BrokenHearted

  Brokenhearted

  Brooklyn　Taylor

  Copyright Brooklyn Taylor 2016

  All rights reserved

  Cover models: Kristin and Destrey Sargent.

  Cover photo: Dear Mrs. Adkins Photography.

  Cover design: Alora Kate w/ Sweet Lush Photo.

  Editor: Jenny Sims

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or electronic or mechanical methods, without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copy right law. For permission requests, write to the author at:

  authorbrooklyntaylor@gmail.com

  This book is an act of fiction.

  “We are all broken, that’s how the light gets in.”

  -Ernest Hemingway

  BrokenHearted Soundtrack:

  Brooklyn Taylor is in no way affiliated with these songs. They belong to the vocal artist.

  Can’t Help Falling in Love With You by: Haley Reinhart

  You Shouldn’t Kiss Me Like This by: Toby Keith

  Wake Up Loving You by: Craig Morgan

  Kiss You Tonight by: David Nail

  H.O.L.Y. by: Florida Georgia Line

  Broken by: Seether

  Die a Happy Man by: Thomas Rhett

  See You Again by: Carrie Underwood

  Because of You by: Kelly Clarkson

  Table　of　Contents

  chapter　One

  chapter　Two

  chapter　Three

  chapter　Four

  chapter　Five

  chapter　Six

  chapter　Seven

  chapter　Eight

  chapter　Nine

  chapter　Ten

  chapter　Eleven

  chapter　Twelve

  chapter　Thirteen

  chapter　Fourteen

  chapter　Fifteen

  chapter　Sixteen

  chapter　Seventeen

  chapter　Eighteen

  chapter　Nineteen

  chapter　Twenty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  prologue

  Trevor

  The love of my life lies before me, the woman I had given my heart to. Unexpectedly, the intensity of anger and hatred I feel is just as strong as the love. My love for her is fading, but the growing anger leaves me perplexed.

  Not only did I lose her that horrible day, the day I had decided to give everything up for her, but I also said bye to my parents.

  Almost a decade later, I’m back in Austin, Texas, full of regret. I am just as broken now as I was eight years ago—almost more so. Unfortunately, I thought the distance would make things better, but it hasn’t.

  When I left, I had sworn I would never come back, but I guess things do change. Sometimes for the better, and occasionally, for the worse.

  The first thing I did when driving through the city limits was stop and see her, see if I was stronger than I had been before. And yes, I am. I am stronger but emptier. That was one thing that time hadn’t changed—the pain and the brokenness.

  I thought that she had breathed life into me all those years ago by promising me forever. We were two kids fresh out of high school ready to start our lives together by throwing caution to the wind. What a joke!

  In retrospect, she knew what she was doing, and she knew I loved her just enough to do what she asked. If only I would’ve read her better or listened to my father, knowing now that he was only trying to protect me from what had been the biggest mistake of my life.

  Anger—yeah, you could say it ate me up. This was the first time I had visited her since I found out the hard truth, the truth I should have known long before. But I was man enough to admit it still didn’t hurt any less. I still lost the love of my life, and I remain broken.

  One

  Ryann

  "Today is the first day of the rest of my life." I read this typed, printed quote repeatedly, hoping to drill it into my head day after day. I had it taped to the bar in front of me as if I craved the reminder and needed to believe it for my sanity.

  Really ... when I think about it ... this is the stupidest quote I've ever read. It doesn't make me feel any better, and I am positive everyone else feels the same. I choose to feel good, positive because I want to. Why? Because feeling like crap sucks.

  All in all, I have a pretty good life. Well ... I tell myself that. I am thankful for everything I have made it through, and when I look back, I am shocked at some of the challenges I brought myself through. Some say it’s faith, some say it’s strength, and some say pure luck. Honestly, I couldn’t tell you what it was, but instead of wasting time trying to figure it out, I just go with it. The way I see it is you make yourself happy, or you drown. I have been a drowning victim before, and I refuse to be that again. I want to be happy, and I refuse to be anything other.

  I am proud to say I have something most people don’t have. I have my sanity. Frankly, in what I see every day, that is sparse. I work in a bar in downtown Austin, Texas, and observe many pathetic human beings. Don’t get me wrong, I get it; I’ve lived it. But now, I am a new woman. I am twenty-four and more self-confident than most people are in their fifties. I’m not proclaiming to a high self-esteem, oh, hell no. I just know what I have in life and am grateful for what I have. What did it take me to get there? Well ... that is another story. I am not a stranger to heartache or to having loved and lost. Or I guess ... more correctly, I loved, he cheated. I learned the hard way, and that has been my life. Just like my mom.

  My mom has always been a fantastic mother with what she had and that wasn’t much. She got pregnant when she was eighteen, and my father came in and out of my life just as he had hers. She had hoped when she got pregnant he would settle down, but that didn’t happen. I don’t know a lot about my father, and when I ask my mother, she always says we live in the present and not the past. She continuously finished though with that she knew he loved us.

