Pieces of You

Pieces of You

Lisa Marie

Pieces of You

Lisa Marie

©Lisa Marie 2015

Published by Entertwine Publishing

Cover by Entertwine Publishing

All rights reserved

License Note

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without authorization of the Author or Entertwine Publishing. Any distribution without express consent is illegal and punishable in court of law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Though lovers be lost

love shall not.

                       Dylan Thomas

Prologue

Once upon a time a handsome boy met a beautiful girl. Within moments, they fell in love. They knew their love was that one of a kind, never in a million chances will they ever find it again kind of love. Unique.

They met while each of them were at a Mexican resort during the holidays. He was there with his best friends just getting away from it all. Boys week - no girls allowed. And she was there for a bridal shower for her best friend. She was the maid of honor and the wedding was to be in one month. Everything was planned for this vacation, except for the possibility that each one would stumble upon each other and find their perfect match.

One evening, he was standing in line for drinks at the resort bar when she approached him and asked if she could stand with him. She explained there were some creepy men watching her every move and they didn't like hearing she wouldn't sit with them. Being the gentleman he was, he obliged. He comfortably draped his arm around her neck and whispered questions into her ear while they waited. He didn't do it just because she was beautiful, but because he wanted her to feel safe and not scared. No woman should be treated that way, especially her.

The two hit it off right away, joking and laughing for the remainder of the night. Before they could do anything about it, they were together - really together - before the end of the holiday when they reluctantly went their separate ways. Home was not where either wanted to be.

They lived in different states. His flight home was two days before hers. He hoped she would call when she landed, although he doubted she would. Why would she? Neither of them were obligated to stay in touch once they each left Mexico. By week's end, he was ready to give up and move on, chalking it up to a vacation romance, a fun experience ... when she called. His heart swelled, and the smile on his face showed just how much that single phone call meant. It didn't take long for him to pack up his duffel bag and rush to be by her side.

Neither one could believe they were doing this.

What were they thinking?

They really must be crazy.

Despite what others said to them, they knew this was it. They were meant to be together. A heart doesn't lie.

Within a week of his arrival, they decided it was now or never and they headed to Las Vegas to get married. Her family didn't approve of their whirlwind romance and would never understand their need to be wed, but they needed to be together. Fate decided. So they left their tiny one bedroom apartment and began their journey to forever.

He was driving, and every chance she got, she kissed him. Told him she loved him. They talked the whole way. Laughing and singing along to music. Holding hands. Her head on his shoulder. Many selfies were taken of her leaning on his shoulder while he drove. Neither had ever been so happy in their entire lives.

As if the world decided to stand still so they could cherish their time together, in slow motion, he looked over at the love of his life and she smiled brightly at him. Her blonde hair framing her beautiful heartshaped face. Beaming. Glowing. Over her shoulder appeared a shimmering light that highlighted her beauty. It sparkled and danced just beyond the window behind her, making her beauty shine even more. But it didn't last long.

The stillness was interrupted by a loud squeal of rubber on asphalt and the sickening sound of metal hitting metal. The glass windows imploded, covering them both with fragments as they somersaulted over and over again. The sound of metal crunching with every flip and their bodies jostling in their seats, lurching back and forth by the force. The sudden feeling of red hot lava filled his shoulder and his thigh, and he howled in pain before the world went dark and silent.

Opening his eyes a time later, he didn't know where he was or what had happened. All he could hear was a car horn constantly sounding on the very edge of his fuzzy consciousness and the odd voice yelling in an underwater echoing fashion. Confused, he turned his head slowly to his right to check on his girl. Searing pain radiated through his torso, and his body reacted to his every movement with white hot agony. It began to come back to him. They were in an accident, the horn he heard was theirs and the voices calling out are just outside the car. Concerned faces peer in his window. He realized he was hanging above her by his seatbelt. The car was on its side, and she was laying limp, crumpled in her own seatbelt against the door. The glass riddled interstate was her backdrop. Reaching her was a stretch, but he managed to touch her with just the tips of his fingers as she slumped against the pavement below. Her hair was no longer blonde and windblown. It was thick and matted with blood. Stuck to her forehead. Brushing it aside with the tips of his fingers, he begged her to be alright. He begged God for her to be alright, but when he looked into her vacant eyes, he knew she was gone. At that moment, his world crashed around him.

