Falling to Pieces
Authors: Amber Garza
Falling to Pieces
Amber Garza
Cover Models: Matt and Lindsay Hopkins
Cover photographer: Renae Lamb
Graphic Artist: Lisa
Eneqvist
Author Photo: Megan Squires
Copyright © 2013 Amber Garza
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
For information: ambergarza.wordpress.com
To anyone who has ever needed rescuing, and to those who rescued them.
Prologue
My first mistake was going to Asher’s house that night
, but I couldn’t help it. Cam and I had just had a huge fight and I needed to see my best friend.
“Ivy?” Asher was out of breath
when he answered the door. He was shirtless, a pair of blue gym shorts riding low on his hips. Sweat covered his chest, glistening over his taut muscles. My cheeks reddening, I glanced away. No matter how much I convinced myself that I wasn’t attracted to Asher, my body betrayed my true feelings.
As if sensing my uneasiness, he said,
“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you. I just got back from a run.”
“That’s okay,” I mumbled, still not looking at him. I kept my eyes glued to his front lawn as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.
“What’s up?” His voice sounded muffled, and when I dared a peek in his direction again I saw that he was pulling a white t-shirt over his head. Not that it helped much. I could still see his muscular chest through his shirt.
“I
wanna go for a ride.”
His
aqua blue eyes, that are brighter than the sky on a sunny day, lit up. “Wait right here. I’ll grab some helmets.”
I leaned against the side of his house as he disappeared from sight. Cool night air circled me, causing
goosebumps to rise on my arms. I hugged myself to get warm.
“All set.” Asher emerged from his house, closing the door tightly behind him. He had on a leather jacket and held two helmets in his hand. He handed one to me. I pulled it on over my head, and he did the same. Only it was easier for Asher. His blond hair was shorn close to his head. It was harder to tuck my thic
k blond hair into the helmet, but finally I got it.
As we w
alked toward Asher’s motorcycle parked in his driveway, one side of his lips curled upward. His lopsided smile was one I was used to, but that didn't stop it from being sexy.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re just funny, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“You’re the only girl who likes to ride with me. Last week I went to pick up Leah for our date and she refused to get on my bike.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I heard.”
Asher and I hung with the same group, and Leah was one of my friends.
Asher straddled the bike
, and I climbed on behind him.
“So, how are things going with you two?” I asked.
“They’re not going.”
“Why not?”
“She’s not really my type.”
“Really? Tall,
blond and gorgeous isn’t your type? Could’ve fooled me.”
Asher glanced at me from over his shou
lder and smirked. “Oh no, that’s my type, minus the whole high maintenance thing.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Leah was pretty high maintenance, that’s true.
“Hold on,” Asher commanded as the bike roared to life.
I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my chin into his shoulder. When the b
ike took off, cool air kissed my face. I breathed it in, savoring the feel of it. I loved the way I felt on Asher’s bike - free and alive. I clutched Asher tighter, the scent of his leather jacket tickling my nose as he rounded a corner. My body swayed with his, and then he straightened back out.
When we
stopped at a light, Asher craned his neck to look at me. “So, you gonna tell me what happened tonight?”
“What makes you think something happened?”
“C’mon, Ives, I know you too well. “
I sighed. “Cam and I got into fight, that’s all. I just needed to clear my head.”
The light turned green and Asher faced forward again. Cars passed us, their taillights winking at me. My hair whipped in the wind, feathering across my helmet. The air smelled of asphalt and green grass as it swept over me. I interlocked my cold fingers to keep myself fastened to Asher as we continued riding through the darkened streets.
I was bummed when he turned in the direction of his
house. I could have ridden all night. After he guided his bike into the driveway and cut the engine, I took my helmet off my head and held it in my hand. Asher took off his helmet too, but he hung the strap over the bars and turned to me with a grin.
“Have fun?” he asked.
I nodded, running my fingers through my tangled hair, and then hopped off the bike. As I did, my shirt caught on something. I felt the breeze at my back, and panic rose in my chest. Before I could reach back and unhook my shirt, I heard a sharp intake of breath. My heart sank. I knew what Asher saw. Fumbling, I grabbed at my shirt and tried to pull it down over my wounds.
“Ives.” Asher’s voice was full of shock. “What happened to you?”
I swallowed hard. “Nothing.” Finally the shirt broke free, and I whipped away from Asher. I couldn’t stand to see the concern on his face. I was afraid it would break me.
His hand found mine
, and he forced me to face him. “That is not nothing. Who did this to you? Was it Cam?”
“No.”
I shook my head furiously. “I just…I…fell, that’s all.” I forced a light laugh. “You know what a klutz I am.”
Anger flashed in Asher’s eyes. “Don’t lie to me. That is no fall. Someone did this to you.”
“Asher, don’t worry about it.”
“I am worried about it. I know Cam did this. I’ve played football with the guy
, and I’ve seen him pop a fuse.”
