Pieces of You (Shattered Hearts)

  At least the house the company rented for me in Kekaha is less than a block from the beach and a market with an awesome selection of pokē. I don’t plan on spending much time anywhere else, besides work, for the next two months.

  “I studied and went… I went to a concert.”

  The word concert and the hesitation in her voice confirms my suspicions.

  “Who’d you see?” The long pause on the other end of the line just makes the frustration build inside me, spreading through my arms and down to my fingertips. I have to stop myself from throwing the phone. “Claire?”

  “I saw Chris. He asked me to watch a jam session with one of his idols. I went as his friend. You said that was okay.”

  She’s not asking if it’s okay; she’s telling me I already said it was okay. I knew this was going to happen, I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

  “So you just went to watch?”

  “Yes, of course. Are you mad?”

  “I’m not mad, just not sure how to feel about it yet. I don’t like the idea of the two of you hanging out.”

  “We didn’t really hang out very long. I left once the crowds were gone.”

  I want to know every fucking detail about what happened. I want to know if he touched her, even if it was just a friendly hug. But I can hear in the tone of her voice that Claire doesn’t want to be grilled on this.

  “Adam?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I need to ask you a favor.”

  I sit down at the writing desk in the living room and lean back in the wooden desk chair. “You can ask me anything, babe.”

  “I feel really embarrassed asking you this, but can you pay my cell phone bill? Chris found out my service is about to be cut and I don’t want him to pay it. I’d rather you do it. I should be able to pay you back in a few weeks.”

  “Stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “You don’t have to explain and you don’t have to pay me back. I’ll call and pay the bill as soon as we hang up.” Sneaky little fucker. “Thanks for asking. I want you to come to me whenever you need help. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She gives me her account information and I call as soon as we hang up. By the time I hang up with the cell phone company, I’m feeling a little better about the fact that she doesn’t want to depend on Chris, but still uneasy about their proximity to each other. But it’s nothing a long therapy session with the Pacific Ocean can’t cure. I’ll get ready while I wait for my company car to be dropped off.

  I change into my bodysuit and I’m about to grab the house key off the hook in the kitchen when the doorbell rings. It must be Sam, the project assistant, with my car.

  “Coming!” I yell as I slip the key into my backpack and head for the door.

  I pull the door open and I’m a bit confused for a second. I had assumed Sam was a guy, but the brunette standing on my doorstep is definitely not a guy unless she’s clenching her bulge under that peach bikini.

  “Adam?” she says as she dangles a car key in front of the screen door. “I have the right house, don’t I?”

  “Yeah, I’m Adam.” I open the screen door and hold out my hand for the key. “Are you Sam?”

  “Uh, yeah. Were you expecting a guy?” She shakes her head. “You don’t have to answer that. I was just on my way to the sand so I thought I’d drop your car off. I actually picked it up yesterday, but then my aunt came over and made all this food and it was this big thing with all my cousins and….” She looks at me as if she’s just seeing me for the first time. “Oh. I’m blabbing. Sorry. Anyway, I’m just dropping off your car. I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

  She’s awkward as hell. Everything from the way she talks to the way she gestures wildly is awkward. She squints at me as I wait for her to leave.

  “Are you going surfing?” she asks, as she looks me up and down.

  I don’t normally wear my bodysuit to surf unless it’s really early in the morning, which it is. The fact that she doesn’t seem at all embarrassed about showing up at my door at 7:30 a.m. in a bikini just makes this girl even more awkward.

  “Yeah, I was just getting ready to leave. Thanks for bringing the car.”

  I shut the screen door, but she doesn’t leave.

  “Can I go with you?” Her brown eyes are wide as she waits for my response. “I mean, if you don’t mind. I was going to walk, but if you’re already going.”

  “I’m walking. It’s less than a block away.”

  “That’s cool. I can walk with you.”

  Fuck. This girl doesn’t take a hint well.

  “All right. But I’m going to surf, not to hang out.”

