A Little Broken (The Little Things #5)

by Kelsie Rae

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask. Reaching up, he dabs at the corner of my mouth with his thumb before dropping his hand back to his side. “Because I’m pretty sure you’re mean enough to yourself for the both of us.”

“When did it happen?” he asks. Fiddling with my ring, I answer, “A lifetime ago.” And it’s funny. Because Pax probably thinks I’m fudging the numbers on purpose or keeping shit vague to keep him in the dark, but in all reality? It’s the truest statement I’ve ever made. I’m not that girl anymore. But I don’t know who this one is, either. It’s like my life has been split in two. With Archer and without. And damn, if it doesn’t hurt.

“You don’t have to answer.” “I love the idea of him,” I whisper. “And maybe that’s all it ever was because, like I said, he never returned any of those feelings, but…I guess I’m a sucker for an underdog story, and knowing Archer will never get his…moment in the spotlight or whatever, it sucks. And it isn’t fair. And I guess, for a girl who grew up reading and absorbing as many happily-ever-afters as she could, it’s a hard pill to swallow.”

“So what’s your point, Pax?” I ask. “Points,” he clarifies. “I have multiple.” I chuckle softly. “And they are?” “One, it’s okay for someone to make a lasting impression.” My teeth dig into the inside of my cheek. “And two?” “Two, there’s nothing wrong with taking your time to appreciate something, even if it’s a single note played over years. Honestly, there’s beauty in it. With celebrating something to the fullest. With accepting the beauty that something is, even if it’s as small as a single note or chord. And you can take your time, Birthday Girl. You can take your time and appreciate it for what it is and how it makes you feel. You. Not anyone else.”

“And when the composer decides it’s time for a new note?” I whisper. “Then, I think that’s worth celebrating, too. But the cool thing is, you’re the composer for this song, Tate. You and only you. You get to decide when you’re ready to move on, to let go, to choose when a new chord is played and what that chord is. Your sister, and her fiance, and Rory? They’re composing their own songs, but even if they’re at a different pace or in different keys, it doesn’t take away from yours.”

“Thank you,” I finally whisper. “Anytime.” He grabs my knee and squeezes. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll learn to appreciate the new note, too. Whenever you’re ready to play it.”

“Tatum, I like you,” he murmurs. “I like your spunk. I like your face”—he nudges my head up, forcing me to look at him—“and your hair.” His hand trails down my length. “I like your smile and your tenacity.” He lets the ends of my hair go. “I like you drunk. I like you sober.” Squatting down, he kneels in front of me, wedging himself between my thighs as I sit on the edge of the bed. “I like you, and I think you might like me, too.” A shy smile plays at the edge of his mouth, and I swear it’s directly connected to the stupid organ in my chest. “Hang out with me today. Or this evening or tomorrow or…whenever. I’ll take whatever time you’re willing to give.”

She joins in, the lightness of her laugh acting like a cool glass of water on a hot day.

And it’s funny. Seeing how careful he’s acting. It’s as if he knows exactly how easily I could be scared away if he doesn’t play his cards right. Joke’s on him. After a surprise like this, he’s holding a royal flush. The question is, does he know it?

“Yeah, there’s only one problem.” “What’s the problem?” I ask. “Coop’s a flirt.” I smirk. “So?” “So, he’s a flirt, and I’m willingly introducing him to a girl who isn’t mine. Does that sound like a bright idea to you?”

I can’t help but notice the way their souls match. Not entirely. But little things. Tiny, seemingly insignificant similarities. Or maybe I’m reaching. Maybe I’m desperate to replace Archer. Maybe I’m desperate to justify my connection with Pax.

“Pax,” I whisper. “I’m not…I’m not the girl you think I am, and the thought of ruining whatever perception you have of me, only to leave you disappointed, it’s…it’s more than I can take.” “Not gonna disappoint me, Tatum.” “You don’t know that.” “I do. It isn’t possible to disappoint someone with no expectations. Only a chance. That’s all I’m asking for.”

