Broken Spin-Off: Skating on Scars
Автор
Evelyn Miller
Прочтений
806K
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48
Chapter 1
TAYLA
He’s only twenty minutes late, I tell myself. Just a little delay, probably. He’s stuck in traffic or can’t find parking or whatever.
I try to focus on the beautiful restaurant, instead of Zachary being late.
Liberty Grill is gorgeous. Low lighting, dark wood, soft jazz humming through hidden speakers. Crystal glasses clink and waiters glide instead of walk. I’ve always wanted to come here and was so excited when Zachary told me he got a reservation.
Just being here makes me feel so grown up. It’s like a peek at the adult life Zach and I will have after college.
I got really dressed up for tonight. Like, it took hours to get this dressed up. I curled my hair, redid my makeup twice, tried on about seventeen different dresses.
I love dressing up though. It makes me feel like I’m in control. Because growing up, control wasn’t something I ever had. Things just happened to us. Nights like this feel like proof that I escaped that.
My younger sister Gemma helped me get ready, but she was rolling her eyes the entire time.
She doesn’t like Zachary that much.
Actually, she hates him. Thinks he’s boring.
Which…okay, maybe he is.
And kind of a douche.
Okay, maybe…
But Zachary wants the same things I want—graduate, get a stable job, get married, have kids.
The second I graduated high school, I planned my entire life. College. Law school. Marriage. Two kids. And I’d raise them the exact opposite way my mother raised us. With structure and stability. With a father who’s reliable. Unlike mine, who dipped when I was three.
I thought that was Zachary, but Mr. Reliable is late.
I check my phone again.
Thirty minutes.
The waiter stops by, hovering politely. “Another glass?”
I shake my head. I’m already buzzed from the first two, and I don’t even know how much they cost.
I wish I could say this is the first time Zachary has bailed on me last minute, but it’s not. In the four months we’ve been dating, he’s canceled at least six times. Always something vague.
I sometimes wonder if there are other women, but I never ask, because technically we’re not exclusive, so I’m not allowed to complain even if there are other women.
My phone pings.
My heart jumps as I grab it. For half a second, I’m hoping he’s been in a car wreck. Not seriously injured—god, I’m not a monster—but something dramatic enough to justify this.
Nope.
Zachary
Have to cancel tonight. Something came up. Rain check.
I stare at the screen.
Can you even break up with someone you’re not exclusive with?
I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m doing it.
Tayla
NO RAIN CHECK. WE’RE DONE.
I down the rest of my wine, signal for the check, and nearly choke when I see the total.
Forty dollars.
For two glasses of wine.
I pay it, grab my purse, and storm out of Liberty Grill, heels clicking sharply against the pavement.
At home, I slip off my shoes and tiptoe through the house, hoping Gemma won’t hear me.
“You’re home early,” she yells.
So much for that.
She doesn’t even wait for an answer. “Did he stand you up?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mutter.
“Cool,” she says immediately. “You’re coming out with me.”
“I don’t want to go out.”
“Too bad.”
She looks me up and down. “Also, you need to change. That dress is boring.”
“I wore it for Zachary,” I snap. “He likes me dressing conservatively.”
She snorts and disappears into my room, coming back with the dress. The one I didn’t wear because it shows too much boob. I honestly don’t even know why I bought it. I guess I can’t say no to a bargain while thrifting.
“You’re wearing this.”
“I told you, I’m not going out.”
“You’re coming to the party with me. You’ve already done your makeup. Now put it on,” she orders as she starts tugging at the dress I have on.
“I can dress myself,” I snap, slapping her hands away.
I put on the new dress and smooth it out as I look at myself in the mirror.
I do feel really sexy in it. The way it hugs my curves in all the right places, the amount of cleavage it shows.
“Perfect. Now let’s go get drunk!” Gemma smiles and drags me out the door.
We end up at a crowded house party on the edge of campus. Music rattles the walls and bodies are packed tightly together. The air inside is hot and thick and smells like alcohol and hormones.
“As ordered,” Gemma shouts over the music, handing me a red plastic cup.
“What is this?” I yell back, eyeing the murky red liquid.
“I don’t know,” she grins. “But it’ll do the job.”
She’s right. Between beer, vodka shots, and whatever suspicious concoction someone swears is punch, we get drunk. Very drunk.
I don’t think I’ve been this drunk since senior year of high school, when my brother Mason had to pick me up after I fell face-first into Marley Rodgers’s mom’s rose bushes. Tonight I don’t plan on falling into anything prickly.
A few guys try to catch my eye. One leans in too close and asks my name. Another offers me a drink I definitely don’t need.
I hate men at the moment, so I ignore them.
Gemma sticks to my side at first, arm looped through mine, slurring passionate speeches about sisterhood, girl power, and how men are trash.
“I swear,” she says dramatically, “I’m not leaving you tonight.”
Five minutes later, the right guy gives her the right look.
“I’ll be right back,” she says.
She is not right back.
I lose sight of her somewhere near the stairs. Typical Gemma. I don’t recognize the guy she disappeared with, but it’s hard to keep track of her.
I make my way to the dance floor. It’s packed, bodies moving together under a cheap flashing light setup. The music is loud—good loud—and I let it swallow me.
I dance all the anger at Zachary out of my system, every missed call and canceled plan burned into the floor beneath my feet.
That’s when I notice some guy.
He’s standing a few feet away from me on the dance floor.
On the dance floor, but not dancing.
Which is weird.
But he’s hot.
Really hot.
I recognize him immediately as one of the hockey players. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, solid in a way that makes him stand out without even trying. Muscles stretch under his T-shirt, and he’s smiling at me like he knows something I don’t.
“Why aren’t you dancing?” I shout.
“I don’t dance,” he says.
“Then why are you on the dance floor?”
“Because I saw you.”
He stares at me like there’s nothing else in the world worth looking at, and it makes my stomach drop.
I stop dancing.
The music keeps pounding around us, people bumping into me, but it’s like the space between us goes quiet. Neither of us says a word.
We just stare at each other.
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