Pieces of You Read online

  Pieces of You

  Kate Benson

  COPYRIGHT © 2018 BY KATE BENSON ALL RIGHTS RESERVED NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED OR TRANSMITTED IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY MEANS, ELECTRONIC OR MECHANICAL, INCLUDING PHOTOCOPYING, RECORDING, OR BY ANY INFORMATION STORAGE AND RETRIEVAL SYSTEM WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THE AUTHOR, EXCEPT FOR THE USE OF BRIEF QUOTATIONS IN A BOOK REVIEW. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover created by Sean Benson at NativeSon Designs. Formatting and editing by Chasing Sophie Publications ©

  Also by Kate Benson

  The Promise Series

  The Promise

  The Choice

  The Secret

  The Commitment

  The Compromise

  The Sacrifice

  The Ignite Series

  Ignite

  Smolder

  The Callie Leveaux Series

  escort

  SAVAGE

  The Callie Leveaux Series: The Novellas

  Traitor

  The Frenemy Series

  frigid

  sprung

  The Redemption Series (The Vault)

  Redemption: Part One

  Redemption: Part Two

  Redemption: Part Three

  Redemption: Part Four

  Redemption: Part Five

  Redemption: Part Six

  Standalones:

  Beyond the Pine

  Pieces of You

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Epilogue

  Resources

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  For Rocky.

  You were a good boy.

  I’ll meet you on the bridge.

  I love you, Mash.

  xo Mama

  “Love is so short, forgetting is so long.”

  -Pablo Neruda

  Prologue

  Ava

  When you’re in the midst of heartache and turmoil, there’s a false promise that comes with the rain.

  It gives the illusion of cleansing, the hope of hope itself once the clouds above you begin to part. You believe you’ll be granted sunlight, feel entitled for it even, but some days, it simply doesn’t come.

  Today is one of the countless days I know the sun won’t come when the clouds break.

  “Is there anything you’d like to say, Mrs. Sawyer?”

  “Wildman,” I correct the minister, my voice as shattered as my soul. “My last name is Wildman.”

  “My apologies,” he offers, his tone much sweeter than I deserve.

  I swallow hard, remembering myself, clinging to the vague memory of the girl I used to be as I clear my throat and face the old man, giving him a subtle shake of my head.

  “And please accept mine,” I reply quietly, faking the best smile I can. “It’s just… it’s been a hard week.”

  “I understand,” he returns my smile with compassion. “It’s no bother at all, my dear,” he promises, giving my arm a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “If there’s anything else?”

  I glance out into the cemetery, my eyes tilting toward the sky as the break in the clouds finally comes, offering me the same false promise I’d just been cursing. I don’t feel it though.

  Right now, I don’t feel anything.

  My eyes drift back to the casket, the gold rails against the redwood gleaming as the light hits it just right somehow making my breath catch all over again.

  “No,” I shake my head. “There’s nothing else I need to say.”

  It wouldn’t matter anyway, I think, the thunder clacking above singing to my broken heart. It wouldn’t bring him back.

  “Very well,” he nods as I squeeze the stem in my hand, willing the thorn to help me feel pain. Help me feel something… “I’ll finish up.”

  I raise the white petals to my nose, feeling no comfort in the pleasant scent before I press my lips to the bud, whispering my final words to him.

  “Goodbye, Daddy,” I whisper before leaning forward and placing it with the others. “I love you.”

  The minister says something else, but I don’t hear it.

  The only thing I hear is the pounding of my heart as the first raindrop slides over my skin, taking what’s left of me with it.

  My chest seizes, my vision goes hazy.

  I don’t remember anything else after that.

  Chapter One

  Ava

  “I think that’s the last one,” the burly mover says, stacking another box on top of one of the half dozen piles now surrounding me in the center of my father’s living room. “Is there anything else we can do for you, ma’am?”

  “No. No, thank you,” I shake my head, wiping my sweaty palms clean on my faded jeans and moving toward him. “Am I supposed to sign something for you?”

  “Yeah, if you don’t mind,” he nods, pulling a clipboard from under his arm and fishing a pen from the pocket of his shirt. “I just need your autograph here,” he replies, quickly scrawling an ‘x’ at the bottom of one page before flipping it over the back. “And right here.”

  “Okay,” I say, taking the pen.

  “It just means you’re not going to sue us for all those boxes of broken plates we hid in the kitchen,” he jokes, his husky laughter filling the small room. I give him a half smirk, trying my best to feign amusement as I sign the forms and hand the clipboard back to him. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, as well,” I offer, shaking his hand and following him toward the door to show him out. “You guys have a good day.”

