Pieces of Summer (A stand-alone novel)(10)

Just like I had once planned…

Trying not to think about it, my eyes scan the place, and a sick feeling consumes me as I straighten back up from putting the statue down. From the retro carpet of the lobby entrance, to the golden hues of the wooden lanes, everything—I mean everything—looks almost exactly like I had once imagined. Other than a few random things here and there. All the important shit is in place though. All the things on my “must-have” list. A list I formed with the girl who taught me how to f*ck, love, and hate.

When my eyes land on the oversized disco balls hanging from the ceiling, my stomach twists into a knot. Right above them is a mural on the ceiling—two eagles flying side by side with a city behind them as though they’re escaping together. I drew that…

No. No f*cking way. No—

“Mika!” Whit’s shrill pitch slices through my panic, and my eyes dart down just in time to see a curvy, much different body than what belongs to that name. But the face and the eyes… Those eyes are seared into my memory and haunt me every f*cking day.

The second those green eyes meet mine, the smile on her face vanishes, and the tray of glasses she’s carrying shatters to the floor. I almost feel sucker punched by life.

Life is an evil bitch.





Chapter 5


MIKA



“Mika!” Whit’s voice has me jerking my head and changing direction, still clutching my tray of pretty wine glasses I was going to put up nice and neat behind the bar.

I smile broadly at her, happy to see her all dressed up and excited about the big opening. Bill moves, drawing my attention, and my eyes land on a set of devastatingly familiar blues while my world goes crashing down and shattering.

No…. that’s my wine glasses that just crashed down and shattered.

My empty hands stay suspended in the air as all the air is sucked from my lungs, and I stare at the impossible f*cked up sense of humor life has as it stares right back at me. Maybe I’m seeing things… Maybe he’s just dangerously similar…

If it’s really him, age has certainly treated him well. His shoulders are broader, his jaw is stronger, he’s definitely taller, and his body… I wish he’d gotten ugly. Life would be better. Why the hell is he here? No. No. It can’t be him.

Considering the hard, cold glare he’s giving me, he knows me. No stranger hates someone that passionately. Even though he has no right to freaking hate me. I’m the one who was hurt, lied to, betrayed…

Fidgeting nervously, I tug at the bottom of my shirt when I see Whit staring at me in confusion. That’s when he walks up and wraps his arm around Whit’s waist, still glaring into my eyes like he’s trying to silence me.

“You okay, Mika?” Whit asks.

Still in an eye-lock, I shudder, feeling stupid, embarrassed, and very freaking pissed off. He doesn’t live here. Why the hell is he standing in here right now with his arm wrapped around the model?

My heart does the whole slapping me in the face thing, reminding me it’s sick of being played with, so I manage to look away. Tugging at my shirt again, I look over at Whit.

“Sorry. He… just reminded me of someone I used to know. It surprised me. That’s all.”

Feeling his eyes burning against my face, I kneel down to start putting the larger broken shards on the forgotten tray, ignoring the fact the pieces aren’t broken in the same sizes. I resist the urge to spend forever grinding them into such small fragments you wouldn’t be able to tell they’re not the same size. The urge gets stronger, but I manage to ignore it, since it’s not overwhelming.

“Let me help,” Whit offers.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly—too quickly. “You should probably start checking the music lineup and such.”

I don’t look up. I can’t. This is hell. Actually, this is a level somewhere beneath hell. How did this even happen?

“Want to help me grab that last statue right quick? The doors are opening in less than an hour.”

Bill’s voice is like a hammer to my ears, because all my senses are hyper-alert right now. My heart is slamming against my ribs, because it’s exploding over and over instead of beating. I want to run away, hide, scream, cry… I want to do it all at once, but I’m stuck on the ground, picking up pieces of broken glass that poetically remind me of the pieces of my heart I was once left with because of the same man.

My eyes lift ever so slightly to see him glaring down at me still, and I cut my gaze away.

“Babe, are you okay?” Whit asks him.

I don’t bother looking up. I concentrate on the mess I made thanks to the jerk in the room. A surprising cry of pain escapes my lips before I realize it, and I curse when I see blood pouring from my finger. Damn it.

“Shit! Mika, let me help. Chase, get some towels. Hurry.”

There’s too much blood to put my finger in my mouth unless I sprout fangs and turn into a vampire so I can enjoy it. It’s a small cut, but I’m bleeding like an alcoholic on blood thinners. Shit. My blood pressure must be ridiculous right now.

“Chase! What the hell? Why are you just staring? Get some towels.”

My eyes come up just as he rips his gaze away from me, and he stalks out the entrance, pushing through the doors so hard the glass on them rattles on impact.

“What the f*ck, Chase?!” Whit calls after him.