All My Broken Pieces (FindingLight #2)

Chapter 7

Fallon

This was a bad idea.

I knew the moment I stepped out of the car that it was a mistake coming here.

I should have just put on some sitcom and drowned my sorrow in a bottle of wine.

Taking a subtle breath to calm my nerves, I look around the table. My sister continuously throws scowls in my direction.

Scarlett, the perfect daughter.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. How easy she has it, with her perfect little family that mom and dad approve of.

She never had to say goodbye.

I can’t help but glare back at her and her stupid husband. He sits quietly beside her, slowly chewing his food and looking about as dull as a sack of potatoes.

Okay, that’s not fair. Maybe he’s great and my sister just sucked the life out of him.

Laughing inside at the thought, the corners of my lips tick up, earning another scowl from Scarlett. I turn my attention away, my gaze landing on my brother.

Hudson is like me, a quote-un-quote black sheep of the family. Whereas my sin has always been the desire for girls, his has been for boys. We bonded about it once upon a time, now it’s fueled an endless resentment.

I can’t really blame him, he got the brunt of my parents' attempts to “fix him”. By the time I started to show interest in things my parents deemed unnatural , the conversion camps had already been shut down.

Hudson flicks his gaze to mine, his eyes narrowing just slightly before returning to the food he’s been pushing around his plate for the last twenty minutes.

“How’s school been?” My mother’s voice draws my attention.

Picking up my fork, I stab into a piece of zucchini as I shrug. “Fine, I guess.” I mumble, shoving the food into my mouth in hopes it saves me from having to answer anymore questions.

It doesn’t.

“Hmmm, that’s good.” She hums. Sharing a look with my dad, she takes a sip of her drink before continuing. “You know, the Peterson’s son was asking about you.”

My stomach drops. Because of course this wasn’t just a simple dinner invitation. Why would I ever think I could have a single dinner without their attempts to set me up with someone they deem appropriate . I take another bite, chewing slowly and avoiding everyone’s gazes.

“I could ask about setting you up for a date.” My mom presses, either not getting the hint, or more likely, not caring.

“She’s not interested.” Scarlett sneers, her cunty face leering at me. “He’s too much of a man for her.”

I flinch at her words, my mind flashing back to the person I do want to be with. Because she’s right, I have no desire to be set up with the Peterson’s son. Or anyone’s son.

But isn’t this why you broke up with Arriana? To do the right thing ?

My chest aches at the mental reminder. I’m so lost in my thoughts I almost don’t hear my mother. Almost.

“That’s enough, Scarlett.” She snaps. “Your sister would be lucky to have such a fine man as Logan Peterson. Right, Fallon?”

Fuck.

What do I say to that? I don’t want to go on a date with Logan .

I want…

I shake myself, nodding my head even as my soul dies. “Yes, Mom.” I mumble, staring at my food, my stomach turning.

“See?” My mom claps her hands, making me jump. “Oh, Olivia will be so thrilled!” She continues to go on about all the plans that she has for me and my love life, but I can’t hear her past the thundering in my ears.

This is a mistake.

I can’t bring myself to say no, to tell her that my heart is already held by another.

I feel eyes staring at me and peek up, meeting Hudson’s concerned gaze. I’m shocked at the genuine worry I see shining in his pale blue eyes. Averting my gaze again, I slump in my seat and wish that the food was laced with arsenic or something, anything to end this miserable excuse for a life I have.

When I don’t get my wish, I reach forward and take my glass of wine, downing it and quickly refilling the glass.

By the time I can excuse myself, I’ve polished off nearly a bottle of wine. I can feel the alcohol warming my blood, a welcome numbing to the overwhelming despair.

“What are you doing?” A deep voice rumbles behind me as I wait outside for my ride.

Glancing over my shoulder, I have to reach my arm out to steady myself as I wobble. “Wha-what do you mean?” I slur, blinking to get my eyes to focus.

Hudson watches me closely, folding his arms over his broad chest. “Why did you agree to go on that date?” He asks, his brow furrowed.

I shrug, the movement making me sway on my feet. “Don’t have a choice.” I mumble.

Hudson opens his mouth to say something else, but doesn’t get the chance as my ride pulls up.

“See ya, broseph!” I chuckle, diving into the backseat.

The ride back to the skyrise is silent, apparently my driver is against music or something. Needing a distraction from the swirling thoughts in my brain, I pull my phone out and begin scrolling through Insta. My vision is a little fuzzy as I like and comment on post after post, the alcohol making me more brazen than normal. One of my favorite authors shared a graphic of a sapphic book she’s working on and I stare at the photo for far too long.

Why can’t I just have that ?

My fingers move on their own, taking me to my profile. I scroll through my photos, smiling at the most recent one of Ava and me snuggled up on her couch. I can almost hear our laughter as we had coached Killian on taking the best photo. He grumbled the whole time but couldn’t hide the love shining in his eyes as he watched Ava posing.

The next photo is one of the Seattle skyline, taken from the fancy ass penthouse. It’s a gorgeous view, and I couldn’t help but share it.

I scroll again and stop, my eyes welling up with tears.

Staring up at me is a photo of Arriana and me. Her arms are wrapped around my waist as she presses a kiss to my cheek. Her short brown hair a stark contrast to my own long blonde locks. My eyes travel down her toned body, her full breasts are pressed against my side and the sight sends a shiver down my spine at the memory of what they felt like. My thighs shift as I remember the sensation of our bare chests rubbing against each other, the friction always sent a jolt straight to my core.

My eyes are closed in the photo but hers are open as she peers at me with what I can only describe as adoration.

Before I can stop myself, I close out of the app and pull up my text messages. Opening the chat, I scroll through her multitude of unanswered texts.

She loves me.

It can’t be wrong if it’s love, right?

With the alcohol making my thoughts a little hazy, I type out a text and press send, a warmth pooling low in my pelvis at the hope she’ll see it. That she’ll respond.

Me

I need you