Flawlessly Broken: (Broken Series Book 2) (3 page)

Graceless was something Talia just didn’t do. Not the few times I had been around her. It was one of the things I remembered most. She was flawless. Absolutely flawless in every movement, like a dancer. Tall and willowy, she seemed to float on air. It was mesmerizing.

But not tonight.

Tonight she moved like the weight of the world was on her shoulders and it was odd to see her trudge across the room that way. Wrong.

With slow measured steps, I approached the living room. I’d only been in the apartment once before to help Ali move. Talia hadn’t been there at the time but the place had felt like her just the same. Warm and inviting, like the woman herself. Tonight, though, the place felt different as I made my way over to her. Empty. Hollow.

Just like her.

I tried not to let the tension I was feeling creep into my voice, not wanting to further upset her, but needing to know what was going on. “I hope you’re not angry that Ali sent me. She’s been worried about you. She said she’s been trying to get in touch with you for days and when you didn’t answer, she panicked.”

Another sniff but nothing else.

I edged my way over to the couch, not wanting to crowd her, and took a seat. Her head was down, long blond locks obscuring my view of her face. She was hiding. Something about the gesture scared me. I needed to see her face; it was suddenly very important though I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because I knew a little about the abuse Ali had once suffered at the hands of her ex. Was Talia hiding bruises? The thought sent a shot of rage through my system. If someone hurt her…

“Can you look at me, please?” My voice was soft, disarming.

She didn’t move, just fidgeted with a scrap of paper that she’d plucked from the cushion beside her. I took a second to look around and realized that there were tiny pieces of paper all over the floor at her feet, scattered across the coffee table and end table, some of what I’d thought was tissue wasn’t tissue at all.

“Talia, I came here as a favor to Ali, but frankly, you’re starting to scare me, too. I need you to say something. Please look at me.”

If she didn’t say or do something soon, I was going to go over there and move that curtain of hair myself.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were so soft I wasn’t sure I heard anything at all. I leaned forward, forearms on my knees as I studied her, waiting for something more.

“I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

She spoke louder that time but her voice was off, her words slurred slightly. I looked around the apartment and spied a bottle of scotch on the kitchen counter, originally hidden from view by the raised bar. I was familiar with the brand. It was expensive and strong, a favorite of mine. From where I sat, it looked to be nearly empty. I turned back to her with a frown, poised to ask her about the bottle when I locked eyes with her for the first time.

Son of a bitch.

She’d swept her hair aside, finally revealing her face, and her expression was like a kick to the gut. Jesus. It was like looking at a stranger, none of Talia’s usual spark was there. Her eyes were empty, devoid of any signs of life, flat. Thankfully, a quick scan of her features showed no bruising or obvious injury but that look...

If pain were to take the form of a person, she would be it.

It actually hurt to look at the expression on her face, stole my breath and made my pulse roar in my ears.

I moved without thought, instantly sinking into the cushion beside her and reaching for her hand. She didn’t shy away, didn’t seem to react at all. Her flesh was cold to the touch and I barely resisted the urge to rub her hand between both of mine, something my mother used to do when I was a boy and had been outside playing in the snow. “Talia, what happened? Did someone hurt you? Did you get bad news? What is it?”

She just shook her head, blinking with slow deliberation. Her light brown eyes remained shuttered long after her lids ascended. She looked right through me.

I had to try a different approach. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me but can you tell Ali? Where’s your phone?”

She gestured absently toward the kitchen, unblinking.

It was all I could do to force myself to go retrieve it. I didn’t want to leave her sitting there like that, but she needed to talk to someone and Ali was probably the best bet.

I scoured the countertop but didn’t see the phone. I checked the entire kitchen without luck, and was just about to turn back to ask her if she was sure it was in the kitchen when a large bowl of dry rice caught my attention. On a hunch, I walked over and stuck a hand in the bowl, swirling it through the rice until I found what I was looking for. Talia’s phone.

I tapped the home button as I made my way back to the love seat and found that the ringer was off, the little icon on the lock screen announcing the setting. I flipped the tiny switch on the side of the phone to turn it back on and looked over at Talia. “You got this wet?”

She didn’t look at me. “Dropped it in the sink at the restaurant. It wouldn’t work after that. Gina said to put it in rice.” Her voice was flat and disinterested; monotone. Scary.

I had no idea who Gina was but she was right. The rice had worked. This also explained why she hadn’t been answering anyone’s calls. Although, one look at her told me that she probably wouldn’t have anyway. “You have a bunch of texts and voicemails here, most of them are probably from Ali. Do you want to call her back now?”

She shook her head and reached for the phone. I handed it to her and watched as she flipped the switch on the side to put the phone back on silent, dropping it unceremoniously onto the end table at her side, a few torn bits of paper stirring from the motion and resettling on the floor.

Well, shit. Now what do I do?

“Okay, so you’re not feeling chatty. That’s fine. You can call Ali later.” I cast a glance at the Scotch bottle on the kitchen counter. “How about something to eat? I can have something delivered. Maybe that would make you feel better.” With no way of knowing how much she’d had to drink, the best course of action was to get some food into her, maybe some coffee if she was receptive.

“Not hungry,” she said on a slow exhale, sounding exhausted. “You can fix us a drink, if you want. I’m not much company, though.”

I considered for a minute, wheels turning in my mind. “Tell you what, I’ll go make us a drink but you have to sip slow and talk in between. Doesn’t have to be anything specific, just talk about whatever pops into your head because, if you’re going to sit there in silence, I’ll feel like I’m drinking alone and I hate to drink alone.”

