Flawlessly Broken: (Broken Series Book 2) (12 page)

He had pulled the cushions from the love seat and wedged them as close to the couch as possible. The coffee table was sitting at an angle to allow him enough room. He lay there on the floor, a good eighteen inches below me but right at my side.

And clutching the blanket at my side was the hand that had likely held onto mine all night.

I looked at it with something akin to shock.

Never in a million years would I have expected such tenderness.

I blinked away the tears welling in my eyes and dropped my arm to my side, testing my theory.

As soon as my hand was once again within reach, he reached out and threaded his fingers through mine, never stirring from his slumber.

My chest tightened in one quick spasm and a tear escaped the corner of my eye, rolling hotly past my temple and into my hair. Just one, though.

A single traitorous tear that threatened to erode the foundation of my well-placed walls.

After a while, I disentangled myself and silently rose from the couch, careful not to wake him. I splashed cool water on my face in the bathroom, wincing when I saw the mascara ring around my eyes. Raccoon was not a good look for me.

And Spencer had seen it, shit.

Thankfully, it was easily remedied with a makeup remover wipe and a mental reminder that my injuries were a good enough excuse for not looking my best. Satisfied that I wouldn’t scare the shit out of my guest, I trudged down the hall to the kitchen, needing coffee.

Soon after, the pot was brewing and I set about making breakfast, starving. Spencer would be too. Neither of us had eaten in a while.

I was halfway through with the meal prep when Spencer yawned from his spot on the cushions and stretched his lean muscular arms above his head. He sat up and turned toward me with a sleepy expression. “Do I smell coffee, chuckles?”

He’d just woken up, so I let the nickname slide. “Yes sir, you sure do.” I nodded to the counter beside where I was pouring the last of the breakfast ingredients into a casserole dish. “I even threw together some homemade vanilla creamer, since I know that’s what you like. It’s in that mason jar.”

He replaced the cushions and folded the small blanket he’d nabbed from the back of the love seat. I had the things everywhere. My mother insisted that they made the apartment feel homey.

“You didn’t have to do that. I could have taken it black.”

I waved him off, placing the casserole dish in the oven and setting the timer. “No big deal. It’s just a little condensed milk, 2%, and vanilla. Oh, and I threw in a vanilla bean for extra flavor. Just be sure to shake it well before you use it.” I’d had my back to him as I spoke.

When I turned I realized he was just standing there watching me with the most peculiar expression.

I thought again about my raccoon eyes, wondering if I’d missed a smudge or something. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shrugged once and the moment was broken. “I didn’t realize I was looking at you any particular way. Sorry. I’m still half asleep.”

I was a breath away from calling bullshit but bit it back. After all he’d done for me that weekend, I wasn’t in a position to challenge him.

But there was something about that look...

I started cleaning up my mess, not able to bear the clutter but also wanting a distraction. Despite the odd look, he was damn sexy with messy hair and drowsy eyes. It was hard not to stare.

He was unbelievably gorgeous.

“Here you go, sweetheart.” He said from behind me, sliding a mug of coffee onto the counter in front of me.

I’d been so busy with breakfast that I hadn’t poured myself any. I nodded gratefully and turned, staring into my cup as I took a sip. “Thank you.”

Under normal circumstances, I wasn’t fit to talk to for about an hour after I woke up. I just was
not
a morning person. My brain refused to engage without copious amounts of coffee. And yet that morning made two in a row that I’d been able to act like a human before being properly caffeinated.

Ali would be so proud.

Like there was a telepathic tether that tugged at her every time she crossed my mind, my phone chirped with a text from the bestie herself.

Ali: Good morning, Sunshine. Got a call from my mom. She was pissed. Said you chided her like a child. You know what that means, right? I owe you a present or something. Chocolate or wine? Your call. Call you after lunch. xx

I chuckled and held my phone out for Spencer, who read it with an ever-widening grin.

“You guys got a contest going to see who can irritate Eileen the most?” He joked.

“Something like that. Let’s just say that the game makes it less likely that one of us ends up strangling her.”

His brow creased in thought. “Maybe I should consult Clay about an arrangement like that for Gran. That woman is a handful.” He grimaced. “On second thought, maybe antagonizing her isn’t the best idea. She’s got no problem going after someone’s ass and I’d hate to be the guy who got beat down by an octogenarian.”

I giggled into my mug.

He leveled that penetrating stare at me, all humor gone in an instant. “How are you feeling this morning? Any dizziness or nausea?” He took in my features, eyes darting over my face. “You don’t look as pale as you did last night.”

“I’m fine. Honestly. Much better today, thank you.” It was on the tip of my tongue to mention the sleeping arrangement but he cut me off.

“You said you were fine five minutes after it happened, as I recall. Are you fine today the same way you were fine then?” He wasn’t letting up.

I blew out an annoyed breath. He was already back to being pushy. “No, Spencer, I really am fine.” I turned to check the casserole, needing to get away from his stare.

Those dark, intense eyes really should come with a warning label. ‘May cause uncontrollable vaginal twitching’ or something similar would suffice.

I spoke over my shoulder, needing a minute to gather my thoughts. “Breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes. I hope you like Italian sausage and spinach.”

He didn’t respond immediately, no doubt taking in my every movement and trying to decide if I was telling the truth about my condition. After an extended pause, “I’m not hard to please. It smells great.”

His voice was still concerned but he was coming around. Thank goodness. If he kept watching me like that, I was in serious danger of tossing myself onto the counter and offering him an entirely different breakfast.

Get yourself under control, Natalia, before you embarrass yourself and make a mess of things. Not just for yourself but for Ali and Clay, who would undoubtedly get stuck in the middle. So, quit your damn panting.