  “You, too,” he tips his faded baseball cap before glancing up at the cloudy sky. “Glad we got all this stuff inside. It looks like the bottom’s about to fall out up there.”

  “Yeah, it’s that time of year.”

  “We need it,” he offers with another nod, giving me a small wave before descending the steps and climbing back into his van.

  “Don’t listen to that hibbity jibbity,” I hear from across the lawn, my eyes moving toward the elderly woman speaking from her side of the shrubs. “It’s been raining for a month. Unless we’re building an ark, we don’t need it that bad.” Her words make me smirk, the first real upturn of my lips in longer than I can remember. “Hi, honey,” she waves, her kind eyes smiling as she gives me a wink. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. How’ve you been? Come over here and let me get a look at you.”

  I step closer, memories of a childhood long forgotten
swarming back as I take her in.

  For the first time since my return, I don’t cringe at the idea of speaking to someone.

  It’s been said you can’t go home again and in my particular situation, I’ve found there couldn’t be more truth to it.

  While my memories of the tight-knit community I was raised in are mostly sweet thanks to my father, my marriage to a hometown hero turned villain had given me a taste of the downsides of small town living.

  “Hello, Mrs. Foster,” I smile, wrapping my arms around myself as I step across the lawn, coming to a stop on my side of the shrubs. “It’s good to be home, despite the circumstances,” I lie, taking her hand when she reaches for mine. “How are you?”

  “I’m well, darling. Thank you,” she smiles, giving my palm a gentle squeeze. “I was so sorry to hear about your papa,” she offers, her eyes going slightly hazy as she tilts her head, making me swallow hard. “He was a good man.”

  “Thank you,” I nod, pushing my sadness away. “He really was.”

  “It was a lovely service,” she continues, shaking her head. “Well, as lovely as a thing like that can be,” she allows, making me nod. “I’ve wanted to come and check on you, but I didn’t want to intrude.”

  “Thank you,” I manage once more, forcing a smile that likely looks as awkward as it feels. Her eyes go soft and I know she sees it, too, but is far too polite to bring it up, for which I’m grateful.

  “Will you be in town for long? I saw a moving van. Are you selling the place?”

  “No, ma’am,” I shake my head. “No, I’ll be sticking around for a while.”

  “Oh, really?” she asks, her eyes lighting up. “I thought you and Eddie would be heading back home after everything down here was all settled.”

  “No,” I shake my head again, clearing my throat. “No, ma’am. Eddie isn’t here with me this time. He uh… He and I…”

  I trail off, hating this part almost as much as the last.

  “I had no idea. I’m sorry to hear that, too,” she offers, giving my palm another squeeze. “My heavens, honey. You’ve sure had a rough go of it.”

  “Yes,” I admit, forcing another smile. “I have, but things will get better,” I offer. They have to. “All of this is just a part of life, I guess.”

  She says nothing, instead giving me another compassionate smile that says more than the filler I’d been getting from most people over the course of the last few days. I appreciate the silent gesture more than my own words could explain.

  I’m about to reply, but the white Dodge pickup pulling up to the curb cuts our conversation short, her eyes following mine as I curiously glance to the road.

  “Oh, that’s my boy,” she smiles, waving toward him sweetly before she glances back toward me. “You remember my Nathan, don’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I nod, not admitting the half-truth.

  If I was honest, I’d tell her most of my memories of childhood are scarce nowadays, but those of him are even fewer and farther between. Not only was he a couple of years ahead of me in school, the little interaction we did have together was akin to passing ships. We didn’t move in the same circles, never ran into each other outside of the occasional exchanged glance on the way in or out. Once I started dating Eddie sophomore year, even those became rare.

  Eddie…

  My throat clenches at the thought of him, my stomach swimming with nerves I’ve not let myself feel in as many days as possible.

  The signs were all there so early. His possessiveness, the dark edge that only surfaced when we were alone was right there on the brink even all those years ago. I noticed them, even found pieces of that hidden side of him appealing at first. He was a bad boy. He was the most popular guy on the team. All the girls wanted him, all the guys wanted to be him and all he wanted was me.

  It was exciting until suddenly…

  Suddenly, it just wasn’t anymore.

  Only, it wasn’t that sudden at all.

  It seemed that way when it happened, but looking back now, the signs were there all along. When we were out with our friends or at his work functions, he treated me like I was the only girl in the world. He adored me, brushed his hand against my brow, smiled at me like I’d somehow reached into the sky each night and hung every star there myself. Once we were alone, however, he lifted the veil on our storybook romance and took any redeeming qualities right along with it.

  He berated me in private, controlled who I spoke to, how I behaved, how I dressed in the most invasive ways. It was bad when he was sober, but when he drank, which was often, he was terrifying.