Give me this. So, I do. And instead of fighting it, fighting him, I give in, letting go for the first time in…ever. And it feels strange. And scary. And warm. And almost…right. Because I can give him this. I can give him my body. I can give him my time. I can give him anything he wants. Anything but my heart. Because the stupid organ in my chest? It doesn’t belong to me. Hasn’t belonged to me since I was a little girl, and even though I’d do anything to get it back so I could give it to someone else, I don’t think I can.

“Fuck, Birthday Girl,” he growls. “You have no idea how pretty you look taking me like this. Spread out beneath me. Your tits bouncing. Your hair in the sand. The fire dancing off your skin.”

Giving my body to him again. But I don’t care. Not in this moment. Because it’s like he said, if this is all I can give him, he can have it. He can have all that’s left. Every piece of me.

You gonna run this time, Birthday Girl? “It’s what I do,” I admit. “Then I guess I’ll have to invest in some running shoes, ‘cause I’m sure as shit not gonna let you get away again.”

He did something really thoughtful last night. Honestly, it had you written all over it. You were always thoughtful. You were always good at paying attention to the little details no one else would notice. He does it, too. Pays attention. Takes note. Cares. He cares, Arch. He cares about me. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.

“So cocky,” she notes, lifting her chin. It’s a silent request. A tiny olive branch. A modicum of proof that she wants more, and I’d be a fool to do anything but give in. Pretty sure I’d give her anything, if she only asked for it.

“Gotta love when a solid origin story kicks you in the ass, am I right?”

It’s been two weeks. Two weeks since I love you first crossed my mind. Two weeks since I looked down at Tatum in my shirt, the ocean rolling in behind her, the smell of warm, buttery lobster rolls filtering through the air, and I knew she was it for me. Two weeks since Tatum kissed me, pouring every unspoken feeling into it until I nearly fell on my ass and proposed right then and there.

She looks petrified. Like she’s seen a ghost. I wipe my hands along my jeans, caught between a rock and a hard place. I want to fix this. I need to fix this. But how? What do I say? How do I tell her that I impulsively, and a hundred percent accidentally, stole a piece of her. A piece she may or may not have been willing to give. Scratch that. A piece she wasn’t willing to give. If she was, she would’ve told me herself. Instead, I took the opportunity from her, and she’ll never get it back.

That journal contains my deepest, darkest secrets. And even though I know he didn’t have enough time to dive into every page, knowing he had time to dive into at least one and still stick around is cathartic, almost. Like maybe I’m enough, broken pieces and all.

I don’t know how he does it. How he can make me want him like this. Physically. Emotionally. I wasn’t kidding when I said I missed him. I missed him a lot. And being near him again? It’s like a drug. One I’m too weak to stay away from. Maybe it’s time for a new note.

The thought flutters through me before I have a chance to stop it, leaving me a little anxious, but also at peace because if I know anything about the man in front of me? He’s worth it all.

“You shouldn’t have to worry about triggering me. No one should have to worry about triggering anyone. It’s juvenile and stupid⁠—” “Not. Stupid,” I seethe. “Stop belittling yourself or your feelings. Do you understand me?”

Her throat tightens on a swallow, but she stays quiet, believing my threat isn’t empty. Then again, I guess it isn’t. I do love having access to this pretty mouth, but right now, this isn’t about me. This is about her. Her fear. Her past. Her future. And fuck, I want her future to include me.

“Do you feel this?” Her hands tremble as she runs her fingers along my jaw and finds the edge of my mouth. “Yes,” she whispers. Nibbling on the edge of her finger, I murmur, “This mouth is yours.” I smile. “This mouth gave up smoking for you.”

“These muscles? They’re here to protect you.”

“This cock?” She smiles. “This is to give you pleasure. To make you scream my name. And to give you babies, if you ever ask for them.” I grasp her wrist and bring it up, over my abs and along my bruised side to my pounding chest. “And do you feel this, Tatum?” She shies away, but I force her to stay where she is, letting the steady thump-thump seep into her palm as I cover her hand with mine. “This heart is yours.”

“This heart is yours, and even though I’d give anything to protect it from being hurt or compromised, all because I know how it would affect you, that isn’t in my power.” I grasp her fingers and bring them to my mouth. “But it isn’t in yours, either.”

This girl. This fucking girl. She holds all the cards. Owns every piece of me. If only she’d take them.