  “What does that mean? Is that your subtle way of telling me you’re going to ignore me?” She laughs, a low, snorting chuckle, and I try not to cringe.

  She’s definitely good looking, but she’s strange, like a tomboy who doesn’t quite understand the rules of engagement between guys and girls.

  “Look, I have a girlfriend.”

  “Cool! So do I. Well, not a girlfriend; I have a boyfriend. Well, we’re not really exclusive yet, so it’s not a big deal. Plus, he’s been getting on my nerves lately. He always wants to spend the night at my place.” I stare at her for a moment and she continues, undaunted. “Anyway, you’ll probably meet Kai soon enough. He stalks me at work.”

  “I think I’m going to hang out for a little while,” I say as I reach for the doorknob to close the front door. “I have to finish reading the specs for the project before tomorrow. Have fun.”

  She pulls her hand out from under her breast before she responds. “That’s cool. I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow. Don’t bring lunch. I’ll bring something good from home. My aunt has been cooking like crazy all weekend.”

  I nod in agreement as I begin to close the door. “See you tomorrow.”

  I shut the door quickly and stand in the foyer for a moment confused by how a girl like that, who’s more than a bit ditzy, could get a job as a project assistant on the base. I shake my head as I make my way back to the living room to watch some TV for a few hours, at least until it’s safe to go to the beach without running into Sam. As soon as I sit on the sofa, the doorbell rings again.

  I set down the remote on the sofa cushion and jog to the door. When I peer through the peephole, I’m not surprised to see Sam standing on the porch. I open the door and she’s holding out a three-inch stack of mail.

  “This was in your mailbox,” she says. “Looks like you forgot to check it.”

  Something about this girl tells me she’s desperate for company. “Thanks,” I say as I take the mail. She stands there for a while like she’s expecting me to invite her inside. “You know…. Hold on just a sec while I get my board. I can read the specs later.”

  She grins as she nods her head and I can’t decide if she’s prettier when she smiles or when she says something dumb. It doesn’t matter. She’s annoying as fuck and I have a girlfriend.

  After I get my board out of the garage, I eyeball the green Toyota sedan in the driveway. Good thing I’m by the beach, because there’s no rack on that car for my board. I meet Sam on the sidewalk, which is when I notice her silver scooter.

  She flips her dark, wavy hair over her shoulder before she grabs the handlebars and hops on. “I brought it with me in the trunk of the car. My house is about a half-mile from here. It’s just faster to get there on this.”

  I nod as I take off down Panako Road toward the beach. I don’t know if she’s trying to get me to offer her a ride home, but it’s not going to happen.

  “So you came from North Carolina?” she asks as she gently pushes the scooter along the sidewalk so she doesn’t pass me by.

  “Yeah, Wilmington. You work for Larry?”

  Larry Cromwell is the contracting officer on base whose ass my dad French kissed to get us this job. The guy is more of a prick than my dad, judging by the emails he sent me complaining about politics. I can’t even imagine
what it must be like to work directly under him like Sam.

  “I don’t really work with Larry. I work with Ollie. Ollie protects me from Larry.” She snorts again because apparently this must be funny.

  We cross Kahakai Road and soon find ourselves on the beach near Waimea State Park, where she folds up her scooter and tucks it under her arm. The waves should be better further north, but I’m really looking forward to just getting this excursion with Sam over with. Then I’ll come out again tomorrow morning and find a sweet spot.

  “So you’re a surfer? Is that why your company sent you?” she asks when we reach the shore.

  I stand my board up in the sand and gaze at the glistening ocean. The sun is rising behind us, barely warming my back, and I breathe a sigh of relief at the sight before me. The glimmer of sunlight painted across the surface of the water puts me at ease. This is where I’m meant to be.

  “My dad sent me to handle the project startup,” I reply. “I’ll only be here for eight weeks, but, yeah, I have a competition lined up while I’m here.”

  “Sweet.” She drops her scooter onto the sand. “I surf too, but that car doesn’t have a rack so I couldn’t bring my board. You’re lucky you live within walking distance of the beach.”

