Torn (Torn Series, Book 1) Read online

  His arms surround me. They tighten. Kaden isn’t a man to be told no. I’ll pay for this. It’s not because he’s in love with me; it’s because I’ve become an addiction to him. It’s almost enough to make me stay. To throw away my other life.

  I still pull away. And he lets go. When I look at him, his face is a mask. There’s no expression to show me what he’s thinking or feeling. I wonder when he’ll have enough, when he’ll replace me with someone who will do exactly what he wants.

  Gathering my clothes, I close the bathroom door and dress. He says nothing to me as I walk from his house. I’m going home, back to my husband, back to a place where I don’t know if I belong anymore. I don’t know where I belong. I may never know.

  Chapter Two

  Now and Then

  I’ll never forget the day I met Kaden Kendrick. He arrived on the tail of a powerful storm — thunder, lightning, one hundred mile per hour winds. The earth was washed clean for his entrance into my life. One moment the world seemed empty, normal . . . predictable. The next is the reason for my story.

  Time stopped having meaning on that day one year ago. Time was altered. My entire reality would be changed forever.

  My life was in a rut. I was twenty-nine years old and had been married for ten years to my high school sweetheart. I went to work, came home, barely talked to my husband, watched some television, and went to bed. I did this over and over again. I didn’t know how to escape, how to change my situation. No other options seemed feasible. I couldn’t leave my husband. There wasn’t a valid reason to do so. I was stuck.

  And then one day I was invited to a company for a job interview. And everything changed.

  I can’t tell you about that change until I first tell you about who I was, how I met my husband, and the rollercoaster ride the two of us have been on.

  In order for you to understand me, you need to know me. You need to know who I am. I’m not a cheater. I’m not a monster. I’m lonely. I’ve been lonely for so very long.

  Each morning when I look in the mirror, I’m miserable with the reflection gazing back at me. I’m lost. I’m alone. I’m scared. But Kaden seems to know me. He seems to know what I need. Much more than my husband does.

  The early part of my childhood was miserable. My father did the best he could, but he was a man, raising a young girl on his own. He also thought we should all go back to the Stone Age where we claimed our land, each person living by the honor system.

  Fight the power. That was, and still is, my father’s belief. I don’t know how I grew up thinking so much differently than he does. Maybe it’s because I didn’t like being poor. Maybe because I had dreams. Maybe because I wanted more.

  You must be confused. I can imagine, but please bear with me. This story is hard for me to tell. I feel as if I’m letting something go by sharing with you, as if I’ll lose more of myself than I’ve already lost, as if you might take that final piece from me.

  My name is Miranda Dagwood. I’m nothing spectacular, standing about five feet, four inches tall, long dark hair, hazel eyes. I haven’t stepped on a scale in over a year, but I’m neither fat nor skinny. I’m neither proud nor ashamed of my body. It is what it is. I wouldn’t be picked for the cover of Vogue magazine, but I also wouldn’t be asked to buy a second seat on an airplane. I’m comfortable with the reflection that gazes back in the mirror.

  I stopped caring what people thought about me around the time I turned fifteen. Those girls — you know the ones — the horrible popular girls in school, who have money and power. Yes, teenagers have power. What I didn’t realize then was that their power is limited. It doesn’t last beyond the gates of high school. They won’t hold that power when they walk into the real world.

  They get to be at the top of the food chain for a few years, and then life has a way of knocking them down when they’re no longer in the protective pack they made during those formidable years.

  But they managed to make my life a living hell. I even tried suicide once. How had I given them that much power over me? I don’t know the answer. All I know is they made me so miserable I once took an entire bottle of pills.

  Luckily, or some would say, unluckily, I was found by my dad, who rushed me to the hospital where my stomach was pumped. The sight of tears in my father’s eyes shamed me. I never tried anything so stupid again. I realized what taking my life would’ve done to him. I would’ve hurt him much more than anyone could possibly hurt me.

  At fifteen I realized those girls didn’t define who I was. I found a job, bought new clothes, and walked through those school halls with my head held high. When I looked in the mirror, the reflection staring back started to have confidence.

  I wasn’t the most beautiful girl in the school, but it didn’t matter. I was unique, talented, and had something to offer the world. They weren’t allowed to take that away from me. They weren’t allowed to hold power over me. My life began that year. Once I started to truly live nothing would ever be the same again. Doesn’t it happen that way for most people? Don’t they wake up one day and realize they are more than what others think they are? I’ve talked to many people and most say they had that same flash of insight. The ages always differ, but the flash is still there.

  I was at a youth activity the day Mason appeared over the top of a hill. I loved the people I went to youth group with. I’d finally found my home — the place I was accepted. The leaders were a great influence in my life, though it took me a long time to appreciate what they were doing for me.

  We were riding in the dunes; church members had donated their expensive four-wheelers for us to play with. I’d just gotten my hair done and felt confident, beautiful even. That was a first for me. There I was, standing next to my friends, my hair blowing in the breeze. No way was I tying it back, even though the coastal wind whipped it in my face. It was done up to perfection — in my humble opinion. And for a girl who didn’t dress up much, I was quite proud.

