Falling to Pieces (2 page)

Two

Loitering in the local grocery store on a Saturday morning with a basket full of beer boxes was not my idea of a good time. It was a small town
, the kind with only one grocery. The odds of running into someone I knew were pretty damn good.

“Are we almost done?”

My mother glared at me for daring to disrupt her intense perusal of the cheese selection. It wasn’t that difficult. Even I knew which she was going to choose—whichever was cheapest. She never did see the point behind wasting perfectly good beer money on petty things like food.

“If you’re in such a hurry, why don’t you make yourself useful for a change? Go get the bread.” She flicked her hand idly toward the bread aisle, and went back to examining the
cheese. “And none of that white crap. Pumpernickel’s cheaper.”

Ha!
I wandered into the bread aisle, happy for the excuse to be away from her, and scanned the shelves for the cheapest loaf. It didn’t take nearly as long as I’d hoped. When I returned, she was
still
staring at the cheese as though it were a life or death decision. My fingers itched to snatch the slightly plastic tasting, bulk brand she always bought, but I thought better of it, dumping the loaf of bread on top of the beer cases. At least there was
something
resembling actual food in the cart now.

I waited—and
waited
—my eyes glued to her inevitable choice as though it may give her some sort of hint, until I couldn’t take it any longer. I had to know what the heck we were still doing standing here. But, when I looked at her she was no longer scrutinizing the dairy case.

My mother looked
at me with utter disgust. “Are you an imbecile?”

I blinked back at her, feeling as though I must be, because I had absolutely no idea what was going on.

“Do you have eyes?”

She was actually waiting for a response to this. “Yes.”

“And the ability to read?”

“Um . . .” Clearly, I was missing something. “Yes?”

“Really? Are you sure? Why don’t you try reading
that
?” She pointed to the loaf of bread I’d dropped in the cart and my stomach knotted. Rye was written across the front of the package in bold blue lettering. “One simple task any five-year-old could complete, Jade. I don’t know why I bother with you at all. I’m allergic to rye. What are you trying to do? Kill me?” Her volume increased with each verbal blow, drawing unwanted attention from our fellow shoppers. An older woman glared at us and waddled away. A couple of small children pointed and ducked behind their mother’s cart. Mortification held me rooted to the spot. “You must be the most worthless human being I’ve had the misfortune to meet. You are without a doubt—”

“Is there something I can help you with?” Sweet baby Jesus, it
was him. Of everyone on planet Earth, it had to be Kiernan Parks to witness this fiasco.

He spoke as though he were asking my mother, but ke
pt his eyes glued firmly to me. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t spontaneously combusted yet from the fire burning in my cheeks. Weeks of sharing classroom space with him hadn’t lessened that particular effect he had on me.

I just prayed my mother wouldn’t notice as she gave him an unappreciative once over. “Do you even work here?”

“No,” he finally moved his intense focus to her, “but I shop here often enough that I might be able to point you in the right direction.”

That was a load of crap, the last time he’d shopped here he was probably six
-years-old, but my mother didn’t need to know that.

“Perhaps you can teach this brainless twit the difference between rye and pumpernickel bread, then.”

I was so busy trying to imagine a hole in the floor wide enough to swallow me that I didn’t even notice the loaf of bread soaring at my head until it was too late. My shoulders drew up around my ears for protection just as Kiernan’s hand shot out, making an impressive midair snatch-and-grab.

“I’d be happy to.” Mom either missed or ignored the dark growl underlying his words. I, however, did not and a shiver coursed down my spine, imperceptible enough that I hoped and prayed nobody noticed.

“Good.” My mother opened her mouth and I closed my eyes, bracing for the blow I was certain was headed my way as I would a physical strike. “Get out of my sight,
stupid
.”

I hated that word. God, how I hated that word. She knew I hated that word. I was a lot of things—there were plenty of demeaning names she could accurately call me—but I worked hard to make sure ‘stupid’ was not among them. Academics were one of the very few things I’d actually succeeded at . . . mostly.

“Come on.” Kiernan ushered me out of the dairy section without a single glance back.

We moved silently into the bread aisle, where I resumed my shelf searching, looking over loaves of white, rye, wheat, sourdough, and the elusive pumpernickel.

“I think this is what you’re looking for.”

What are you, blind? It was right in front of you.

He snagged a loaf and handed it to me, but when I wrapped my fingers around it, he didn’t let go. “You look familiar.”

So, it was official. He didn’t
recognize me. My silly heart sank despite knowing that he wouldn’t. I mean, how pathetic do you have to be to cling to a single Valentine from eleven years ago? As pathetic as me, I suppose.

I scrambled for an explanation that was a little less stalker-
ish. “We have chemistry . . . Together.
Take!
We
take
chemistry together. The class.” Oh, good Lord, someone cut off my foot before I can shove it any further down my throat.

“Right. That must be it.” He nodded
, a grin tugging on the corners of his mouth, though he didn’t look satisfied with the answer. “My name’s Kiernan.”

“Oh . . . yeah.”

“And you’re Jade?”

“Yeah.” Did I know any other words?

His grin blossomed into a full-wattage smile and, holy hell, he had dimples. Two of them. Life was entirely unfair. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jade.”

“Yeah.” For the love of God, speak girl! “You, too.” That was better.

“I guess I’ll let you get back.”

Your conversation skills are right up there with a rabid squirrel, so why don’t you stop staring at me like so
me kind of creeper and go finish your shopping. And try to do it without causing another scene.

“Right. Okay. Well . . . thanks.” I hoisted the bread like a moron and then turned tail and practically ran from the aisle. Way to sell the crazy, Jade.

