Broken

by Brooke Linford

Overview

When Amanda bumps into a strange man, she thinks nothing of it until she sees him again. And again. Wherever she goes, even at home – he’s there.



She tries to ignore him. But he doesn't like to be ignored.



Amanda doesn’t know who to turn to. She’s just met Lucas, a man her friends believe is perfect. While she can't deny her attraction to him, demons from her past and present continue to haunt her. And she's not the only one with secrets.



What follows is a desperate escape from the city, where she's forced to confront her past, deal with her growing feelings for Lucas, and fight for a future she's just beginning to believe in.



Is she strong enough to survive?

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780987623188
Publisher:	Close-Up Books
Publication date:	06/03/2017
Pages:	198
Product dimensions:	5.00(w) x 7.99(h) x 0.45(d)

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

I wanted tonight to be a success, but even as I rushed home, a dark cloud of foreboding settled over me. I'd left work early to make sure my apartment was perfect before my parents arrived. I made the bed with fresh sheets for them to sleep in, and my two fluffiest towels hung in the bathroom. I dug through the back of the pantry for the last few items Mum had given me – a rose-patterned vase and scented candles – and placed them strategically around the room. Hopefully all my preparations meant there'd be no fuel for an argument.

They showed up after an hour of me glancing frequently through the window, watching the darkening street for their Jeep. Finally, my mother swept up the stairs and stepped over the threshold.

She gazed around her, her face falling in dismay. 'Oh, Amanda, I thought you were going to upgrade this lounge suite.'

My heart sank. Jesus, that's the first thing she says? Ignoring the comment, I kissed her cheek, and helped Dad wheel in their suitcase.

I'd warned Giovanni and Marianne we were coming to Alberto's for dinner, and I was already dressed and ready, tapping my fingers on the bench top as my parents settled into my bedroom.

'I don't even know how you're going to get through the night on that thing,' Mum called through the bedroom curtain I'd strung between the two rooms. I heard the spray of a perfume bottle, and a moment later a heavy floral scent filled the air. 'That couch is so old. You'll wake up crippled in the morning.'

A series of snappy retorts wound through my mind, but I bit them all back. Dad sat beside me on the sagging leather couch and raised his eyebrows at me, adding a calm smile – I couldn't figure out how he managed it.

'Are you really wearing that?' Mum asked, wrinkling her nose.

She looked trim and elegant in a charcoal woollen skirt, her cardigan matching perfectly. She'd reapplied her makeup, and not a strand of her shiny hair was out of place. I surveyed my own outfit; I'd chosen it carefully, I thought. I'd tossed aside everything else, finally settling on this combination.

'What do you mean?' I asked.

'This.' She plucked at the sleeve of my red leather jacket with two manicured fingernails. 'Where did you get this?' 'It's Marianne's,' I murmured, feeling the familiar prickle of irritation run across my scalp.

'That girl has always had questionable fashion sense.'

Her face puckered in disgust. It was no secret my mother and my best friend couldn't stand each other. Sighing, I shrugged off the jacket and slid on a plain black cardigan instead. What was the point of arguing?

Dad flicked through a tattered magazine on the coffee table, ignoring the tension in the room.

*
Peak-hour traffic was still heavy by the time we arrived at the restaurant. I jumped off the tram and tried to walk ahead of my parents, but my mother kept me back with a barrage of criticism.

'... I'm just saying that it wouldn't hurt to look at other places to live. You don't even have a security code on the building, and your front door doesn't shut properly. Don't think I didn't notice that.'

The warm light of Alberto's spilled gently through the windows ahead. I focused on it as we neared; the sound of Mum's high heels hammering on the footpath pounded against my skull.

'And with winter coming, I can't believe you haven't spoken to your landlord about the heating. It shouldn't be up to you to buy your own electric heater. They cost a fortune to run, you know. Honestly, you need to get on to that. You're cold, and you're in a building with no security. I mean, what if someone breaks in? A rapist could walk right up to your door–'

'We're here.' I barged through the door into the crowded restaurant. The clatter washed over me – voices, cutlery scraping plates, music – and instantly I felt calmer. I released a long breath.