  She takes off running into the water without another word. I’m just thankful she didn’t challenge me to a race or some other corny shit. I’m even more pleased when she allows me to surf in peace. She swims out to a buoy that looks to be about a quarter-mile offshore then back. When she reaches the shore, she collapses and lies on her towel for about an hour before she comes back into the water.

  After two hours of my sad attempts to catch some weak waves, I finally give up. But as soon as I start to leave the water, she follows after me. I trudge across the sand, refusing to look at her as she jogs toward the place where she dropped her scooter a few yards away. She snatches it up and quickly catches up with me.

  “The waves are way better on the north shore. I can take you sometime. My truck has space for your board.”

  “Why didn’t they rent me a truck? Who the fuck ordered me a mom car?”

  “That was me,” she confesses with a guilty look. “I assumed you’d be some stick-up-the-ass rich white boy. I didn’t think you’d be so….”

  “So what?”

  “So cool.”

  I hold my arm out to stop her from crossing the street as a huge truck comes barreling toward us. Once the street is clear, we race across Kahakai Road.

  I instantly forget what Sam said about me being cool as my mind wanders to the night I almost ran Claire over with my truck. She was so pissed at me; she almost refused to let me drive her home. I’m here for her and nothing else. Once the startup phase is complete, I can go home to Claire and say goodbye to my dad’s bullshit.

  We arrive at the wooden fence surrounding the front yard of the rental house and she salutes me like a soldier. “See you at oh-eight-hundred.”

  I shake my head as she scoots off down the street. What an odd girl, yet there’s something about her I find strangely interesting. I think it’s the way she doesn’t seem to have any interest in me. She didn’t look at me the way most girls look at me when I first meet them. Maybe it is possible for guys and girls to just be friends. Maybe I really have nothing to worry about with Claire and Chris.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chris

  THE PHONE RINGS IN MY ear as I wait for Claire to pick up. I try to remind myself to stay calm, but this feeling that I’m being lied to makes this very fucking difficult.

  “Hello,” she says and just the sound of her voice catches me off guard.

  Suddenly, I can’t remember why I called.

  “Chris?”

  Then it comes back to me. “I thought you told me you didn’t have the money to pay your bill. My assistant just called to pay it and they said your bill was paid this afternoon.”

  She’s silent for a moment, probably trying to come up with another lie. “Adam paid it for me.”

  I want to throw the phone at the wall. I’m so sick of hearing his fucking name.

  “Good,” I reply as I grit my teeth to bite back an angry retort. “Can you talk right now? About Abigail?”

  “Yeah,” she whispers so low I can barely hear her.

  What is it about hearing a name that can provoke such a strong emotional reaction? I hear the name Adam and I want to pummel something. Claire hears the name Abigail and she immediately shuts down. Maybe I shouldn’t talk to her about this stuff. She needs a clear head to do well in her classes.

  “Are you sure you’re okay talking about this?” I ask.

  “Yes. I’m fine. I need to talk about it, too.”

  I take the stairs down to the first floor and head for the kitchen. I have an apartment in L.A. that’s been empty for months while I’ve been on tour. This Home Sweet Home tour is the last leg for this year. It’s over in the end of September. I’m headed back to L.A. in October to record for a few weeks then I’ll be back before Christmas.

  “I need to get you up to speed on the details of the agreement and I need to give you my schedule for the next few months so you can try to handle some of this stuff alone while I’m gone, if necessary.”

  “I can’t do this alone.”

  I open the refrigerator and grab a bottle of water. When I close the refrigerator door, I notice a new picture my mom must have dug up and stuck on the fridge before she left for work this morning. It’s a picture of me playing at one of my first paid gigs when I was sixteen. A small piece of the back of Claire’s head is visible in the bottom-left corner of the photo. This picture was taken just a few months after I met Claire, when we were still “just friends.” So much has changed. Claire and I will never be “just friends” again.