“Sweetheart?”

Spencer’s voice pulled me from my thoughts and I realized he’d been talking to me. “I’m so sorry. What were you saying?”

The eagle eyes were back, roving over me with concern. “I was saying that since the doctor suggested you not drive for a couple of days, you’re going to need someone to drive you to...” he trailed off and lifted the tiny envelope that held Cameron’s message for Amelia. “If you’re okay with it, I thought I’d take you.” His expression softened.

I swallowed hard and nodded, turning back to take plates from the cabinet for our breakfast. “That would be nice, thank you.” I gathered the silverware and set it beside the plates. “I don’t know what you had in mind when you knocked on my door Friday night, but I’m guessing whatever you envisioned was a far cry from what you got.”

“I’ve learned never to have expectations, makes life simpler.”

It wasn’t so much his words, with which I tended to agree, but the way he said it that caught my attention. When I glanced over my shoulder his head was down, eyes a million miles away as his fingers lightly traced the tiny embossed envelope meant for my lost daughter. The sight caused the chasm in my chest to widen painfully, threatening to swallow me whole.

I turned back to the stove without comment, afraid my voice would betray me as I began making toast to accompany our breakfast.

He exhaled a long breath, expelling his melancholy. “Besides, this weekend has been nothing if not interesting.” He waited for me to look over at him and smiled. “And I’m glad to have helped, even if only a little.”

That damn smile of his was going to melt the butter. Among other things.

“You’ve been amazingly helpful and patient. I can’t thank you enough. For the help and for not ratting me out to Ali.” I widened my eyes in mock fear. “Especially for not ratting me out. If you’d ever seen her on the war path, you’d understand.”

He grinned. “I’ve gotten a small sampling of what it must be like. It was my pleasure to see that you were spared the full extent of her wrath.”

“Actually, to be honest, she takes it easier on me than she would anyone else. She might have fussed a little, but then she would have let it go. I’m not sure whether to be flattered that she favors me or angry that she doesn’t treat me the same as everyone else.” I pulled the casserole from the oven a split second before the timer dinged and set about making our plates.

Once I was satisfied with the presentation, I placed Spencer’s in front of him and joined him at the counter.

He thanked me and dug in almost immediately. Poor guy. I’d kept him so busy that he hadn’t eaten in forever.

After making a sizable dent in his breakfast, he turned his penetrating gaze on me and quietly asked, “Does everyone do that? Tiptoe around you like Ali does?”

The question caught me off guard and I gaped at him for a minute. Once I had a chance to really contemplate what he was asking, I nodded once. “I suppose so. I don’t think they mean anything by it. It’s probably not even intentional, they just don’t know how to treat me anymore. The people at the restaurant don’t know about Amelia, so they have no reason to walk on eggshells but everyone who knows... Yeah.”

“Maybe that’s why you like your job so much. No one there knows your history so they aren’t afraid of doing something to upset you.”

He said it so matter-of-fact, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Cue open-mouthed gape.

Shit.

He was right.

How did he know that after two days and I hadn’t figured it out in four years?

He must have seen the question on my face because he said, “My sister is a psychiatrist and her love of psychoanalyzing people rubbed off over the years. Clay hates it. Drives him crazy.” He shrugged helplessly. “It’s a curse.”

“You’re good, I’ll give you that. It never occurred to me, not once,” I admitted.

He turned his chair sideways, facing me fully for the first time. His eyes searched my face for something, but I was too enthralled to care. God, his eyes were inky black and seemed to pull you into them like they had their own gravity. I actually leaned toward him a bit before catching myself.

“You don’t need to be treated as if you’re made of glass. You need someone who knows your secrets and losses but doesn’t view any of it as weakness or fragility.” He reached out and took my hand, his thumb running gently across the back. “You’re too strong a woman to allow yourself to be handled with kid gloves. They’re wrong to do that to you. You’re not broken, sweetheart, and you never will be. You’re absolutely perfect just the way you are.”

Damn it. I hated to be called perfect. Truly hated it. He couldn’t have been expected to know that, though.

I withdrew my hand and swiped at my cheek, brushing back my hair. “Maybe you’re right. Everyone will lighten up eventually.” I needed a subject change. I eyed his half-eaten breakfast. “You better finish up before it gets cold. Nothing worse than cold eggs. No matter how much other stuff is mixed in, it’s not good at room temp.”

I went back to my food and prayed he’d do the same.

I could feel him watching me for a minute or two before he finally took my advice and polished off his meal. Afterward, he collected both our plates and rinsed them in the sink while I put away the leftovers. He was in my kitchen again and seemed right at home. He just went with the flow, no matter what, never getting flustered or halting.

Except when presented with the task of diagnosing a possibly broken ass.

That one had gotten him.

I tucked the last of the food away with an amused smirk and wondered how I could get him again.

Spencer

IF I’D THOUGHT
it was heartbreaking to hear Talia talk about her daughter, it was nothing compared to seeing her talk
to
her daughter. I sat in my car on the narrow ‘street’ that snaked through Forest Lawn Cemetery and watched with an aching chest as Talia sat on a small stone bench near the foot of Amelia’s grave. Her lips barely moved as she spoke to her dead child, as if she were finding it difficult to speak. She kept her head down for the most part, though whether out of respect for the departed or avoidance of the glaring afternoon sun, I couldn’t say.

After a while, she rose and knelt at the headstone, slipping Cameron’s note into the lidded stone chalice that matched a second one which was holding the yellow daisies we’d stopped off to get on our way.

Amelia’s favorite color.