Screaming in defeat, he cursed and pleaded with God to be allowed to go with her or to give her back. To take him instead of his one shiny perfect thing - he wanted it back so desperately. The pain in his heart was more than the pain in his body. It was unbearable. He had never felt so empty. He pleaded with the rescue team as they removed him from the wreck, bracing his neck and strapping him in. “Bring her back!” “Save her!” His cries fell on deaf ears. He witnessed the sheet being draped over the mangled hatchback as they lifted his gurney into the ambulance. Screaming, he knew it was over and there was nothing that could be done. She was gone, and he would be alone.

He spent months in recovery, learning to walk again. His right leg had been broken in four places and his collarbone snapped like a twig with the impact of the crash. No matter how much pain he felt, the pain of his body would never match the agony of his broken heart. He couldn't go to her funeral, he wasn't allowed. The night before the service, her parents showed up in his room and put the blame on him. Her mother wept in the corner, while her father turned into a brute. Yelling and threatening violence upon him. It was his fault. He ripped their daughter from their lives. When her light went out, so did their hope for the future. It became so bad and so loud, that security was called by the head nurse because they wouldn't stop. He watched as the uniformed men removed her parents from his room and threatened charges if they returned. He knew they were hurting. They lost their one true love too.

Many visitors came from back home and tried to bring joy back into his life in the weeks following the accident. Her parents never returned. Perhaps they realized he wasn't worth it. That he was hurting just as much as they were. Or perhaps, they were simply afraid of being charged for his murder. Her father made it quite clear he wished he'd died and that he was man enough to finish the job.

He was finally released to his parents. His mother's eyes swam with tears for her son. She understood his anguish, and she vowed to help him heal enough to go on. His father, usually the strong, silent man cried for him as well. He had never seen his father cry. Not once in his twenty-seven years. The fear of losing your child makes you weak. However, the pain and the guilt carried by your child after such tragedy is enough to bring even the strongest man to his knees.

This isn't the fairy tale story of the man and woman. That one ended tragically one fateful day.

This is the story of learning to live again, of moving on.

This is the story of Ty Lorey.

Chapter 1

"Dude, are you coming out tonight or what? Do you remember Sasha?"

Slowly I turn my fuzzy head to look over at Tim, who's drinking his beer on the opposite end of the overstuffed sofa. His hair is flat on the top from wearing his ugly cowboy hat all day. It fluffs out by his ears in a way I find comical.

I don't respond to him. Instead, I glare at him, barely focusing. How dare he ask me to go out, or even suggest Sasha to me! It's been a year. Only a year. I miss her every day.

By the look on his face, Tim mistakes my glare for confusion and decides to elaborate his suggestion to me. "Sasha!" he repeats and cups his hands out in front of his chest, moving his fingers in and out pretending to squeeze large breasts.

Rolling my eyes at him, I toss the bottle cap that I've been rolling between my fingers haphazardly at him. I miss. Instead, it lands behind him on the wooden floor with a tiny tap. I release a puff of air in a disappointed sigh.

"No thanks." I tip my beer to my lips, take a large mouthful, and lean back on the old sofa closing my eyes and welcoming the drunken state that threatens to take over. My shoulder and my leg mostly stopped hurting a couple of months ago, which was the only reason Mom let me come back home by myself, but I still need to be numb.

Tim doesn't mean any harm. He wants me to have fun, be happy again. Get out there. Get laid. I try but I can't get that day out of my brain. I'm starting to think I never will. I still smell her skin and see that final happy moment before the glass imploded in the car.

I pull the bill of my ballcap lower and drape my arm along the back of the couch. "Nah, man. I'm just gonna finish my beer, watch some bad TV, and go to bed early.” I sniffle and take another drink.

"Pussy." Tim retorts, swallowing down the last of his beer and slamming the glass bottle on the table. The sound makes me jump, but he doesn't notice. He lets out a large belch and turns back to me.

I smirk at him and tip my bottle to my mouth again. "Look, I have to head out to Widow Crawley's place tomorrow. The new buyer wants quotes and wants to keep it local. I have to give estimates."

Tim sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and dips his head. A smile washes over his face. "You remember when we were small. How we used to steal her crabapples on our way home from school?" He chuckles.

"Yessir, I do." I slur my confirmation.

"I can't believe she's gone, Ty. She was always the first person to welcome the newcomer to town. She was like the honorary town owner. She'd been here since the beginning of time." He picks at the label on his empty beer bottle. "And she always had the best garden. Remember that garden?"

A smile crosses my face and my memory floods with pictures of Tim and me raiding her garden for fresh peas and baby carrots when we were boys. Her house was near the school, so it only made sense for us to get a snack after a long day of learning.

