Breaking Through (The Breaking Series Book 3) (5 page)

I sighed, pocketed my phone, and joined my family in the dining room. “Sorry about that.”

“I was about to call you,” my mother said.

I pulled out my chair and took my place across from Hannah. “So, what were you all talking about?”

Gui

“So?” I asked Gabi as she stepped back inside from the balcony and dropped her phone on a side table. “How is she?”

“She says she’s okay,” my sister said.

She frowned at me, probably wondering why the sudden interest in Hilary. Truth be told, the interest was old, very old, probably born the first time I laid eyes on her—one afternoon at the club, before Leo and Hannah started dating. Back then, she was only sixteen, almost five years younger than I was. Too young. However, my brain took notice of how beautiful she looked, but I did my best to ignore it then.

With the passing of the years, it was harder and harder to ignore how lovely she looked. Just when I thought she couldn’t get more beautiful, I saw her again and she took my breath away.

What happened to Hilary and Hannah had been fucked up. Sometimes, I wished I had been there with Leo, so I could have beaten the life out of Eric. That guy didn’t deserve to live. At least, Hannah recovered from it, but Hilary hadn’t. Well, she did seem better the last couple of months. She started coming to our dinners and get-togethers, though she didn’t talk much, and whenever we decided to go to a bar or club, she bailed on us.

After last night though, I was not only interested but also worried about Hilary. She had been shaking like crazy when she left. I almost followed her to make sure she wouldn’t get into an accident, but I discarded that idea because it was too much. Yes, I had been interested in her for over three years now, but that was all it would be. Just interest. I would never act on it. She deserved better than me. Besides, I had never seen her with a guy, not even before the incident with Eric. Sometimes I wondered if she was going to become a nun, or if she liked men at all.

Which didn’t matter, because I shouldn’t care about any of it.

Gabi went to the kitchen, where Bia was checking on our lunch, and Lauren and Iris talked about dresses across the kitchen island. I had no idea when or how Bia had learned to cook, but some of her dishes were just too freaking good. Like the lasagna in the oven.

While we waited, I joined Leo, Ri, Pedro, and Garrett in the living room and played video games.

“I saw you talking with Paula last night,” Ri said, his eyes on the screen.

“You know her?” I asked, taking the joystick from Pedro. He was fucking terrible at this game. I didn’t know why he still tried playing it.

“Lauren knows her from college. Apparently, she’s friends with Megan.”

Megan was one of Hannah’s oldest friends from the polo club. Though they weren’t best friends anymore, they kept in touch.

“She crashed the party, then?” Leo asked.

“I guess Megan brought her,” Ri said. “Anyway, did you hook up with her?”

“Nope,” I said.

Ri paused the game. “Say that again?”

Garrett chuckled. “A hot girl was all over you, and you didn’t go for it? That’s a first.” A spatula flew in front of my face and landed on Garrett’s shoulder. “Ouch!”

“That serves you right,” Bia said from the kitchen.

We all laughed. Bia was too fucking jealous. Even when we were talking about girls for me, she paid attention to what Garrett said.

“Yeah, well, I was going to, but—” I cut myself off. What the fuck? I almost spilled the beans about Hilary. One, I wouldn’t tell them what happened last night. Hilary probably didn’t want anyone to know. Two, if I told them I had blown Paula off to go help Hilary, they would be on to me. They would know I liked her.

“But?” Leo asked.

I frowned. “Just play the fucking game.”

Worse than talking about Paula was remembering how Reese flirted with Hilary last night. When I saw him smiling at her, I wanted to punch his teeth right out of his mouth.

“Uh, someone is touchy today,” Pedro teased. I threw him a glare. “What the hell?” he muttered.

The guys teased me some more, saying Paula had turned me down in the end, or that I couldn’t get it up. Yeah, right. Inside, I was fuming and ready to punch them all, but for Hilary’s sake, I held my ground and gritted my teeth.

I was still fuming during lunch. I needed to blow off some steam, but playing violent video games wasn’t doing the trick anymore.

When we were finished, I was the first to jump up from the table. “How about we go to the ranch and race our monster trucks?”

The guys all agreed, and then Bia, Gabi, Lauren, and Iris announced they would join us for the game. Ten minutes later, we were driving to the ranch.

Chapter Three

After Hannah left to go to the Fernandeses’ ranch for a monster truck race—the Fernandeses loved their monster trucks—my mother and I drove all the way to Santa Barbara and stopped by the women’s center. I came once a month, but my mother was here at least once a week, and most of the time, Hannah was with her.

Helping other women who had gone through much more dramatic events than what Hannah and I had gone through was part of the healing process, my mother always said, and my therapist agreed.

There were days I was glad I came, like the days I saw women stand up and fight for their freedom, to be respected, to be loved. Then there were the days I wanted to curl up in a corner and cry. Those were the days when a new woman—or two—arrived at the center. They came because they didn’t know where else to go, but they were so battered, so broken, so hurt, they had to be sent to the hospital first. Sometimes they came back; sometimes they didn’t.

Today was one of the good days, thank goodness. I couldn’t handle more drama here after what happened at the party last night.

“Is Evie here?” I asked Leila, the receptionist.

“She should be in the garden out back,” she answered. “You know the way, right?”

With a smile, I nodded and then waved at my mother as I went to meet Evie.

The garden was a special place. Each woman was invited to plant a new flower when she first came here and to tend it. To see so many flowers in bloom was inspiring. The staff didn’t let the non-cared-for flowers alone for long. They took care of them, as if they were a sign of hope, or they weeded them out, leaving space for someone else to plant her flower.