  One minute the world rotated normally, and the next it was out of sync. I didn’t notice when it happened, when that second of time froze. I barely noticed him at first. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. I didn’t believe in myself enough to think I could have one.

  Mason Kendrick had recently moved into town. I didn’t know him, didn’t necessarily care to know him. But he noticed me, and he seemed to only want me. Later this would be the thing that made me want him — need him — rely on him.

  “Miranda, check him out,” Audrey whispered as she shot her elbow into my side a bit too roughly.

  “Ouch.” I turned to glare at my best friend, the person I cared so much about.

  “Pain is beauty. Now suck it up and turn to your left,” she said with urgency.

  Of course I turned the wrong way.

  “Your other left,” she hissed.

  I smiled before glancing over my shoulder.

  Our eyes connected. He was nothing special. He appeared to be a little under six feet and was kind of scrawny, looking like he was only just beginning to have muscles. His light blue eyes fastened to mine, capturing me for the briefest of moments, before I pulled away and discretely checked him out through the corner of my eyes.

  I’d never really been interested in boys. I considered them friends, nothing more. I enjoyed getting sweaty while playing a game of two-on-two basketball. I ended up with a bloody nose at least twice a month as an elbow connected during a rough game. I’d spit it out and continue playing. I liked boys — as friends; they were far less catty than girls.

  My newfound friends thought that was strange. They didn’t understand why I wasn’t pouring through magazines like the rest of them or making sure my hair and makeup was perfect before leaving the house. I discovered I liked doing my hair and putting on a little mascara, but I didn’t feel the need to do it daily.

  As a matter of fact, I’d much rather throw on a pair of sweats and an old hoodie
and call it a day. That thirty minutes of extra sleep was much more important to me than primping in front of a bathroom mirror. I’m sure my dad was relieved as we didn’t have the money for all the things normal teenage girls liked and wanted.

  I dismissed Mason within the first minute of inspection. If he was a part of our youth activity, I’d see him. Of course I’d be polite, but let the tittering girls fluttering their eyelashes have at him.

  I wasn’t interested.

  “He’s coming over,” Audrey said, her look almost panicked.

  “So what?” I told her and she looked at me as if I was an alien. So I shrugged. “Say hello,” I added, trying to appease her. Our friendship was unique and I wasn’t exactly sure how we had become and stayed best friends. I was, and still am, truly grateful for it though.

  Audrey is one of those girls everyone likes. She has a natural beauty about her that simply shines. She’d been one of the few who accepted me, even when I came to school in rags. Since the moment we became friends, we had been inseparable.

  We’d even made a vow that if ever we needed to bury a body, we’d help the other and never unseal our lips. Some day that might actually need to happen.

  “Hey. I’m Mason. We just moved here.”

  Audrey and I turned and looked at the boy who’d finally reached us. Audrey seemed to be tongue-tied, so I spoke for both of us.

  “Good to meet you, Mason. I’m Miranda, and this is Audrey. Where’d you move from?”

  “California. My dad died last year and my mom needed a change. She knew someone here, so this is where we landed,” he said, instantly invoking our sympathy.

  “I’m so sorry,” Audrey said as she reached out and put her hand on his arm.

  “Oh, it’s no big deal. The guy was a prick. I never saw him. However, when I hit eighteen next year, I inherit the corporation. My worthless uncle is running it right now. My mom thinks I should sell it to him and let it go. I might. Depends how I feel,” he said a bit smugly.

  “Oh,” I said, quickly losing interest in speaking to him. He was one of those kids. A spoiled rich boy. No, thank you.

  “It’s great to meet you, Mason,” Audrey piped up, seeming to have missed his arrogant tone. I couldn’t pretend to be interested in what he had to say so I walked away, quickly jumping on the opportunity to grab one of the four-wheelers and drive away as fast as I could.

  As the wind whipped through my new hairdo, destroying the efforts of my cousin who’d spent hours on it, I smiled. I loved the freedom of flying over the dunes. I had a lot to smile about then because I didn’t know my world had already started spinning in a different direction — in a direction that would lead me down a road changing me forever.

  Chapter Three

  Now

  Taking a walk down memory lane is never an easy thing to do. I shake off the thoughts of when I’d met my husband. That had been a different time in my life. I’d needed him more than I’d realized. He’d been good for me.

  But I think it’s possible to truly fall in love, to give a person a piece of yourself, to share a life with them . . . and then slowly watch it fade. It’s sad when that happens, but it does happen.

  The guilt that consumes us in these moments is what makes us stay. We made a vow to that person. We created a life with them. We have history and mutual friends. We know the ins and outs of that person. But does that mean we stay even when we know neither of us is happy?

  I think it’s unfair to both the person we have loved for so long and to ourselves. I can’t love Mason anymore. We don’t see each other. When I say that I mean we don’t see anything about each other. We live separate lives.

  Mason is an incredible artist. The creations he makes are inspired. But even that is hard for me to see now. Where once there were vivid colors, now I’m seeing black and white. When did this happen?