  I’d hoped it was a passing thing. Rebellion against our youth or something else he would someday outgrow, but someday never came.

  His dependency became more pronounced, just like his temper and his impatience with me. He became more controlling, more stifling. I naively thought marrying him would help him put me first, but the only thing it did was solidify his thoughts of ownership in the worst ways possible.

  Twelve years of marriage brought with it more than a decade of negligence and manipulation. The last two of those also brought blatant abuse that came and went before I finally ended up in the hospital.

  I’d let him off the hook so many times before, blamed his alcoholism, his illness.

  He loved me.

  It wasn’t him, it was the whiskey.

  He just needs help. If I can get him help, things will go back to the way they used to be.

  We’ll be happy again.

  I spent the bulk of our relationship, the bulk of my life, making a million excuses, but the truth of it had always been much simpler than I was willing to admit for too long.

  Whiskey won’t break your heart or degrade you.

  Whiskey can’t keep you from your family, isolating you from everything you’ve ever loved.

  Whiskey can’t bust your lip or call you names.

  Whiskey doesn’t laugh maniacally as it throws you violently down the stairs, tossing your bruised and bloodied body out into the middle of a rainstorm, leaving you for dead.

  Whiskey didn’t do any of those things to me, but my husband did.

  The last time he beat me, our mailman found me lying face down, unconscious the next morning. Eddie was still inside, three sheets to the wind when the ambulance arrived.

  I was still in my hospital bed when the police came to tell me the state pressed charges and Eddie had been arrested.

  Who pressed charges didn’t matter, though.

  If he found me when he got out, Eddie would make sure I never found my way back to that hospital.

  That’s when I called my dad in tears, begging him for help. Begging him to believe what so many others hadn’t.

  He’s the only person who ever did.

  With his help, I filed for divorce the following week.

  He convinced me to come home where he could protect me, where I’d be safe. As badly as I didn’t want to put him in harm’s way, I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Thanks to Eddie, I didn’t have anyone left outside of my dad.

  The last of my things were being packed into a moving van when I got the phone call that he’d had a heart attack and passed away.

  I was so close to coming home, so close to getting back to him.

  I can blame Eddie for that now, too.

  “Honey are you alright?”

  “Hmm?” I ask, shaking my head clear and facing her once more. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’m fine, I just… I guess I just got swept away.”

  “That’s alright,” she offers, patting my hand in hers before turning away from me and ushering her son over, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before gesturing toward me. “Nathan, it’s Ava,” she says, her eyes smiling up at him. “You remember Ava, don’t you? The two of you went to school together. Come and say hello.”

  “Well, I think we might’ve been a few years apart, but of course,” he smiles, the subtle lie in his words not lost on me, but I don’t take it personally. “How’ve you
been? I’m sorry about your dad.”

  “Thank you,” I say politely, eager to avoid a lie of my own, so I avoid his question. “How are you?”

  “Good, thanks,” he replies, glancing down at his mother. “Your appointment is in about thirty minutes. Are you nearly ready to go?”

  “Yes,” she promises, giving him a quick pat on the arm before she faces me once more. “Honey, I’m sorry to cut this short, but it’s Tuesday and that means my handsome doctor is waiting for me.”

  “That’s okay,” I chuckle, grateful once more for the genuine feel to it. “It was nice talking to you.”

  “You, too, dear,” she says, clamping her hands back over mine. “Don’t be a stranger. If you need anything, you just holler.”

  “I will. You, too,” I offer, glancing back toward Nathan. “It was nice to see you again.”

  “You, too, Ava,” he nods, his green eyes reminding me of his mother’s as he gives me another courteous smile. “Take care.”

  Chapter Two

  Nathan

  “So, what did the doctor say?” I ask as I face my mother across the unassuming table we’ve settled in at her favorite diner on the other end of our small town.

  “Oh, you know,” she shrugs, smiling her thanks as I hand her the lunch I’d ordered for her from the cheap cafeteria style tray. “Same thing he always says. Watch your cholesterol, mind your weight and all that jazz. Nothin’ special or to cause alarm.”

  “Good,” I nod. “That’s good. Let me know when you have to go back, and I’ll make sure I’m able to drive you up there.”

  “I will, honey. Thank you,” she smiles. “Would you mind handing me a napkin?”

  “Sure,” I say, sliding the obligatory stack I’d brought her between us.

  I watch as she carefully removes the top bun from her cheeseburger, carefully gliding her knife across to evenly distribute the mayonnaise before peppering the meat and replacing the bread. She unfolds her napkin on her lap and lifts it into her hands, taking a dainty bite as I shovel another handful of fries into my mouth.

  “Nathan,” she chastises me, shaking her head. “Who raised you, son?”

  “Ma’am?”