I pressed my lips together, unable to respond. I wanted to protest, to tell him he was wrong. Only I couldn’t. How else would I explain the bruising?
Asher groaned, running a hand over his head. “I’m
gonna kill him.”
Desperation bloomed inside of me. I grabbed Asher by the arm
. “No, Asher, just stay out of it.”
“I can’t, Ives. God, I can’t believe he did this to
you.” He came closer. “He did, didn’t he?”
I looked into Asher’s eyes
, and suddenly I saw the hands lashing out at me, felt the fists as they connected with my bones and flesh. Without thinking, I nodded my head slowly.
Asher sighed. “
How long has this been going on?”
“Awhile.” It was the first true thing I’d said.
He grabbed my face with both hands. The sudden movement startled me, and I flinched, dropping the helmet I held in the process. It fell to the ground with a clatter. “Oh, Ives, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” After releasing me, he stepped backward. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this.”
I knew what he planned to do. I could see it in his eyes
, and it caused dread to sink into my stomach. “Asher, no, please.”
But he wasn’t listening
. He stalked toward his motorcycle, put his helmet back on and swung his leg over the seat. I reached for him, trying to grab his arm, but he was too quick. As the engine roared to life, I tried to scream over the sound of it but it drowned out my voice.
As I watched him
screech down the street, I hollered after him, “It wasn’t Cam!”
1
Ivy
A year later
"Okay, what do you think?" Billie calls from down the hallway. "Be honest."
I crane my neck from
where I'm lounging on the couch just as Billie enters the room. She’s wearing a low cut black halter top, jeans and knee high boots with buckles that jangle as she walks. I raise my brow as I take in her ample cleavage spilling out of her shirt. "Whoa. Dude's not gonna know what hit him."
"Is it too dressy?"
I laugh. Only Billie would think jeans and a halter top were too dressy.
"No, it's not
."
"Cool. I don't want to seem like I'm trying to
o hard." She pauses, furrowing her brow. "Because I'm not. I could care less about this guy. I'm just using him for a free dinner and a night out."
"It's okay to say you like him, Billie." I smirk and return my gaze to the magazine spread open in my lap.
"Oh, yeah, I'm gonna take dating advice from you. What're you doing tonight? Planning to spend a riveting evening reading magazines and watching TV?"
I bristle at her words
, even though they're true.
"Maybe," I say sullenly.
"You know, you really need to start getting out, Ivy. Live a little." Billie walks toward the kitchen table where her jacket and purse are strewn on top. When I lived with my mom she never would have tolerated me using our kitchen table as a coat rack. But that's the joy of renting your own apartment. You get to do whatever you want. And apparently what Billie and I want is to live in messiness. I cringe, glancing around at the soda cans, books, magazines and shoes tossed around our tiny living room. Oh, well. It still beats having to put up with my mom and stepdad.
"I get out.
I just went out the other night," I explain.
"Picking up C
hinese food and a movie is not going out." Billie shoves her arms inside her leather jacket. "You brought them back here and stayed in."
"I might go visit
my grandpa later."
"That doesn't count either." Billie approaches me. "Ivy, it's Friday night
, you're nineteen years old, and you're staying home. This isn't healthy." She plucks the magazine off my lap, and drops it on the coffee table. It flutters as it falls, the pages whispering as they rub together. "C'mon, you can join Ryan and me."
"No, thanks." I shake my head. "I'm so not into being the third wheel."
Billie sighs, perching on the edge of the couch. "Ivy, it happened over a year ago. You have to move on at some point."
My chest tightens. I have no desire to discuss this with Billie again. Pressing my lips together, I snatch the magazine up and turn away from her.
"Ivy?"
I glance up at th
e clock. "Billie, you better go or you're gonna be late."
She
follows my gaze, her eyes widening at the time. Then she flashes me a rueful smile. "Fine. I'll let you off the hook this time, but this conversation is not over."
Of course not. It never is.
"Have fun, Billie," I call over my shoulder as she heads out.
"Don't wait up," She replies before closing the door behind her.
I flip the page, my gaze taking in the array of brightly colored glossy pictures. All the celebrities look so happy and glamorous, but I know that's not true. I know all about keeping up appearances — about pretending to be happy when you're not. A knock on the door startles me. I toss the magazine aside and get up from the couch.
"You forget your keys again, Billie?" I say as I open the door.
Then I let out a little gasp when I catch sight of my unexpected visitor.
"Poison Ivy." Asher smiles slowly,
using the nickname he affectionately dubbed for me our freshman year of high school. He looks just like I remember him, with his short blond hair and icy blue eyes. His faded jeans and white t-shirt show off his physique, causing my heart to race.
"What are you doing here?"
Something flashes in his eyes that I can’t quite decipher — disappointment, anger maybe. "C'mon, aren't you happy to see me? It's been over a year, Ives."