"Well anyways." Tim stands and stomps his feet so his pant legs fall back into place. "I'm going over to The Shake. I should be there most of the night if you change your mind.” He lifts his Stetson from the tabletop, places it back on his head and walks toward my front door.

"Thanks." I raise my bottle in salute and tip it back. The bitter fluid washes down my throat as my oldest friend walks out the door.

Tossing my hat on the table, I kick my feet up and start flipping through the images on my phone. I come to a stop at my favorite picture of us. Our "We just had sex" selfie. She's glowing as she kisses me. Both of our hair is dishevelled - we are happy. Running my finger over the image, I yearn to feel her skin on my fingertips once more.

What I wouldn't give to see her again.

***

I shoot off the couch in a cold sweat. My heart is racing. and I fight to catch my breath.

It's always the same dream. Mel is smiling at me, and the windows explode. I see the exact moment she dies, and I start to scream.

Always the same.

Rubbing my eyes, I look at the LED clock on my PVR. 3:27 A.M.

Always the same time.

Scrubbing my face, I stand and walk to the dark kitchen. Turning on the tap, I let it run while I get a glass from the cupboard. Yawning, I hold it under the running water awhile and drink the full glass twice before turning off the supply and heading to my bedroom to try to sleep the rest of the night.

***

I pull up in front of Widow Crawley's house in my old pickup. She's old and rusty, but I own her outright. Besides, she's great for hauling everything for work.

Climbing out of the cab, I walk to the back and lean on the box, remembering all the trouble Tim and I had caused at this house. To the right of her home, behind the white picket fence, is the garden that continues to grow really well. Rows of greenery dotted with bright colors and flowers fill the area.

I wonder if the new owner would mind?

Walking through the gate, I step in between the rows and squat down in the dirt to pull some carrots. The soil looks dry, and I make a mental note to water it before I leave today. No sense in having the yard dry up and waste all of the produce. Looking up at the blue sky, there's not a cloud in sight so we can't be expecting assistance from Mother Nature. Plucking one of the orange roots, I dust it off with my work gloves and pour a little of my drinking water over it. I lift it to my mouth and am about to take a bite when I'm interrupted.

"Excuse me, sir! You cannot eat the vegetables. You need to leave the garden immediately." A haughty female voice orders from the perimeter of the yard. Shielding my eyes from the sun with my hand, I pivot slightly on my toes to face the voice and shield my eyes from the sun with my hand. I can't make out a face, so I stand to approach her, dusting off my hands on my pants as I do so.

"Sir! I am asking you to leave this yard or I will be forced to call the police! You are trespassing!"

She stands there with her right hand on her jutted out hip and her cell phone held in front of her like a shield, in her left. This woman is attempting to be all business. Her hair swept away from her face and a briefcase strap over her shoulder. Large dark sunglasses protect her eyes from the sunlight.

I reach the gate and give her a smile before offering her the freshly washed carrot as a peace offering. She shakes her head in dismissal, so I shrug and lift the root to my own mouth taking a bite. "My name is Ty Lorey. Nice to meet you," I tell her between bites.

"Mr. Lorey, you have two minutes to tell me what you are doing in my garden." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small spray bottle arming herself. "And I would suggest you stay where you are while you do so." She's anything but threatening.

Chuckling, I lift the bill of my cap and tuck my dusty yellow work gloves into the back pocket of my jeans. I want to laugh at her, but it could easily come across as a threat, and I really don't want to be pepper sprayed today. Instead, I loosen my stance and offer a smile.

"Please forgive me, but I am confused. First, you tell me to leave the property, or you will call the police, and then you're telling me to stay put, or you will pepper spray me." I chuckle watching the dilemma cross her mind. She seems confused by her actions as well but is keeping up appearances. I chuckle and just decide to go with it.

"I've been asked to give you estimates to fix this place up," I begin telling her while trying really hard to keep eye contact with the sun glaring in my eyes. "However, if you've changed your mind, that's fine with me." I shrug and lower my hand from my eyes.

She seems to relax a bit, and I notice the exact moment she does. Her shoulders drop and she shifts her weight to the other hip. "That doesn't tell me why you are in my garden, Mr. Lorey," she replies coolly.

"Ty," I reply. "Please call me Ty." I rest my right hand on the fence and hop over it, landing just in front of her. "I meant no disrespect. I haven't been to this house in a while. When I pulled up and looked at the garden, I began remembering raiding it when I was a boy. I couldn't have been any older than nine." I point to the apple tree. "And takin' from that too." I smile and wipe my forehead with my arm.