  “You won’t be alone. You’ll be working with Tasha. I’ll be gone for less than four weeks and I’ll be just a phone call away.”

  “Don’t you think that’s going to look bad? Leaving to L.A. when we’re so close to coming to an agreement with her parents? They’re already nervous about your… lifestyle.”

  I laugh as I take a seat on a barstool. “My lifestyle? What the fuck does that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” she replies, probably afraid she’ll offend me if she elaborates.

  “Come on, Claire, you can be honest with me. What the fuck do you think I do when I’m not sitting in my mom’s kitchen talking to you?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. It matters what Abigail’s parents think.”

  “It matters to me what you think.”

  There’s a long pause followed by a sigh. “I have to study. Feel free to give Tasha my phone number so she can fill me in on the details. Bye, Chris.”

  She hangs up before I can get in another word. When I pull the phone away from my ear I see two text message notifications. The first message is from Amira, a girl I made the mistake of giving my phone number to when we fucked two months ago after a show in Houston. She texts me every now and then to tell me about shows she went to in Houston, like I give a fuck. I think she’s waiting for me to tell her the next time I’ll be there for a show.

  I delete her text then open the next.

  Tasha: Got a cryptic message from adoptive mother. She wants to meet me alone tomorrow without her husband. Will keep you posted.

  My stomach twists inside me as I imagine what this could mean. Does she want to call the whole thing off or is she going to allow us to visit Abigail without her husband knowing? Maybe she just needs someone to talk to. I hate the idea that this whole agreement might be causing turmoil in their marriage, but I want to see my daughter. Abigail and Claire are the missing pieces of my heart. Even if I only get to hold Abigail once, I think I can live with that.

  I slide off the barstool and make my way into the living room where I grab my acoustic guitar, Betty, off the ottoman then sit down on the hardwood floor. Betty was a gift from Claire for my eighteenth birthday. I have at least six better sounding acous
tic guitars, but this vintage guitar with the initials she carved into the wood is still my favorite.

  I trace my finger over the “CC” carved into the curve of the body then tune her up. Tristan and Jake aren’t coming over to practice for another hour so I have some time to work on a song I began writing in my head while lying in bed last night. I play the opening exactly as I heard it in my head last night, but the transition to the melody of the first verse is all wrong. I start from the beginning again a few more times before I finally get it right and the first verse comes to me.

  “This ain’t our last goodbye. It’s our last hello. I can feel it in my shattered heart; all through my weary bones. You’re the missing piece, the final scrap. Someday we’ll fit together; someday I’ll bring you back.” I type the lyrics into the notes app on my phone before I continue working on the chorus. “These pieces of you are promises, whispering endless possibilities. My pieces of you are haunted, just echoes of shattered memories.”

  I’ll have to work on this later; these are just the bones. The only song I ever wrote that I never changed a word—and it shows—is “Relentless.” I wrote it in a hotel room in L.A. when we were almost done recording the album. When I played it for the producer he insisted we add it to the album and make it the title track. It took less than an hour to get down the lyrics and the basic melody for “Relentless” and it’s still the one song that gets me the most love from the fans. Maybe people prefer their art a little raw.

  As soon as Jake and Rachel arrive, we get to work on an upbeat track that’s supposed to be the first single released from the next album, tentatively titled Chris Knight. Jake and Rachel wrote the lyrics for this song—“Highway 99”—about falling for the wrong girl and how exciting it is to go to their secret hideaway off Highway 99. Now that I’m in this fucked up situation with Claire, I hate this song.

  “Is Tristan ever going to show the fuck up?” I ask.

  As much as I love Tristan, he’s unreliable as hell. His sex life always gets him in some kind of drama that keeps him from showing up to practice sessions. Technically, Tristan is easily replaceable now that I’m considered a solo act, and the shit that happened with Claire’s boyfriend hasn’t made things better. But so many of our old fans, the ones who followed Blue Knights from the beginning, go to the shows just to see him. And he’s still my oldest friend.