Perfectly Broken (12 page)

“Well, I might just swipe a slice later,” Marion said, “and chase it down with a shot of Cuervo.”

“Mom!” Reed shook his head in embarrassment, as Peyton and his mother laughed.

Marion could tell Peyton was a good one, not like the others. Her mind and heart racing, she wondered if Peyton could be the one she’d been waiting for — and the one Reed had been waiting for, too. She loved her son but like all Southern mothers, kept a mental checklist of necessary improvements. A good girl was at the top of the list. She ran her hands through her son’s hair. “Still need a haircut.”

“I’m not your Catholic school boy anymore, Mom. Plus, Peyton likes my hair a little long and messy.” Reed pecked his mother on the cheek.

Peyton smiled. Gram had always told her to find a guy who loved his mother.
If he treated his mother right, he’d treat his girl right, too.

Marion saw a gleam in her son’s eyes. She’d never seen it before with any other girl. She’d be willing to give on the hair if she could get grandchildren soon, after a wedding of course. “Well, if Peyton likes it, then OK. But you better have something else planned for Valentine’s Day besides this, young man.”

“Well,” Reed said, his face turning soft, “I just....”

Marion turned to Peyton. “Have you noticed how he does that?”

“Does what?” Reed asked.

“Oh yes,” Peyton said, “I noticed that right away.”

“Noticed what?”

“Good,” Marion said. “Don’t let him pull that on you.”

“Pull what?”

Marion pinched his cheeks. “The face.” Reed darted his eyes to Peyton, clearly enjoying the sparring match with his mother.

“I don’t make a face.”

“You do,” Peyton said, winking at Marion. “Whenever you sense you’re in trouble, you make the most innocent-looking face.”

“I do not,” Reed insisted. “Besides, you should talk with that pouting little lip of yours.” Peyton stuck out her bottom lip, and Reed pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around her. “Don’t kill me, Mom, but I forgot it was Valentine’s Day.”

Marion shook her head. “You and your father. He forgot, too.” Reed’s arms fell to his side, and he lowered his head, always hating being compared to his father.

“I wasn’t upset,” Peyton said. “I like bringing pies over here on Valentine’s Day.”

“I wasn’t upset, either,” Marion said. “I’ve gotten used to it, I suppose. But make sure my son takes you out somewhere nice to make it up to you.”

“Is Dad going to make it up to you?” Reed snarked.

Marion shooed her hands at him. “You know your father. He’s not exactly romantic.”

“We better get going,” Reed said and took Peyton’s hand.

“Sure, sweetheart. But you must bring Peyton to dinner sometime soon. Or maybe to the Mardi Gras ball?” Reed squeezed Peyton’s hand. “You’re still coming, right?”

“Yeah, Mom, I told you I would.”

“Good, then I’ll get an extra ticket for Peyton.”

He squeezed her hand again.
Please stop talking
.

Peyton felt a lump in her throat, wondering why he’d never mentioned the ball to her, hoping it wasn’t because he didn’t want to take her, hoping it wasn’t because he was already taking someone else. But she wasn’t going to make a scene in front of his mother in the kitchen of Ronald McDonald House. “Oh, that’s OK,” she said, swallowing hard. “I’m catering something that night anyway.” Reed glanced at her, but she looked away.

“That’s too bad,” Marion said. “I’ll get the ticket just in case things change.”

* * *

“I was going to ask you,” Reed said, breaking the ice pulling into Peyton’s driveway.

Peyton shrugged her shoulders. “It’s fine.”

“Then why are you pouting?”

“I’m not. It’s fine.”

“I don’t want to go myself.” He put the Range Rover in park.

“I told you it’s fine.” Peyton looked away from him, seeing his hands crunch the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.

“No, I hurt your feelings. That’s not fine.”

“You don’t want me to go. We don’t need to discuss it.”

Reed’s eyes fell to her mouth. More than anything, he wanted to end this now — their first fight, if it was even that — so he could get to her lips. “That’s not it. My dad is going to be there. I was just going to pop in and out.” He took a hand off the wheel and took hers. “I want you with me all the time.”

Peyton rubbed his hand and pushed a smile through her pout. “I’m sorry.”

He drew her towards him and kissed her, giving her bottom lip a gentle tug with his teeth. He ran his fingers through her hair then moved his attention to her neck, when suddenly a loud buzzing sound interrupted, his phone vibrating in the cup holder. Their eyes flew to the screen flashing a single name.
Heather
. Reed quickly hit decline, as Peyton reached for the door handle.

