Broken: A Bad Boy Romance, page 1
Broken
A Bad Boy Romance
Mia Evans
Copyright © 2021 by Mia Evans
All rights reserved.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
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Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Mia Evans
1
SOPHIA
"Does anyone want to share how they've been feeling this week?" Cody asks, toying with the purple ball in his hands.
Mara, a girl who's only been coming for the last two weeks, raises her hand. She is the only one, so Cody tosses her the ball, which Mara nearly fumbles. When she rights herself in her chair, there is a slight flush on her cheeks. Out of all of us, besides the grief counselors, she looks the happiest to be here.
"This week has actually been pretty good for me," she shares.
"What are some things that have been helping you?" Megan, the other grief counselor, asks.
She smoothes her short curly hair behind her ear and pushes her glasses back on her nose. Between Megan and Cody, I prefer Megan. Cody is too happy all the time. And he acts surprised when the rest of us aren't as excited to be here. If I were to guess, I would bet money that Cody has never lost anyone before. Megan seems like she gets it.
"I've been going for a walk every day."
Angie, the oldest but newest member in our group, snickers. Megan shoots her a look, and Angie tries to stifle it, but it's clear that all of us heard it.
Mara gives her wicked side-eye. "And why do you think that's funny?" she asks.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh at you, but you sound like all of the generic online recommendations for grieving. 'Make sure you get plenty of exercise. Aim for eight hours of sleep a night. Seek professional counseling.' Give me a break," Angie snickers.
"Angie, we respect what people have to say in this group. This is a safe space," Cody says.
Neither Angie nor Mara say anything else. Mara passes the talking ball to me, even though I didn't ask for it. Suddenly, twelve pairs of eyes are trained on me.
I hate it.
I've been going to this support group for a couple of months now, and in that time, I haven't said more than five things. Which is how I like it. I've always hated the spotlight on me. During school, it was at least bearable because I'm book smart. But in this context, no rules, just feelings, and sharing them with a group of people…yea, I'm not so good at that.
"How did you feel last week, Sophia?" Megan asks.
I clear my throat. I know that I could share how I've really been feeling, and no one would judge me for it. We're all here because losing someone has messed up our lives enough to make us seek out stranger's comfort. However, I've never been that person in Group. I'm never the one who brings the heavy, and I don't think now would be a good time to start.
So, instead of telling everyone the truth, I lie.
"Last week was okay," I say, handing the ball off to the girl on my right before anyone can press me for more.
The words almost physically hurt to get out. Last week was anything but fine. Last week was honestly nearly as hard as the first week. Which doesn't make any sense. It should be getting easier. Hunter has been dead for four months. I should be able to make it through most of my days without crying like it's my full-time job.
Amanda, the girl on my right, takes all of the attention from me, which I'm grateful for. She has the balls to be honest. She shares how terrible last week was and how much she misses her brother. He died in a car accident two months ago. He was hit head-on by a drunk driver who ran a red light.
My heart hurts for her.
Amanda being honest inspires a bunch of other people to be honest. Hearing about other people's pain helps. A little. It helps to know that I'm not alone in all of these feelings.
My favorite part about going to this support group is that no one bullshits that the world is happy-go-lucky. Suffering is acknowledged, and I appreciate that. It's the only time in my week that I can admit with other people that this world is unfair, cruel, and downright terrible a lot of the time.
The hour goes by quickly. Before I know it, Cody is clearing chairs and tucking the purple ball into his messenger bag. Megan is off on the sidelines, handing out all of the usual pamphlets. The ones that tell you suicide is not the answer, and neither is substance abuse.
I like when she hands out the pamphlets. She isn't preachy nor judgemental, like Cody. If group members feel like they need a booklet, she just gives it to them without going on with a long rant about everything else they should be doing in their lives.
"See you next week, Sophia," Cody says, two chairs hoisted over his shoulder.
I smile at him, though I'm sure it comes out as a grimace.
Another thing I like about this group — pretty much everyone leaves right away. In another group I tried out once, I felt like I should stay, help clean up, socialize, exchange numbers, all of that. Here, everyone scrambles to go their own ways.