  Anyway, Mom worked at a hotel in housekeeping to support me. She picked up two shifts at The Regency more than half the days of the week. The hotel was a nice quality and owned by a man who happened to really take pride in his work, and he saw that same character in my mother. It had four floors and eighty rooms. The owner had bought it as a gamble but turned it into one of the nicest in the state.

  Growing up, Mom and I lived in a one-bedroom apartment with a divider through the bedroom to give me the illusion that I had my own space.

  She worked a lot, but when she was home, she spent time with me when she wasn’t napping from her exhaustion. One thing was for sure—my mother always put me first, and I promised myself I would do the very same thing for her when she needed me.

  Years later, she still works at the hotel, but now, she manages housekeeping rather than doing it all as she had for years. She is treated great from all the years of service and should be. She lives in a room at the hotel now and loves it. It’s far nicer than where we previously lived, but she frequently comments how she would go back to that one-bedroom rat shack any day to have her baby girl living with her again. And I know she means every word.

  To say that my mother was the biggest influence in my life would be an understatement. Her words of wisdom frequently popped in my head. Like for instance, she always said pick what you want to do, do it well, and love it. And I do just that. I work as a bartender at Smith’s, a bar in Austin off the 300th block. No, I don’t plan to go to college, and no, I do not want to work somewhere else. This isn’t a job in passing. If I worked here the rest of my life, I would be happy. Did I plan to be a bartender? Who would? That’s a hard no, but my life took a diff
erent path, which shortened my college plans, and I ended up where I feel I belong.

  An advantage of working at Smith’s is I love the nightlife. Not only do I happen to be a night owl, but I also love to observe people in their element. I get a high from helping people when they are upset and need someone to talk to. I have always been good at that, just like my mother.

  As soon as I finish filling the ice container, some of my regulars start making their way in. It’s the same routine every night, and although I should be growing sick of it, I like the same ol’, same ol’. It is an indication that my life is stable, and to me, that is a plus. Nights like tonight, when something is in the air, I feel like something fun is going to happen.

  Hence, I’m wearing my gray boots that stop right above my ankle but fit my feet perfectly. They give me a nice height advantage, and at five-foot-three, I can use any help I can get. I have on my black tank top with "Smith’s" written in curvy white letters and my jeggings because, believe it or not, I hate wearing shorts at work despite the heat. My long, light blond hair that is naturally wavy hangs down my back, but I know within a short time it will be pinned back due to the heat. But ... I run this small section, so I am good with that.

  See my pattern? Yeah, I might be a bit of a control freak. I have an insane need to own myself. I have to know that I can stand on my own two feet just as my mama did. There was a time when I thought maybe ... maybe I wouldn’t have to, but as it turns out, I should have listened to that inner voice. In hindsight, I should’ve run screaming from the hills and refused to believe the lies, fighting against my instinct.

  Do you know what I blame for it? L-O-V-E. If I hadn’t been blinded by love, or what I thought was love, he wouldn’t have been able to do what he did to me. I would’ve been able to walk away sooner. I did eventually walk away, but not until he had crushed my spirit, my soul, and my ability to trust. Have you ever loved someone so much you think you can’t breathe without that person? Yep. That is how I felt about Jake. Gag. Total douchebag. He detoured my original path and, in the process, shredded my heart. The worst part is he enjoyed it. The cheating, the lying, the playing me like an idiot.

  And luckily, now, men do not faze me. Men hit on me all the time, but the difference between the me then and the me now is I don’t buy it. Whatever they are selling isn’t worth what I have to give. So I don’t. And I won’t. Period.

  * * *

  Trevor

  "Dr. Trevor James, I speak for myself and the rest of the staff at St. Luke’s Hospital in saying we are very pleased that you took our offer for the trauma attending. We have been trying to lure you to our hospital for quite some time, son."

  "Thank you, Harold. That means a lot to me," I say, meaning only half of it. I was exhausted and had only been in Austin for two hours. I needed sleep and a shower, and this old bastard wouldn’t shut the hell up.

  "We have booked you a room at The Regency Hotel until you find a more permanent place to live. I live about two blocks away, and with the hours you will be putting in, that might be a safe route for you as well."

  "Probably." I had planned to live close anyway. I agreed, hoping to satisfy him.

  No such luck. "I have stayed at this hotel many times, and you’ll be pleased. You know, when the missus gets mad at me and suggests I sleep on the couch, I take a trip there myself." He laughs, and I join in, faking mine.

  I hold my hand out to shake his, hoping he can see the exhaustion on my face.

  “When you are ready to look for a place, let me know. I know a realtor who can help find you what you are looking for.”

  “I appreciate that, Harold.”

  At the age of twenty-eight, I never dreamed of moving close to my parents again, but my father wasn’t doing the best, and I needed to be closer for my mother. She had been calling me nonstop, and I couldn’t do much from Arizona. She said that if I didn’t come back home, she was coming to Arizona, and when she said that, I knew the situation was serious. I first thought she was playing possum, but it turns out she really does need my help. My dad ... not so much. He doesn’t want my help. He is still upset about me going to medical school, and the choices I made after Leah. Mom called behind his back but never asked me to move back; she just wanted me to come home for a while.