“Wait!” Reed cried. “That was no one.”

“Right, she just happens to be calling on Valentine’s Day.” Peyton opened the door and got out. “And I thought you deleted all your numbers?”

“I did,” he said, following her onto her porch. “I mean, everyone but her.”

“I see.”

“It’s not like that. I’ve known Heather forever.” Reed gripped the back of his neck. “Our fathers are friends. She and I grew up together.”

“It’s fine,” Peyton said, opening the front door and flicking on some lights.

“Another
fine
? That’s like the fourth one tonight, huh?” Reed followed her into the den, not sure if this was now their second fight, or a continuation of the first. “‘Fine’ is just a polite way of saying ‘fuck off.’”

Peyton turned around and placed her hands firmly on her hips, looking him up and down. “If I want you to fuck off, I’ll say so. I’ll say it exactly like that.” He took a step back. Peyton dropped her hands, settled herself, and exhaled. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. You get a booty call on Valentine’s Day from some girl. What am I supposed to say to that?”

“I’m not seeing anyone else,” Reed pleaded. “The last woman I was with was a couple nights before we met. I promise you.”

Peyton chewed her bottom lip, wanting to believe him. “But why is she calling you on Valentine’s Day?”

Reed opened his mouth to respond, not wanting to lie but not sure what to say. He could tell Peyton the truth that Heather was his Valentine’s Day fuck buddy, or he could say he has no idea why women do the things they do. He saw Peyton staring at him with her head cocked to the side, clearly curious what he’d come up with. Thankfully, her house phone rang.

“That bitch better not be calling my house looking for you.”

Reed chuckled. “I think I like the jealous possessive side of you. It’s hot.”

She answered the phone. “Um, hi,” she said, clenching the phone and silently cursing karma. “Now’s not the greatest time.” Reed looked at her curiously, hearing the nervousness in her voice. “No, I’m not alone.”

Reed mouthed, “Who’s on the phone?” Peyton shook her head. He nodded he’d give her some space and began to stroll around her den, impressed by the size of Peyton’s flatscreen TV. It was at least 55 inches, maybe more. He could picture watching Saints games at her place.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Peyton said. “Why aren’t you with Stephanie?” The words flew out before Peyton could stop them. She looked up to find Reed leaning against her fireplace, his jaw set and hands in his pockets. She gave Reed a quick smile, but it didn’t work.

Reed mouthed, “Hang up.”

“I got distracted for a second,” Peyton said, holding up a finger for one minute. “What did you say, Griffin?” She saw Reed’s face turn red.

“Get rid of him,” Reed said. Peyton held out a finger again and took a deep breath.

Reed gnashed his teeth. He thought to raise his voice or hang up the phone but didn’t want to make a scene in her house. He left the fireplace, his blood boiling, and walked to her back door, opening out onto an exterior patio, overlooking a courtyard garden with a church pew, a small fountain, and an array of potted succulents.

“Actually, yeah, Griffin, it is someone you know.” She paused before speaking his name. “Reed Langston.”

Reed couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Get rid of him, Peyton, or put him on speaker. I’ll talk to him.”

She shook her head and turned her attention back to Griffin. “Yes, I’m serious. He’s
in
my house
on
Valentine’s Day. And you don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.”

That damn word again
.

“Yes, I’ve heard all the stories about him.” Peyton sat down at her kitchen island, the perfect spot for someone feeling all alone and surrounded by crazy bull sharks. “I don’t need you to recite them to me, Griffin.”

Reed shot to the kitchen, knowing Griffin had some dirt on him but even more on his father — things he never wanted Peyton to know. He took a seat next to her, trying to hold it together.

“Enough!” Peyton snapped, her voice nearly throwing Reed from his stool. “This is none of your business, Griffin! Go fix your own relationship!” She hung up the phone.

Reed looked at her with cold, hard eyes. “So he’s fighting with Stephanie now. Still think he doesn’t want you?”

“You stop, too!” Peyton barked, tossing the phone on the counter. “He doesn’t want me. He just knows your reputation and doesn’t want me to get hurt.”

“Whatever it is, I really don’t like him calling you.”

“I really don’t like Heather calling you.”

“There’s a difference — I didn’t pick up, and you did.”

