a plane as it descends from the sky above and lands at the far edge of the airport.

  “I volunteer at a retirement home and work on things for student council. Right now with prom coming up there are a lot of little things that have to be taken care of. I also spend time with my sister and my parents.”

  Gabe drinks the last few sips of his shake and sets his cup aside. “What’s it like to volunteer at the retirement home? I haven’t been in one since my great-grandmother passed away. I still remember the way the hallway smells.”

  The sun is beginning to sink toward the horizon, bringing out the beautiful orange-and-rose-colored hues that make the sky look like a painting. “I was a little nervous at first. It’s hard to face your own fears head-on. I never want to be confined to a bed or stuck in a wheelchair at the end of my life. It made me really sad to see that some residents don’t ever get visitors.” I shake my cup and move the straw down to the bottom again to get the last of it. “I look forward to my time there now. I make sure to stop by the rooms of the residents who haven’t had any family in for a while. I can tell who they are because the policy is to have visitors sign in at the front desk. I actually feel guilty that I haven’t been there in a while with all that I’ve had going on.”

  “I’m sure they’ll understand. What do you do with them?” he asks. I set down my cup and lean back on my hand.

  “A few of them like to be read to. They have the same books on their side tables for months at a time. It takes a while to get through the story when I’m the only one reading it. Others like to show me pictures of their families or listen to old radio programs on cassette tape.” I turn my head to watch him. “What do you do after school—besides spending time in the pool?”

  “I have a lot of responsibilities at home.” I hear his voice drift off softly. He looks down to our feet for a minute. “I spend time with my family too. It’s hard sometimes because both of my parents work really long hours. My mom is an English professor for the community college and my dad is a graphic artist for a video production company.”

  I feel my skin prickle with goose bumps and shiver. Gabe’s voice is deep next to me. “Are you cold?”

  I am, but I don’t want this time with him to end. “I’m okay. I think it’s the shake.” I hold it up for him to see it’s empty and then set it behind me in the back of his truck. He tosses his cup behind him and then quickly slips his hoodie off, and I feel a small tinge of disappointment when he pulls his shirt back down where it has slipped up.

  I realize just sitting next to him makes me feel a bit on edge. My pulse picks up and my stomach grows lighter, as if Gabe has the ability to charge my body with an invisible spark. He’s very attractive, and I find myself looking into those beautiful eyes as he hands his hoodie to me. I slip it over my head and feel the warmth still remaining inside from the heat of his body. I rest back on my hands and kick my feet slowly below the tailgate. “Can I ask you something personal?”

  He nods his head and looks at me. “Ask me whatever you want,” he answers, lying all the way back, folding his hands together behind his head. I pull his hood over my hair and lie back with him, wiggling a little to get comfortable. Our faces are looking up at the beautiful sky above us, our eyes squinting slightly against the glow of the bright setting sun. I tuck an arm behind my head and take a deep breath.

  “Why are you in therapy?” I turn my face toward his and he looks into my eyes. The hesitation I sense makes me regret my question. I open my mouth to tell him never mind, but he takes a big breath and starts to talk.

  “My sister tried to commit suicide a little over a year ago, and I’m the one who found her.” His voice doesn’t falter, but the pain is so entwined with his words I ache for him.

  The sky above us is empty of planes again and the silence begins to get noisy as I hear my heartbeat in my ears. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t my business
.” I look into Gabe’s eyes so he knows I’m being sincere.

  “It’s not really a secret. A lot of kids at school heard about it.” He’s watching me now, mirroring my position of resting on one arm, with his face turned in my direction. “She started having a few problems in high school, but my parents thought it was just typical teenage girl behavior.

  “Her senior year things got worse, but we just thought she was really stressed. She’s a great student and took a full load of AP classes along with running on the cross-country team. She started slipping in the fall, sleeping for days at a time, not being able to get out of bed. My parents thought she was just overdoing it. It didn’t feel right, though.” His eyes plead with mine to understand, and I give him a small nod. I slip my hand into his and lightly squeeze. “She finally started pulling out of it by the time graduation came around and then during the summer she was unstoppable. We thought she had conquered it.”

  I tighten my hand in his and he leans closer. “Then she went away to college, and after a few weeks she stopped taking our calls. One night my parents got a call from a social worker at a hospital. My sister had been found by some other students—she’d taken all of her clothes off and was swimming in the pool on campus. She was arrested, but the cops took her to the hospital because she wasn’t making any sense.”

  “That sounds scary, Gabe, what happened?” I lightly brush my thumb across the top of his hand.

  “She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and put on a pretty rigid regimen of psych meds. She started coming back down to reality and we started to relax again. It was manageable, they told us. She just needed to take her meds.” His head shakes a little and he lets out a laugh without humor. “The problem is, once you’ve felt that high, nothing else feels right. The cycle began to move toward depression, which isn’t uncommon as the doctors try to regulate the dose, and she panicked.”

  He pauses for a moment, lost in thought. I stay silent, hoping he keeps confiding in me. “She was released, but it wasn’t good. She withdrew again and had to drop out of her classes for the semester. She came home and just stayed in her room. I tried to get her to go out, but she would tell me she didn’t have the energy. She told me once that depression sucked everything from you. She didn’t even have the energy to feel sad.