  Leah, the love of my life, definitely made me into the man I am today, and honestly, that might not be such a good thing. I see it myself when I look in the mirror and realize I shut off any human connection, interaction, or want. I had become almost emotionless. Heartless. Why? Because I gave my heart to a woman almost ten years ago. A woman who I had decided was worth going against my family’s wishes and gambled ready to start a life with her. I wanted to give her my all, live for her, and she decided otherwise without letting me in on that secret.

  The one benefit I could see about moving back to Austin was Maxwell. He’s the only person I have stayed in touch with throughout everything and my closest friend. He had even come to visit me in Arizona. He was still "sowing his wild oats" and loving every minute of it. He made no apologies either. Frankly, I’m shocked I don’t get a sexually transmitted disease just by standing next to him. No, not really. Shit. Possibly. Really, other than our home roots and old friendship, we don’t have too much in common.

  He worked as much as I did and probably more. Maxwell is a firefighter for Austin Fire Department. But the difference was when he wasn’t working, he was living. What was I doing? Watching TV, working out, or sleeping when I could shut off my brain. My life had become far more disciplined than I had ever intended. I guess that is what happens when you shut yourself off from the rest of the world.

  There is one thing I can’t stand, and I’ll tell you from the get-go. Sympathy. I can’t stomach it. I am not some hopeless soul who had his heart crushed and would most likely never recover. Oh, no. I AM heartless and will never recover. No ifs, ands, or buts.

  But I’m good with that. I live my life to the best of my ability. I save lives ... and that has to stand for something, right? I sure as hell hope it does; otherwise, I am fucked.

  I run my hand over my dark blond hair trying to release some of the pressure I feel as I wait for the elevator to make its umpteenth stop. I refrain from screaming or punching the wall out of exhaustion, utter frustration, and impatience.

  Ding. Finally! I make it to the ground floor where I climb on my motorcycle, don my helmet, and tighten my small backpack.

  On second thought, I do have a heart, a little one, though, because I love my fucking bike. And my mom—I mean, come on, she’s my mother.

  Ryann

  “Ryann, can I get another O’Doul’s when you have a minute?” I hear the familiar voice that has become a staple at Smith’s. Lewis Dotson.

  “Yes, sir,” I respond and smile. This man wasn’t just a customer; he was also a friend.

  Smith’s was an older bar that had recently been updated. A total of ten tables were scattered about the area with the standard bar with barstools and two pool tables. It was dimly lit except for the area around the pool tables and the bar. Beer lights decorated the wall behind me with the exception of a large flat-screen TV that played ESPN nonstop.

  Tonight at Smith’s is like every other night. The bar flies continue to come in; some I’m used to and oddly enough, I actually look forward to seeing each night. Like Lewis, who is lonely and just comes to get out of his house. He sits at the end of my bar every single evening watching TV, ordering three of the same beer all night, O’Doul’s. Clearly, he is a recovering alcoholic. Why else would a man come to the bar so often and not drink real liquor? He leaves me a generous tip every night and almost acts as if he is watching over me, as if he is a guard dog or a bodyguard. My guess would be more bark, less bite. He is a sweet old soul.

  Sadie, my best friend, comes walking in wearing a t-shirt cut off right above her belly button and a pair of old jeans. She is wearing flip-flops, and for the first time in a long time, she looks as if she put zero effort in how she
looks. She plops down next to Lewis and gives him a pat on the back.

  “Hey, Lou. How ya doing?”

  “Good, good … I’m breathing, aren’t I?” He smirks and takes a sip of his beer.

  “Ry, can I get a Bud Light?” she asks me casually.

  “Yeah, in a sec. Let me finish these two orders real quick.” I nod my head to gesture to the actual customers in here tonight. Two men sit across the room waiting for the pool table and neither of them seem to be paying attention to anything other than their deep conversation. They were in their own world blocking out all other distractions.

  One looked peeved, and the other looked like he really was lost in thought trying to convince the other to listen with a look of frustration. The peeved one was gorgeous but looked as if he was heavily burdened. The look was familiar, as I had seen it before on my own face.

  Sadie looked at them seeing the possible opportunity then smiled.

  “Gotcha.”

  I finish a couple of orders and then get the drinks on a tray ready to deliver.

  I walk over to the corner of the bar to deliver the said drinks and Sadie meets me.

  “I got it.” She winks and grabs the tray out of my hand.

  “Good Lord, Sadie. Never have you been so willing to help me …”

  She rolls her eyes at me. Her dark brown eyes could possess clergymen. And I know because she has.

  The phone rings, and I give the orders to her real quick. I point at the drinks on the tray. “These two beers are for Mr. Cocky and Mr. Intense plus the two shots.” I point at the other orders next. “Make sure you do not get them screwed up because I am not in the mood to deal with...”

  “Jesus, Ry. I can handle taking some drinks over to men. Knock your shit off. Go get the damn phone,” she answers me condescendingly.

  I turn and head back behind the bar and answer the phone while watching Sadie work the crowd effortlessly. Even when she doesn’t try, she can work a crowd.