  I slowly step from the bus a block away from my house. The sun has long set. It’s late. I walk into the house and hear music playing in his studio. I set my purse down and stand in the kitchen, looking at the lawn through the large window above the sink.

  I hate this neighborhood. I hate my life. I remember the day we moved into this house. Mason carried me over the threshold, both of us excited. We were beginning a new chapter in our lives. His large hands cradled me close, and I was so excited. I barely looked around as he made a beeline for the bedroom.

  We made love three times. Yes, we’d had sex for years, but we were now married and there was a frenzy in our lovemaking that night. There was excitement for that entire first year.

  We are warned the honeymoon phase won’t last forever. We know this. We take classes at school and learn about it. They tell us about the different phases of love. But the honeymoon phase ended, and we didn’t slip into the next phase of our relationship. We just settled. We each had things to do, and we somehow forgot each other along the way.

  I don’t know how long I stand at the sink looking out over the perfectly manicured lawn. Somehow I notice the music clicking off, but it barely registers in my mind. And then the fridge opens.

  I turn and see Mason standing there, pulling out a cold bottle of beer. I glance at him. He really is an attractive man. He was so young when we met. Three years older than I was and just starting to develop muscles.

  Now he’s incredibly fit and has grown a few more inches. His paint-stained T-shirt hugs his muscled arms and flat stomach. His jeans mold over his butt and thighs. His feet are bare. They normally are when he works. He barely looks at me as he sits at the breakfast bar.

  “Hello, Mason,” I say. There’s no kiss, no hug, no excitement at seeing each other.

  “How was work?” he asks, almost absently.

  “It was fine,” I tell him.

  I suddenly feel the need to cry. I don’t know why. It isn’t that I’m sad. I don’t feel much of anything really. Maybe I should feel guilty. What if he was the one having an affair? What would that do to me? I don’t think I’d care. That makes me feel even sadder. “How about you?” I finally ask.

  “I have a show in a few weeks, so I’ve been trying to get all the pieces done,” he tells me. He isn’t looking at me. He sips on his beer as he glances through his phone. He doesn’t acknowledge the device when he’s in his art studio. A tornado could sweep through and he wouldn’t notice. He gets lost in his work. That used to be enduring to me. Now it annoys me.

  “That’s good,” I tell him. I move to the fridge and grab my own bottle of beer. I sit down, not on the stool next to him, but one seat away. I don’t want our legs to rub together, don’t want to be here with him. My heart is back with Kaden. I close my eyes for a moment and feel a fluttering in my stomach.

  Should I tell Mason I’m leaving? Should I walk away? That would be best for both of us. Isn’t it better to simply rip off the bandage? I’m not sure.

  He finishes his beer, then turns to me and smiles. It’s that boyish smile I’d once fallen in love with. I grin back, almost feeling as if it’s a real smile. I feel my fingers twitch with the need to reach up and caress the five-o-clock shadow on his strong jawline.

  But my hand falls away as he stands. There’s still something there, a small thing that makes my heart flutter. That’s why I don’t leave him, that’s what keeps me here. He moves to the garbage and tosses his bottle then passes by me, stopping almost as an afterthought.

  He bends down and kisses my cheek. The tears sting even more.

  “I’m going to work late tonight,” he says. And then he’s gone.

  I sit alone with nothing more than my turbulent thoughts running through my mind. I don’t know how long I stay at that counter, sipping on my beer before I finally move. I’m not cooking tonight. Mason will forget to eat if I don’t feed him.

  I don’t care.

  The weight of the world feels as if it’s resting on my shoulders. I go to the bedro
om I’ve shared with Mason for the past ten years and strip my clothes away before getting into the shower.

  I go to bed. It takes a long time for me to fall asleep. But Mason never comes to me. That is probably for the best.

  Chapter Four

  Then

  A week passed from the day I first met Mason. My life didn’t change; it remained boringly normal. I passed by him in the halls, barely noticing the new boy in school. I heard people talking about him, but that wasn’t anything unusual in a small town with an even smaller school. He was the new kid — very memorable. Of course people were going to talk about him.

  Rumors quickly spread that he knew numerous forms of martial arts, and he was a black belt who could take on full-grown men. It was also no secret he had money, especially when he drove to school on the first day in his brand new Mercedes.

  I wanted to avoid him. I soon realized that wasn’t going to be possible.

  He gave me a week before launching a full-on attack. It was a silent attack, in the form of friendship, so I never knew what hit me. At first it was a quick hello as we passed each other, his bright blue eyes managing to connect with mine every single time.

  Then it progressed, and he was suddenly sitting next to me in English, leaning over, his arm brushing mine as he asked for help with an assignment. Of course, I was an excellent student and couldn’t refuse to help him.

  Much to my surprise and dismay, I liked him. He made me laugh with his witty comments and quick humor. He was soon holding court at lunchtime, keeping the crowd mesmerized with his adventures from California.

  He was good — oh so good.

  I began falling for him, but I’d yet to realize it. If I had been aware of the spell he was weaving over me, I would’ve run, run as fast as I could in the opposite direction. I didn’t want to fall in love with him. I didn’t even like him. My heart would soon take over though, and that’s where complications set in.