Angie makes a beeline for the double doors. She didn't say anything else after she snickered at what Mara shared.
I wonder what her story is. I wonder how her loved one died. I wonder how long they've been gone.
It's interesting how losing your own person makes that your first thoughts and questions about others. Four months ago, I didn't think about stuff like that. Four months ago, the only losses I had experienced were fish.
But Hunter changed that.
2
THEO
I am just lighting up my blunt when Group lets out.
Perfect timing.
By the time I enjoy this, most people will be gone, and then I can slowly meander out and get Gunther and Crow off my back. They'll tell James that I stayed after. Which will be something he'll share enthusiastically with the public.
He'll probably tell everyone that I am recovering very well from my grief — even being a star example like always by helping clean up after. He'll sound cool, calm, collected. Falsely proud and loving. He's had twelve years to perfect it; he fools everyone now.
I take a long drag, exhaling the smoke slowly. I see most of the same people leaving. Those regulars don't give me a second look anymore. I've never gone into Group and introduced myself, but they must know who I am. Everyone in this city does.
Theodore Fitzgerald.
Stepson to the richest man and mayor of the city — James Fitzgerald.
Son of Amelia Fitzgerald. Sick and on hospice because of cancer.
Brother of Edward Fitzgerald. Deceased. Hanged himself exactly a year ago today.
From what James says about me on TV and in interviews, they must think that I am a brilliant young man who's just lost his way. James has been very open about his plan to get me back on track. They probably know the plan better than I do.
I am on my third puff when I see her. Short, petite, curvy legs, long, brown curly hair, and creamy white skin. She's wearing a simple pair of dark jeans with a white t-shirt and brown sandals on her feet. Her hair is tied up with a pink scrunchie. Loose curls frame the sides of her face.
Even though I've never talked with her, I know her.
This city is small. So people who have killed themselves are big talk.
Sophia Vincent. She's a couple of years younger than me. Her best friend, Hunter Cole, killed herself a couple of months ago.
Usually, you never hear about anyone other than the deceased's family.
Sophia must be able to tell that I'm thinking about her because she turns, and our eyes connect.
I wonder what she thinks when she sees me. She must know who I am too. Maybe it's a mutual understanding? We've both lost people to suicide. Maybe that puts us in some type of exclusive club? Shit, if that wouldn't be the most depressing club in the universe.
Or maybe she's seeing me as the heir to a fortune. Stepson of the king of the city. The way she studies me doesn't give anything up. And it pisses me off.
"Don't you know it's rude to stare?" I ask.
Even though there is no one else in the lobby, she looks behind her as if I must be talking to someone else. When she confirms that there's no one else besides the two of us, her gaze goes back to the same unreadable one it was just moments before. It's infuriating.
She looks shocked, her eyebrows knitting together. She wraps her arms tighter around herself but still doesn't respond.
"Do you talk?" I ask.
It comes out mean. But then again, most of my words do these days.
Finally, something I can read.
Sophia's features turn to anger; her brown eyes get stormy. Her feet are still pointed like she will walk right out the door, but she is also frozen in place. She still doesn't say anything, so I don't either. I take a long drag on my blunt, and she continues to stare at me.
Usually, I would just let it go. I'm used to people staring at me. Being associated with James gets you that. Also, being covered in tattoos like I am, I'm used to it in this small, shitty town. But, the way Sophia stares at me, it's something I can't let go.
The look in her eyes — I have to know more.
I get up from my spot next to the water fountain. With how much I've drunk today, I'm proud of myself for how fluidly I walk over to Sophia. Sophia doesn't move as I get closer to her; the unreadable expression on her face stays the same. As I get closer to her, I can smell her. She smells like strawberries and clean laundry. Complete opposite of my smell of alcohol and weed.
"What's your deal?" I snarl, towering over her. She must not even be five feet.
"You shouldn't be smoking in the library," she deadpans, pointing to my blunt.
I shrug. "I shouldn't, but I do anyway," I say, taking another inhale.
Just like a lot of other things in my life.
