Torn (Tattered Heart Duet Book 1) Read online

  I’ve always found her unfiltered thoughts refreshing.

  Hearing her smart mouth as she shot back at Dean had me unable to resist approaching her. The fire I saw in her gaze begged me to come closer. As soon as my hand touched the soft skin on her hip, it was going to be impossible for me to walk away.

  If it weren’t for the fact I knew what waited for me when I got home and knowing Dean was a few feet away, I would’ve never left.

  The light from the lamppost at the end of the driveaway casts a soft glow on the wet cement as my skateboard takes me further away from Ryan. It doesn’t take long before I’m turning the corner near my house. We’re always the only house on the street without their front porch light on, making it difficult to see as I walk up the steps.

  On the outside, you’d think no one was home, but I knew it wasn’t true. What’s waiting on the other side of the door is just as dark, but for a different reason. The thought alone makes me want to turn around and head back toward Dean and Ryan’s house.

  Pulling the keys from my pocket, I’m quiet as I stick the key in the lock and turn the door handle, pushing the door open. The house is quiet, other than the soft sound of the television playing. Slipping off my shoes, I tiptoe down the hall toward my bedroom. I’m careful to avoid the spots on the wooden floor that will creak with every step.

  As soon as I turn the doorknob to my bedroom, I hear his husky voice bellow my name from the other room.

  “Ryle.” The word causes a chill to roll through my body. No one calls me by my middle name except for my father. You’d think he took pride in his son being named after him, but in fact it’s the opposite. He calls me by his name out of spite. It’s a reminder he’s given me life and would take it away if I ever dared to challenge him.

  I’m not the only person living in this house who has allowed the pain of the past to damage their heart.

  Letting out a resigned sigh, I turn and make the two steps across the hall. The door is open a crack, so I raise my hand, pushing it open and stepping into the doorway.

  “Yes?”

  “Where the hell have you been all day? You were supposed to go up to the corner store and do the dishes. Neither of them got done.”

  “I’ll do it in the morning when I wake up.”

  “What good is it going to do me now? I’m out of cigarettes,” he grunts. I turned eighteen three weeks ago. Every day since I’ve made the trip up to the gas station to buy him smokes.

  The light from the TV flashes, lighting his face. His beard is long, matching the greasy unkept hair on his head. If I had to guess, he’s probably going on Day Seven since he’s even bothered to clean himself up.

  “It’s after ten. They closed almost thirty minutes ago so there’s not much I can do now. I’ll make sure the dishes get done,” I say, reaching down toward the door handle to pull it closed.

  “You’re an ungrateful piece of shit, you know that? Had you been home when you’re supposed to, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

  Forcing a deep inhale through my nose, I tighten my jaw resisting the urge to tell him to fuck off.

  “I’ll get to it then,” I grit out, knowing he never cared when I came home before. Hell, he doesn’t pay attention to me unless he needs me to do something or he’s finding new ways to put me down.

  “You know, you’re eighteen now. I don’t have to give you a roof over your fucking head anymore. I think it’s time for you to get the hell outta my house.” The anger is rising in his tone. When he yells, it exacerbates his emphysema, sending him into a coughing fit.

  Knowing I’d be fighting a losing battle if I dared to respond, I back out of his bedroom and amble down the hall. My once quiet steps are now replaced with my rushed foot falls. I can hear his hoarse words behind me, but I do my best to push them out of my mind.

  Shoving my feet into my sneakers, I pick up my skateboard from against the wall. Running my hands over my pockets, I double check to make sure I have my keys before I swing open the door and slip back into the dark night.

  It isn’t until I’m walking back up Dean’s driveway that I’m able to breathe a calming sigh. Both lights on the front of the house are on so I know Dean and Ryan are still awake.

  Sitting down on the front step, I run my hand over my face and pinch the bridge of my nose. I knew I shouldn’t have been late going home. After I heard Dean on the phone with Ryan, I decided to sit back wanting a few minutes to see her.

  It’s been more and more difficult to go home lately. The anniversary of my mom’s death looms, and as a result, my dad has been drinking more. His own health has begun to deteriorate.

  My mom passed away when I was fifteen from breast cancer. My dad still carries a lot of guilt over it. He had lost his job about six months before, which meant my mom had started to pick up more hours at the local grocery store where she worked.

  She was faithful about going to her annual checkups. Times were tough though, so when she was asked to pick up an extra shift she didn’t hesitate in saying yes. There were nights I would lay up at night and hear them argue about money. The bills were starting to stockpile, and we needed the extra money.

  After she found a lump in her breast, she admitted to my dad she had missed rescheduling her appointment. He took it incredibly hard knowing she may have caught it then. She was at a stage four and the doctors felt chemo treatments would only give her another four to six months to live.

  Chemo would’ve meant more days spent at the doctor’s office or nights at the grocery store to pay for all the bills, when what she wanted to do was just enjoy what was left of her life.

  To this day, I struggle with opening myself back up to anyone again out of fear of losing them unexpectedly. Dean and our friend, Graham, are the only two people I’m close to.