Why was it that every single time I opened my mouth, I managed to broadcast what an idiot I was? I was seriously considering cutting out my tongue to be a potential solution to the problem when I caught up to my mother near the registers.

She didn’t say a word as I added the loaf of pumpernickel to the belt. Neither did
I. After exchanging plastic pleasantries with the woman behind the register and bagging the few groceries that weren’t already in boxes, I hauled it all out to where we were parked, beyond ready to get the hell out of there. But, because my humiliation obviously wasn’t complete for the day, Kiernan exited the store with a sack of groceries slung over his arm just as we finished loading up the car.

Mom stacked the last three cases of beer in the passenger seat and stood back, arms folded in satisfaction. “We’re full. Looks like you’re walking.”

We wouldn’t be if she actually returned some of the empty cans she bagged up instead of just stashing them all in the trunk indefinitely. I didn’t bother telling her that. I picked my way across the rutted parking lot, carefully avoiding puddles and the little old lady so short she could barely see over her steering wheel, making dangerously wide turns up and down the aisles in search of a parking spot.

The roar of an engine behind me caught me off-guard and I jumped up onto the sidewalk out of the way. I waited for whoever it was to pass, but they didn’t. The roar quieted as they released the gas and idled beside me. Stifling a groan, I glanced over my shoulder, already knowing what I’d see.

Kiernan smiled back at me. Of course it was Kiernan. The way my day was going, what else could I expect? What I
hadn’t
expected was the shiny helmet he was wearing, or the sleek, black motorcycle he sat on. And I thought he couldn’t look any hotter? Again, life—not fair.

“Why don’t you let me give you a ride?” It sounded like a question. It wasn’t.

I would rather have dropkicked myself in the face than have Kiernan Parks get anywhere near the place I called home, but he wasn’t giving me much of a choice. A silver helmet appeared out of nowhere as he shut off the bike, threw the kickstand, and climbed off.

“I . . . umm . . .”

His fingers skated over my cheek as he tucked my hair back behind my ears, sending sparks Can-Canning across my skin. With a grin, he lowered the helmet into place and carefully buckled it underneath my chin.

“How’s that?”

“It’s . . . umm . . . good. I . . .”

“Where to?”

How far out of my way am I going?

“Umm . . .” English, Jade. It’s a language. You use your lips and tongue to make sounds to form
words to speak it. Ever hear of it? “Halfmoon Park. It’s off of—”

“I know where it is. Hop on.”

Kiernan climbed onto the back of the beast first and helped me slip on behind him. If I shook any harder, I’m pretty sure I would have taken the whole bike down.

“Relax. Just hold on. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Relax? Yeah sure, because that was at all possible when he tugged my wrists until my arms were wrapped firmly around his waist and my front was practically plastered to his back. Relax,
right
. I’d be lucky if I remembered how to breathe.

The bike roared to life beneath us, sending vibrations through my entire body. Kiernan turned out onto the street in a flawless arc that left me clutching him even tighter. I could feel his body shaking with laughter, but I didn’t care. I shut my eyes and buried my face in his back.

I thought bikers wore leather coats and stuff to protect them from the road, or the elements, or whatever, but only the soft fabric of his tee shirt stood between my cheek and his back. He must have been pretty confident in his abilities. Either that or he was completely insane.

I was leaning toward the latter by the time he pulled into the complex a few minutes later. Thank goodness the ride had been a short one. My heart was pounding so hard, I might have stroked out if it had lasted any longer. Kiernan dropped our speed to a lazy roll and gave my arm a quick squeeze before craning his neck to look at me over his shoulder.

“Which one?” He had to shout to be heard over the rumble of the bike and through the protective shield of his helmet—at least he wasn’t
that
crazy.

“I can walk from here.” I attempted to slip off the bike, but Kiernan’s grip on my arm only tightened.

“I said I’d drive you home. Let me drive you home. Which one?”

I really did not want him cruising around the complex. It was bad enough he knew I lived there, he didn’t need the grand tour. The front was decent enough. I mean how badly can you screw up trees and grass? I was certain they kept it simply to draw people in. Once you moved past the pretty entrance and got a real look at the
place, most people went running.
Sane
people. Not people like my mom and I.

“Jade?”

I sighed. He wasn’t going to let me off that bike until it was parked outside of my craptastic apartment. “Around back.”

We cruised around the semi-circular roadway, past the cracked and
graffitied tennis courts, the overgrown basketball net being strangled alive by vines, and the green pool growing something that should probably have been studied by scientists . . . in hazmat suits. Right up to the decrepit walkway of my building, which just so happened to be directly beside the charred husk of the one that burned down last spring. Ah, home sweet home.

Kiernan must have seen it all, but he didn’t say a word. “There you go. Do you think you’ll need any help getting the groceries in? They looked kind of . . . heavy.”

“No!” Christ on a crutch, it was bad enough he’d seen what was in the cart. The absolute last thing that I could ever allow to happen would be to let Kiernan Parks see the inside of that apartment.

Besides being an alcoholic, my mother was also a bit of a hoarder. Not like the kind you see on TV, but enough that there were stacks of outdated papers—receipts, mail, coupons we were never going to use—piled on every available surface, little ugly figurines we didn’t have the need, space, or money for scattered all over the apartment, and mounds of clothes I can only assume she’d collected over
the course of her entire life heaped on her bedroom floor. Boxes lined the walls of the living room with God only knows what in them. I’d learned a long ago not to bother trying to get rid of any of it or, God forbid, move it. There may have been a dash of OCD in her mental mix, as well.