As I am exhaling, the support group door is flung open. Cody comes out, his thick messenger bag catching on the door. I snicker as he tries to tug it off, and he looks up at me. His face is definitely easier to read — obvious anger and disgust.
"How many times do I have to tell you that you are not allowed to smoke in the library, Theodore?" he snaps.
"Guess it still hasn't rung a bell," I shrug, flicking the rest of my blunt into the water fountain.
I know that he's touchy about the library because he works here as a librarian part-time. The man's never personally wronged me, but something about him is just so annoying, and I can never pass up on the opportunity to mess with him.
Cody's face gets red. He stomps inside the main library.
"Why did you do that?" Sophia demands.
I smirk, taking in her wide brown eyes and freckled nose. "Every week, Cody and I do the same dance. I go to Group to appease my stepfather. He comes out and catches me smoking in the lobby. I do something to make him even madder. He stomps off and tries to get me in trouble. The head librarian tells him they'll follow up, but they can't because my stepfather is the mayor and a major donator to the library. It's a fun little game."
"You don't go to Group?"
I like the way her eyes trail over me. It makes me feel better about the way my eyes trail over her. Even though pussy hasn't done much for me lately, I don't pass up on opportunities to look over beautiful women. And Sophia certainly is beautiful. Even if she is kind of annoying.
"To my stepfather, I do."
She looks confused. I don't know why I'm entertaining this conversation longer. Sophia and I are clearly from two different worlds, and I should have just kept it like that, but something about talking to her makes me want more.
"James makes me go to this support group every week. He makes two of his assistants trail me to make sure. As long as I go in the doors, to them, I've gone."
"Then why mess with Cody? Couldn't he tell your stepfather you're not actually going?"
"Gotta have fun somehow," I shrug.
Plus, I know that James would never put that much effort into making sure I actually go. As long as he looks like the perfect stepfather to the public, he doesn't care.
"I should probably get going," Sophia says, turning for the door.
The expression in her eyes isn't where I want it to be. I'm used to girls throwing themselves at me, but Sophia couldn't seem further from that. I think the fact that she doesn't is one reason I pursue her as she walks to the library's big metal doors. She shoves through them, and I squint at the bright sun.
To the far left of the parking lot, I can see Gunther and Crow parked in one of my James' BMWs. Gunther is smoking a cigarette. The way he takes long, slow drawls makes my fists clench. I want to smack the cigarette out of his hand and smash his head on the steering wheel.
Crow doesn't look any less cocky. Even though he is wearing thick black sunglasses that block most of his face, I can tell that he is smirking at me. They've been looking at me the same ever since I was a child.
They're expecting me to get onto my motorcycle and trail me to my apartment like they do every week. Then, they'll report back to James.
Fuck that. I follow Sophia down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.
"What are you doing?" she asks, her eyes widening as I fall into step beside her.
I laugh and run my hand through my messy black hair, ignoring her question. It's obvious. "You don't drive?" I ask.
We come to a crosswalk, and Sophia presses the button. She doesn't seem uncomfortable having me here, but she doesn't seem pleased either.
"Yes, I drive." She rolls her eyes. "But I walk to Group every week."
"Why?"
She sighs like she's even more annoyed I'm asking her another question. If that's what it takes to keep getting reactions out of her, I'll keep asking more and more questions. Better than the blank face she was giving me in the library.
She seems to be toying with the idea of what she wants to say, and the silence is killing me. Just when I am about to ask her again, she opens her mouth.
"It's good to get outside," she shrugs, stepping into the crosswalk.
I shove next to her as a car comes close to nicking her. She doesn't even seem startled by it. I glare at the driver over Sophia's shoulder.
A young high school kid. They are laughing, oblivious that they almost hit Sophia, but when our eyes connect, the happy, carefree expression disappears. I hold the stare the entire time we walk in front of their car. By the way the kid's face pales, I can tell he won't make that mistake again.
Being able to affect people that way pleases me. Even though James paints me out to be some plain, all-American boy who's a gentleman, I love that most people in this town can see me for exactly what I am.
Someone to be afraid of.
3