She looked at me then, her eyes showing their first signs of life since my arrival. “I don’t like to drink alone, either.” Her gaze traveled over my face, looking for something I couldn’t fathom. She nodded absently, apparently finding whatever she sought. “I’ll talk but only if it’s a two-way street. No putting me on the spot. And no bullshitting me just to keep me talking. I can spot a con from a mile away.” She turned away muttering. “Usually.”

I was in no position to argue, so I simply nodded and got to my feet, angling toward the kitchen. “Okay, how about we start by you telling me who Gina is. You said she knew what to do to fix your phone. She a friend? Family?” While I verbally tap-danced around the questions I really wanted to ask, I checked the various cabinets looking for glasses.

“She’s the manager at my restaurant and also a friend. She’s worked for me for a couple years, starting as a bartender and working her way up. Not sure how I ever ran the place without her.”

I located two rocks glasses and began pouring the drinks, pausing to take a quick peek in the refrigerator.
Aha.
There was a small vegetable tray on the second shelf that might entice her to eat. I grabbed it along with our glasses, balancing one glass precariously atop the tray on my way back to the living room. “So, Gina is taking care of the restaurant while you... I mean, in your absence? Ali mentioned that you hadn’t been in for a couple of days.”

She reached up and snagged her glass from the tray, avoiding my gaze. “Yeah. I told her that I needed her to take over. I assume Ali has talked to her by now if she knows how long I’ve been out.”

There was guilt in her posture and her tone. I didn’t like that. She was obviously hurting, regardless of the source, and no one was judging her for that. “Ali’s just worried about you. She doesn’t care how long you’ve been away from work. She’s more concerned with the idea that you’re going through something and she can’t be here to help.”

Talia’s shoulders dropped and she took a long swallow of Scotch, saying nothing.

Maybe if she knew just how worried Ali was, she would give in and call her. “You know, she was going to blow off the rest of her contract to come back and check on you.”

Her head jerked up and she stared at me, wide-eyed, as she swayed slightly in her seat. “She can’t do that. That’s a dream job for her. She’s wanted a gig like that all her life.”

“I’m sure that’s true, but she has also been your friend all her life and that takes precedence.” I didn’t want Talia feeling guilty, but she needed to know that people cared about her and just how much they cared. Especially Ali.

“Do you think she would really do that? I don’t want her to lose out on this opportunity because of me.” Her expression had shifted from desolate to fearful in the blink of an eye. She’d never do anything to Ali’s detriment, that much was clear.

I shook my head, placing a hand on her forearm to soothe her. “She absolutely would have, had I not agreed to come here to look in on you. For now she’s staying put, but if she doesn’t hear from one of us very soon, I have no doubt that she will be beating down that door.” I pointed at it for emphasis.

She let out a relieved breath. “Okay.” After taking another sip of her drink, she eyed me warily. “So, you were basically blackmailed into coming here, huh? That sounds like Ali,” she scoffed. “I’m sorry you got roped into this. Not the best way to spend a Friday night is it?” Her brow crinkled as she looked around, momentarily confused. “It is Friday, right?”

The lost expression on her face was so cute, I had to chuckle. “Yes, ma’am. It sure is.” I reached out and offered her the vegetable tray, thankful when she scooped up a few carrots. “And I didn’t have anything planned, so it was really no trouble. Though I would feel better about coming if I thought I had helped you in some way.”

“You did. You got me a drink.” She smirked as she drained the last of the amber liquid. “And you’re about to get me another.”

TWO HOURS AND
several drinks later, we had covered every inane subject known to man, but still hadn’t touched on the source of her troubles. I was trying not to push, waiting for her to come around, but the Scotch had nearly run out and so had the list of ‘safe’ topics.

I was scouring my booze-fogged brain for a tactful way to broach the subject when she startled me by asking, “So, how about we play twenty questions? Something to liven up the conversation. You game?”

Despite the near-constant stream of alcohol, she had been slurring less than when I first arrived. Curious.

“Sure. Who asks the first question?”

She tipped her glass my way. “You’re the guest. You can have the honors.”

I looked pointedly at her glass. “How does someone so small handle so much liquor?”

She followed my gaze and thought for a minute. “Not sure. I guess I have a high tolerance. I usually stick to wine, to be honest, so I don’t know how much of this stuff it should take to get me drunk.” She leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to an uneven whisper. “I don’t even like Scotch but don’t tell Jared that. He’s my liquor distributor at the restaurant, and he gives me a bottle of this stuff every quarter as a gift. I don’t want to hurt his feelings so I gush over how thoughtful he is and then stick the bottle in the cabinet somewhere.”

“Why not just use it at the restaurant? It’s excellent Scotch. It usually sells for a couple hundred dollars.”

She shook her head. “That wouldn’t be right. I couldn’t sell something that was given to me as a gift.”

Excellent answer. I probably would have felt the same way.

She leveled her stare at me. “Your turn to answer.” She pursed her lips, deliberating.

Damn, she has a great mouth.

Where did that come from? I shook myself, trying to get the thought out of my mind. Damn booze made me forget myself for a second there.

“Have you ever cheated on anyone?”

Whoa. That was the last thing I would have guessed she’d ask. “Um, no.”

She eyed me suspiciously. “You don’t sound sure.”

“I was just thrown by the question. I’m positive. I have never in my life cheated on anyone. Ever.” There was an edge to my voice that I couldn’t rein in. It wasn’t anything against her, though. Just a knee-jerk reaction to the topic.

“But you’ve been cheated on. I just saw it on your face.” She said it softly and with a touch of sadness as she watched me with red-rimmed eyes.

I looked away, studying the shredded paper pieces at my feet and studiously ignoring the pang in my chest. “I don’t like the word cheated. To say someone cheated implies that it was a situation where someone might have actually won. Cheaters never win and winners never cheat, right? But that’s not always the case.” I forced my tone to remain unaffected. “Sometimes no one wins.”