  Thinking back to what happened between me and Ryan in the hall tonight fills me with a sense of guilt. I’ve heard the way guys at school talk about her. I have also listened to how Dean has reacted; his promises of violence if he heard those words repeated.

  Ryan spent years hiding behind her baggy clothes and backward hats when she was younger. So, when she started wearing clothes that fit her, it left very little to the imagination.

  She has been the star of many of my fantasies, more than I’d ever like to admit.

  Maybe she wasn’t interested or maybe it was Dean’s persistent threats to anyone who came around Ryan, but she only had one boyfriend throughout high school. She would bring Marc around and I wanted to crawl out of my skin as I watched the subtle ways he’d touch her.

  I remember one night when I left to head home, I saw Marc press her against the side of the house as he kissed her. Something about seeing his hands on her pissed me off. Instead of ignoring it and moving on, like I should’ve, I barreled toward them and told her to get her ass inside. I still cringe when I recall seeing them together, hating how much I sounded like Dean warning off anyone who dare look at her.

  Pushing the memory out of my mind, I decide I’ve spent enough time sulking over my problems. At this point, I’m ready to lie down and try to get some sleep. I slide between the bushes lining the front of the house as I approach Dean’s bedroom window. Reaching over, I lightly knock on the glass.

  I stand here for a minute, waiting, before Dean pulls the blinds up enough for his head to peer out. As soon as his eyes adjust to the darkness, he holds up a finger signaling for me to give him a minute before he quickly closes the blinds again. I slip back through the bushes and climb the stairs toward the front door.

  A few seconds later, Dean stands in the doorway as he runs his hands over his arms to keep them warm. The storms earlier tonight left the spring air cool. I’ve always loved this weather, so it doesn’t bother me.

  Dean doesn’t say anything, not bothering to acknowledge how I had left less than an hour ago and here I am turning up at his door. He knows if I wanted to talk about it, I would. All I want to do is get some rest but as we pass by Ryan’s door as we walk down
the hall, all I can think about is how I wish I could be lying next to her right now.

  Three

  RYAN

  The sound of footsteps in the hall jolt me awake. I’ve always been a light sleeper, waking up at even the faintest of sounds. Reaching my hand over toward my nightstand, I turn the alarm clock so the time is facing me. The red lights flash the time after midnight before I push it away.

  Glancing around my room, my eyes adjust to the light. I had woken up an hour ago when I heard Dean let Maverick in. It happens often enough so I know when I hear the door open not to be too concerned.

  Wondering if it could be him in the hallway, I can’t stop myself from climbing out of bed to find out. Pulling a tank top out of my dresser, I run my hand through my hair to wrestle the long locks into submission as I quietly step out into the hallway.

  I can hear the toilet flush followed by the sink turning on, as I lean against the wall waiting. The bathroom door swings open and the light flickers off, bathing us in darkness. I hear the subtle inhale of Maverick’s breath and I wonder if it’s because I’ve surprised him or from being alone with me once again.

  “You waitin’ for me or somethin’?” he grunts, trying to keep his voice down.

  “No, I like to wait outside of bathrooms at twelve o’clock in the morning.”

  I can see his shoulders shake lightly as he covers up his laughter.

  After our run in earlier tonight, of course I wanted to torment myself with more. I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment, but I’ve never been able to help myself where he’s concerned.

  “You going to move or do you want to join me?” I retort.

  My eyes have adjusted to the darkness and I watch as he runs his hand over his jaw. I can make out the shadow from his arms and I want to reach my hand out to touch his sculpted skin. My eyes travel down his body to see him dressed in nothing but a pair of gym shorts.

  “I’ll move.”

  He steps out into the hallway, his body eating up the space as I find myself pressed against the wall once again. I relish the feel of the cold drywall against my heated skin.

  Running my tongue along my bottom lip, I force a swallow trying to hide my heavy breathing. He leans in close to me, his breath feathering along the shell of my ear. I tilt my head back and clench my hands into fists, resisting the urge to pull his mouth to mine.

  “You smell fuckin’ amazing, Rebel. Like peaches and everything I shouldn’t want.”

  His words rattle through my head as I lazily open my eyes. It’s hard to see him in the darkness. Before I know it, he takes a step back to the other side of the hall and continues to run his hand over his jaw.

  “Go before I do something we both may regret.”

  “What are you doing here? I thought you went home,” I say, ignoring him.

  “Change of plans,” he says, folding his arms across his chest.

  I can hear the edge in his tone, so I decide not to probe any further. Leaning against the wall, mimicking his pose.

  “Where were you and Nadia tonight?”

  “We went to the basketball game with some friends.”

  His eyes follow down my body to the boxer shorts I’m wearing as he nods his head.

  “Basketball game, huh?”

  I can hear the questioning in his tone. I’ve never been the type to watch sports. The extent of my physical activity has been riding dirt bikes or skateboarding.

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “You have never watched sports before. Hell, even when Dean tried to get you to come to one of his football games, it was like pulling teeth.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t strike me as somebody who knows a damn thing about me, Mav.”

  I’m not sure why I’m so defensive again at his statement. The condescending tone in his voice is grating my nerves raw.