“I didn’t know it was him!”

“You didn’t have to talk to him for so long.”

Peyton released a deep breath. “Griffin and I are close friends. That isn’t going to change. But I don’t care to hear his opinion about my dating life.” She reached for his hand. “I won’t talk to him about you or listen to any of his crap.”

“Thank you, but can you not talk to him at all?” Reed asked, flashing his sweet, innocent face.

“Can you not talk to Heather at all?”

“I haven’t been talking to her, and I don’t want to.”

Peyton wrapped her arms around him. “I won’t talk to Griffin for a few weeks until he accepts I’m with you. How’s that?”

“How about never again? That dude hates me, and I don’t particularly like him, either.”

Peyton lowered her forehead onto his chest. “Tell me what this is all about.”

“He was always just so damn perfect, even though he’s fake.”

“Griffin’s not fake. What are you talking about?”

“Back in high school, everyone thought he could do no wrong.”

Peyton laughed. “We’re reliving high school now?”

“I’m not reliving anything. I’m just telling you the way it was. He was perfect.” Reed smiled. “And I had a slightly different reputation.”

“I bet you did.”

“And I slept with his girlfriend, too.”

“You what?” Peyton cried.

Reed’s smile grew bigger. “He deserved it.”
Actually, it was the least he deserved
. Griffin spread a bunch of bullshit about Reed’s family — though much of it true. “Hey, it’s not my fault Griffin doesn’t know how to keep a woman happy.” Peyton rolled her eyes, as he captured her in his arms. “But let’s focus on us. It’s Valentine’s Day, and I have girlfriend for the first time, I think.”

Peyton’s whole body lit up. “And I have a boyfriend, I think.”

“Damn right. So no more talk about Heather or Griffin. But it was kind of funny he called you after Heather called me, huh?”

“Not really. It’s fine.”

“
Fine
?” He tickled her. “I think I figured out what kind of pie you are.”

Peyton grinned. “What kind?”

“Humble pie.”

REED KNEW IT
probably wasn’t what he should be doing, but he and Jeremiah laughed their asses off all morning on the paintball course. Reed had borrowed Bret’s rapid-fire paintball gun, which he let Jeremiah use, and returned fire as best he could with the shitty rental gun, which sadly launched bullets in a harmless rainbow trajectory. It wasn’t a fair fight, but Reed got a kick out of seeing Jeremiah have a good time.

By the time the games were over, they’d worked up quite an appetite. Reed knew just the place to refuel before taking Jeremiah home. They opened the door to Adelaide’s and heard the little bell jingle.

“What are we doing
here
?” Jeremiah asked, his voice just touching puberty. “It’s all pink and girly.”

“I know. My girlfriend is the owner.” Jeremiah eyed Peyton behind the counter and nodded his approval to Reed. “Behave yourself.”

Peyton looked at them approaching the counter, their clothes covered in paint. “It looks like you guys had fun.” Reed kissed her on the cheek before introducing her to Jeremiah. “Nice to meet you¸” she said. “I’ve heard all about you.” Jeremiah smiled politely.

But Reed had hardly told her everything. Jeremiah was born and raised in the New Orleans housing projects, a place known for nightly murders, gang bangers, and drug deals gone bad — things never featured in glitzy national advertisements touting the city. Jeremiah never met his father, and his mother died when he was three. Since then, he’d lived with his young aunt, who nurtured and protected him as best she could, but knew she needed some help, particularly in finding a proper male influence. A few months ago, through some social service channels, the aunt came upon Marion Langston, who volunteered her son to mentor Jeremiah, hoping it would be good practice for him.

At first Reed resisted the idea, wondering what he had to offer a young black kid, but he eventually agreed to do it, always hating to disappoint his mother. So every few weeks, he touched base with Jeremiah and grew to like his time with the kid, taking him to the movies or lunch or his soccer game at Langston Field, a playground Reed and his family developed in the aftermath of the storm. As much as Reed enjoyed their time together, he also enjoyed taking Jeremiah home. He never considered himself father material, so his mother’s idea was actually the perfect arrangement.

Peyton put her arm around Jeremiah, letting him choose whatever pie he wanted. The guys then took a seat, and Peyton brought over the slice of cream pie Jeremiah had picked, and of course, the devil’s food chocolate praline for Reed. She turned back towards the counter, and Jeremiah followed her with his eyes.