“I know opening yourself up again after losing someone you love is scary. But the past few weeks have been the best in my life. And I’m really hoping you’ll let me give this heart to you despite knowing you can’t control the future.”

But isn’t that the beauty of fate? That sometimes it delivers exactly what we need when we least expect it?”

I curl in closer to her, anxious to carry the weight of her pain, while knowing I can’t. I can’t do anything but love her and be by her side and promise I’ll do everything in my power—for the rest of my life—to take care of her and be the man she needs me to be, if only she’ll accept it. “I fucking love you, Birthday Girl.”

“I love you, Tatum Taylor. I love every fucking inch of you. I love your soul. Your body. Your sweet side. Your bitchy side.” My mouth lifts. “I love when you’re tired. When you’re drunk. When you’re snippy and happy and everything in between.”

“I love you, Birthday Girl,” I growl. “I love your tenacity. Your grit. I love your body. Your soul.”

“I love your sass, too. Even when you’re a pain in the ass. And I don’t want you to say it back. Not until you’re ready. But I need you to know I love you. I’ll always love you. From now to forever.”

Her fingernails claw against my bare shoulders and her body shakes with every ounce of friction until I’m convinced I could do this forever. Maybe not last, she feels too fucking good, but being buried inside her like this? Feel her like this? Taste her like this? Touch her like this? It makes all the shit I’ve been through worth it. Everything. Every single thing. Because it led me to her.

Maybe that’s the problem. Because I do care. Even if it kills me. Even if my boundaries and needs don’t align with hers. Like right now. She’ll always come first. Always.

Because Tatum’s it for me. I know it, and deep down, I think she knows it, too. That’s why she’s scared.

“I’m sad because I’m in love with him.” Her silence only confirms I’m actually on crazy pills, and my shoulders heave on a broken sigh. “I know. I know it doesn’t make sense, okay? That’s why I’m freaking out.” “Then help me understand,” she begs. “Why is being in love with Pax a sad thing?” “Because the last time I was in love, I had my heart crushed into a billion pieces.”

“Earned the right? Don’t you get it, Tate? It isn’t something you have to earn. You two are family. She loves you. And if she knew you were hurting or stressing about something she had the power to help with, she’d be here in a heartbeat. I guarantee it.”

“Oh, Tate.” She sighs. “You really want to know the secret sauce to opening up again?” My vision blurs with tears, and I wipe them away. “Yeah.”

“So it doesn’t get better? It doesn’t go away?” “The fear of losing someone?” she asks. “Honestly, no. I don’t think it does, especially when you’ve already experienced it.”

“But life isn’t all rainbows and butterflies, Tate. You know it as well as I do.” “So, what’s the point?” I ask. “I’m in love with him, Lia. I’m in love with Paxton, and even though I’m able to admit I love him, the idea of losing him is absolutely…” I wipe beneath my nose with the sleeve of my hoodie. “It’s absolutely terrifying.”

“but, so is missing a moment that you could’ve had with him all because you let fear hold you back from being with him in the first place.”

“And if he’s as amazing as he has to be in order for a girl like you to fall for him, then he’ll be understanding of that,” Ophelia continues. “He’ll reassure you and hold you and kiss you when the moments get rough. When the fear is overwhelming and you’re having a hard time keeping it in check. And slowly, those moments when it’s too much will start to lessen over time, even if they never go away completely. To be honest, I don’t think they ever will,”

“But here’s the thing, Tate. It’s okay. It’s okay to accept it. To acknowledge it. But to let it control you? Control your future or who you love or how you spend the rest of your life? That’s where you draw the line. That’s where you give it two middle fingers. Which, now that I take into account who I’m talking to, feels like you’re the perfect woman for the job.”

Even when it’s scary. Even when I don’t technically know the outcome. Not yet. I’m along for the ride, and as long as he’s by my side, I think I’m okay with it. “I love you so much,” I repeat, taking in his toasty espresso gaze as he watches me. “And that’s a weird thing for me to say. But I do. I love you a lot, and I honestly didn’t think I’d ever love anyone ever again. So, first, I want to apologize if loving you makes me act a little crazy.”

“I love you, Birthday Girl, and there isn’t anything you could do that would make me stop.” His calloused thumbs run along my cheeks. “I love you.”