  I shoulder past him; I make it past the doorway of my bedroom when his warm hand wraps around my forearm stopping me. He doesn’t hold onto me for long, as he presses his chest against my back, wrapping his arm around my waist.

  I tilt my head against his shoulder when his mouth presses against the side of my head.

  “I know a lot about you, Ryan Marie. More than you may think.”

  His words come out muffled and I can feel my body shiver.

  Tracing his hand down my arm, he grasps my wrist and holds my arm out in front of me.

  “I know you like to go skateboarding by yourself every Saturday and Sunday morning. Some mornings, when I’m sleeping over, I hear you wake up before anyone else to go. I know when you’re having a bad day you like to blare Disturbed. I also know you never let a day go by where you’re not drawing some sort of design on your skin. Despite what your mom might tell you, you want to fill your arm with the artwork you know will someday be permanently etched on your skin.”

  I don’t know what to say because everything he said is the truth. I’m surprised to hear he’s been watching me because, to my knowledge, he had never paid any attention. I always felt like he viewed me as the annoying sister of his best friend.

  “I wish I knew what it meant to you,” he whispers in my ear. “The words, the artwork. I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t put something on your skin unless it meant something to you.”

  Looking down at his hand wrapped around my wrist, I watch as his thumb lightly traces back and forth over the heart on the inside of my wrist.

  “I wish I knew why you knocked on Dean’s bedroom window at all hours of the night. I guess there are a lot of things about ourselves we don’t talk about with just anyone.”

  “You’re right,” he says as I tilt my head up to look him in the eye. “You’re more than just anyone.”

  He lets go of my hand, letting it drop back against my side as he takes a step back. I should’ve expected this reaction. It’s clearly something he doesn’t want to talk about.

  I’m taken by surprise when he doesn’t move to leave, instead he eases his way around me, stepping further into my bedroom. The small lamp I turned on earlier adds a little light in the room and I’m distracted watching the way he moves confidently in the small space.

  The muscles in his back move and I feel lightheaded at the thought of running my hand over the smooth skin. If I was surprised before, I’m completely stunned when he dives onto my bed and rolls onto his side facing me.

  My eyes run over his body, to the way the muscles of his abdomen tighten and the dark smattering of hair leading lower beneath his shorts. The sound of his throat clearing as my eyes wander back up until they meet his.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, I thought we were going to exchange our stories, mine for yours. I wanted to get comfy.” He winks as a small smile plays on the corner of his mouth.

  I don’t know what to do with this new side of Maverick.

  “If that’s the case, you’ll need to move over unless you want me lying on top of you.”

  It was meant to come out as a joke, but I can see the thought cross Maverick’s mind as he clears his throat.

  I don’t know how we’ve moved so quickly past the older brother’s best friend zone to something entirely different, but I don’t bother asking out of fear he’ll realize we’re treading on thin waters.

  Taking two steps closer to him, I climb on the bed and lie down next to him. He moves over, making room for me.

  “Tell me about the ink.”

  “I’ve always known after high school I wanted to pursue a career in art. I started drawing when I was in early elementary. It started off with coloring pencils but as I’ve grown older, it’s moved into painting and oils. During school, I had a hard time focusing but drawing always helped me through it. The art on my arms all have symbolic meaning. They represent what I’m thinking and feeling.”

  Holding my arm out above us, I start going through all the handcrafted designs covering my forearm.

  “Who is Evelyn?” he asks, glancing over at me before inspectin
g the name written on my wrist.

  “It’s my grandma on my dad’s side. I got my passion for art from her. The roots,” I say, pointing to the base of the vines wrapped around the side of my arm up toward my elbow, “remind me to stay grounded and the heart symbolizes focusing on where my heart lies.”

  “I like it,” he says. “I’ve heard the way your mom talks about the designs on your arms, trying to convince you to wash them off. You never do though, at least not for long.”

  I can feel the smile play at my lips at the thought of him paying attention enough to notice it doesn’t take long before I’m drawing something new.

  “She certainly tries, but her efforts are futile. I think she’s noticing, too. It’s something I love. I’m not going to stop because she doesn’t like it. I’m eighteen now and there’s nothing she can do it about it,” I say, realizing it’s after midnight which means it’s officially my birthday.

  “Happy Birthday,” he whispers. Reaching his hand out, he rubs the calloused skin of his thumb over my forearm.

  My eyes follow the path before slowly traveling up to peer at him. When they connect with his, he drops my arm between us but doesn’t move to let go.

  “Thank you.”

  There is a closeness to him I’ve never felt, being alone together in the quietness of my bedroom. This is the most I’ve ever talked to Maverick. Normally, he’s the quiet, shy guy who stands off to the side. He blends in well with Dean and his friends. Most of them don’t do much talking to begin with. I feel like there are so many questions on the edge of my tongue, waiting to be spoken.

  “What do you think Dean would say if he woke up right now and found you in here with me?” I ask, flashing him a small smile.

  We both know exactly how he would react. He’s more than protective. He’s like having a third parent, only more annoying if that’s somehow possible.

  “He’d probably threaten to kick my ass as he marched me out the door.” He chuckles, releasing the hold he has around my arm as it sinks in how this could turn out if Dean did walk in on us lying together on my bed.