Evie was kneeling beside a pot, tending her flowers.

“Hey, there,” I said, sitting on the wooden bench a couple of feet behind her.

“Hilary!” She stood and smiled at me. “How nice to see you! How are you?”

“I’m good, and you?”

She pointed to her flowers. They were tall, bright, and strong. “Do they answer your question?”

“They do.” I was glad she was having a good day. In the year I had known Evie, I had only seen her smile twice.

Her name was Evangeline, but she preferred Evie.

Evie had gotten pregnant when she was eighteen. Her father and mother wanted her to have an abortion, but she couldn’t. So, after a big fight with her parents, Evie left and went to live with Mike. However, she lost the baby, and for quite some time, she was depressed and alone.

As far as I knew, Mike had been a sweetheart then and helped her through it. She slowly got better, but then Mike started changing. He became jealous, possessive, and aggressive. His harsh words transformed into slaps and punches. Now, at twenty-three, Evie was again depressed and alone, and she was still with Mike.

She knew better. The therapists and staff here at the center talked to her about leaving him for good. I talked to her about it a lot too, but she never did. She couldn’t. It was as if Mike held an invisible and unbreakable collar around her neck.

I understood. My sister had been through something similar, and it had taken her a long time to stand up and do something about it. I didn’t agree with it, but I understood.

What I wanted though was to see her win. Even if it took years, I would be here to help her be free of her terrible husband, one way or another.

***

With one earbud on playing a new pop song and a large to-go coffee cup, I focused on my drawing pad and my pencil at the small table in the corner of the coffee shop. I did my best to ignore the noise around me and concentrate on the last details of my project. It was better than staying cooped up inside my dorm room, especially when Mariah, my roommate, was there. She was too chatty, too loud, too spread out, and it was hard for me to be comfortable around her. At least, we got along well enough to live together without any major drama.

This was my second semester in fashion design at the College of Art and Design in Los Angeles, and I loved it. The classes, I mean. I couldn’t care less about living in L.A., or the other students, parties, frat houses, and whatnot. Thankfully, my professors seemed to like me. One even told me that, if I continued to impress her, I had a chance of getting a spot in their annual exhibition, where students showcased collections they created. Not all students participated, and this year was too late for me, seeing as the exhibition was next weekend. Even so, it was rare for second semester students to be invited to the showcase. So, I worked hard on my projects due at the end of the semester in a couple weeks, aiming to woo my professors. If I roped them in now, there was no doubt I would be in the showcase next year.

“Oh, I like this dress. It’s pretty,” Mariah said, taking the seat across the table. She set down her books and coffee and squinted at my pad. “Hm, if you put a slit here.” She pointed to the left side of the long skirt. “It would be even prettier.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course, she would suggest a slit. Next would be to increase the cleavage, and maybe some holes over the stomach. Wait, no, cut the midriff and make it a top and low-waist skirt. There, just her style.

“I thought you had class,” I said, not bothering to look up.

“The professor gave us one last assignment before the finals and let us go to work on it. Can’t believe it’s only a few more days until finals.” She opened one of her books, spreading her things over the small table as if my A3-sized pad wasn’t taking a whole lot of space already. “Better start.”

For a few moments, it was okay. Mariah started reading and I kept on working on my drawings. At some point, she got up, ordered a coffee and a pastry, and then returned to her studies.

A few minutes later, I noticed she had stopped reading and was looking at the coffee shop customers.

“You really don’t see it, do you?” she finally said.

I looked up from my drawing pad. “See what?”

She groaned, as if mad at me. “The guys! All of them look at you. All of them.”

“No, they don’t.” I started drawing again, but my focus was gone.

“I swear, they do. I’m telling you, if you went to some parties with me, you would have every man flocking around you.”

“I’m not interested,” I said, making the mistake of looking at her again. She squinted at me. “What?”

“Sorry, but I have to ask. Are you gay?”

If I had been drinking my coffee, I would have sputtered. “No, I’m not. Nothing against gays, I don’t judge. But, no, I’m straight.”

“Then what? Why won’t you go out with at least one of the many gorgeous men around campus?”

I pressed my lips tight. What could I tell her? Not the truth, but I had to give her something so she would stop bugging me.

“I was burned before,” I started, hoping it was vague enough, but not too vague to allow for more questions. “It hurt too much, and I don’t feel like I’m ready to put myself out there. Not yet.”

There. The truth.

She stared at me, probably trying to see something in me, in my eyes, in my body language. Did she think I was lying to her? Who cared if she did? I didn’t owe her any explanation.

Finally, Mariah shrugged and returned her attention to the people in the coffee shop.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said after a couple of minutes in blissful silence. She reached inside her purse. “I stopped by our building before coming here and checked our mailbox.” She handed me an envelope. “This one is for you.”

Frowning, I took it. It was an off-white envelope made of thick paper with a watermarked F and W on the front—I had seen this logo before—and my name and dorm address stamped in golden ink on the back, surrounded by elegant swirls. Very elegant, very expensive.

Biting my lip, I opened it.

Dear Hilary Taylor,

Every spring, students from all over the United States send me their portfolios in hopes to secure a summer internship with me. Even though you didn’t send me a portfolio, I recently came to know your work and was impressed.

If you would be interested in an internship with me during the summer, please come to my studio for an interview next Friday at 11 a.m. Please bring your portfolio.

Best regards,

Fallon White

I hugged the letter and let out a squeal.

Mariah stopped whatever she was doing and stared at me as if I had grown a second head.