"So you were remembering raiding the garden while you raided the garden? Hardly seems like you've abandoned your juvenile delinquent ways to me." She raises her eyebrow. I've never been able to do that and every time someone does, I obsess over it until it frustrates me so much I curse myself for trying to do something so ridiculous.

"Yeah. I was." I admit and place my cap back on my head. "But since you said it like that, it does sound kind of crazy."

I swear I see her smile for a brief moment before she turns and walks toward the house, leaving me standing alone on the sidewalk in front of the property.

Sliding her key into the lock, she turns the knob and steps inside, leaving the door open behind her. I remain beside my truck with my leg propped up on the tire, watching to see if she returns or offers an invitation to follow.

It doesn't take long before she's stepping back into view with her hands on her hips, staring at me expectantly. Her fingers impatiently drum out a frantic rhythm on her hips.

"Are you coming in, Mr. Lorey?"

Removing my foot from the tire, I raise my chin and scratch the short whiskers on my neck. Cocking my head to the side, I smirk and calmly reply,

"I would, but my mama always told me not to go into houses with strangers. You might be a good person, ma'am, but I need to listen to my mama."

A smile forms on her lips, and she shakes her head, removing her sunglasses. Her eyes pierce me, even from that distance. "My name is Riley Jensen. You can call me Riley." Hurriedly, she turns and steps away from the open doorway, the faint sound of her heels clicking on the floor as she walks through the empty house.

"Nice to meet you, Riley," I mumble to myself as she disappears from my sight. Dusting off my hands, I reach into the cab of my truck and pull out my old leather tool belt and snap it around my hips before turning and walking into the house.

Stepping onto the welcome mat, I wipe my feet before walking on the original hardwood. Mrs. Crawley would turn over in her grave if she knew that I hadn't. She was one for manners, respect, and clean shoes. Walking into the kitchen, I find Riley with her back to me. She rests her right hand on the old oak table and raises her feet one at a time removing her high heeled shoes. I can barely take my eyes from the gentle swell of her backside as she bends slightly. I lick my lips and release a quick puff of air as I redirect my gaze to the cupboards and appliances in the room.

"Wow! This place hasn't changed at all." I offer as I distract myself from Riley when she stands to face me. Getting caught staring at her is not really a wise choice, knowing she has pepper spray within reach of her fingertips in her purse. I notice the dark wood cabinets first, followed by the deep yellow sink matching the yellow gas stove and refrigerator in the corner of the room. "Does this thing even work?" I ask candidly, stepping toward the ancient appliance and turning each knob listening for the telltale hiss of gas escaping each element. Only one element out of four works, not even the oven ignites, which is a shame. This is a classic appliance, and I know I could find a buyer for it, if Riley didn't want to keep it.

"Gonna need a new stove," I inform Riley, who props herself up on her elbow on the counter as she takes notes on a pad of paper.

"You tell me what we need and once we have our list we can work out the cost." She smirks up at me.

"You got a budget in mind?" I scratch my chin and look up at the stained ceiling. "Because knowing the former owner of the home, she's going to need plenty of work done to her. I have a feeling that the stove is the tiny point on the tip of the iceberg." I allow my gaze to fall back on my potential boss, and I clench my jaw in anticipation.

"Just hit me with it all. Good, bad, and ugly. We'll iron out the details later." She smiles mischievously at me and bites down on the end of the pen.

"Alright. You gonna take the notes?" I ask as I put my work gloves back on and turn my hat backward. She lifts her pen in the ready position and nods. "Well, let's get started then." I look up at the ceiling and point to the dark spot I noticed before. "Stains on the ceiling." I point out without offering any possible reasoning.

"Water damage," she whispers and steps closer to me looking up at the dark spot above us. I catch a whiff of her perfume and smile. She smells like spice and fruit.

Clearing my throat, I point out the single pane glass on the windows, the 1970s linoleum that's lifting around the counter bases, and the old yellow sink. She scribbles on her notepad and follows me through the house until we reach the bathroom upstairs.

"I think I found the cause of the kitchen water damage." I offer as I drop to my knees and look under the old clawfoot tub. The ceramic tile is hard on the knees, and I mentally kick myself for not wearing my knee pads. Pain jets through my leg and I wince slightly, hoping my pain isn't too obvious.

"Really? What is it?" Riley asks and joins me on the floor. The close proximity makes my head swim, and I shake it off, shining the flashlight toward the drain pipe from the tub. "That's quite a large crack." I point out, and she clicks her tongue.