'You won't have to help out tonight, will you?' Mum asked as she squeezed past me.

'No, Mum, I don't work here anymore.'

'I just want to have a nice relaxing meal with my birthday girl, that's all,' she said into my ear. I almost smiled. Maybe if she stopped talking about how shit my place was then I could relax for a minute.

I found our reserved table – my regular table – and led my parents towards it. People surrounded the bar and Giovanni greeted them effortlessly as he passed by.

'Ciao, carina,' he cooed, scooping me into his arms. I rested my cheek against the cool silk of his shirt. 'And here they are,' he said, reaching out to my parents. 'Welcome, it has been so long since we saw you last here.'

My mother frowned, concentrating on untangling Giovanni's accent. Finally her red-painted lips curled into a hesitant smile.

'Thank you.' Dad nodded as he shook hands with Giovanni.

'Have you met Lucas yet, our new barista?' Giovanni asked me, his eyes shining.

Oh God, here we go. 'Not yet.' I kept my tone light, aware that Mum was listening hard. 'How's Luisa? Is she here tonight?' He shook his head. 'Stanca.' He glanced up at my parents and held his hands in front of his belly.

'Oh,' my mother sighed. 'Your wife is pregnant?' 'Si, our second baby. Due in four weeks.'

Mum's face lit up, and she looked at me with a smile. Tick tock, I could almost hear her say.

'Is Marianne in the kitchen?' I asked.

'Si,' Giovanni replied. 'Go, go.' He flicked his hand, slipping into my chair as I stood.

Marianne ladled sauce over a steaming mound of pasta. Her whites were stained red, her hair pulled back tight, and she wore a mask of determination. 'Helena!' she barked as I leaned against the bench, watching her work.

I missed the hustle of the restaurant, the smell of beer under my fingernails, the music and drinks at the end of the night while we slopped water across the floors. Working as a receptionist just wasn't the same.

I should have left the kitchen and rescued my parents from Giovanni's small talk, but I'd promised Marianne I'd let her know when we arrived. She wanted to be prepared for my mother – who she hated like poison – and she was desperate for me to meet Lucas, the barista. She'd been raving about him for weeks.

She kissed my forehead. 'You're here. How's it going?' She pushed her damp hair behind her ears. I knew what it meant. 'She's been her usual self.' I forced a smile. 'You know, my place lacks security, the heating thing ... and apparently I'm under threat of a rapist breaking through my door.'

'Christ,' Marianne moaned. 'You've lived alone for years. You lived alone in Italy, for fuck's sake–'

'Yeah, yeah.' I nodded, interrupting before she got carried away. 'Busy tonight, hey.'

She shrugged, surveying the kitchen. 'That reminds me, can you help me prep tomorrow arvo? We've got the Desio family coming in for dinner.'

'All of them?'

'Yeah, a birthday party.'

'That's fine.'

She slapped the bench top. 'Oh God, wait, have you met him yet?'

'Lucas?' I took a deep breath, pushing away my irritation. 'No, not yet.'

'God, he's so perfect for you.'

I chuckled. 'The poor guy.'

'Where is he? He was just out here on a break.' She went to the kitchen door and peered through. 'Here. Quick!' She beckoned me over. 'You didn't see him at the bar?'

'I didn't, but my mum's here and Giovanni has an accent.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Well, Lucas started three weeks ago, you know. I can't believe you haven't been here for three weeks.' She pointed.

'I've been busy ...' I murmured. And putting off this forced fix-up for as long as possible.

At the end of the bar, Lucas worked in a cloud of steam behind the coffee machine. He was tall, thin, with long blond hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, his white sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Marianne had already worked her way into his life, and she'd been spoon-feeding me morsels of information ever since.

I knew he'd walked in off the street, desperate for work. I knew he was a trained barista who planned to source and roast his own beans one day; that he couldn't speak a word of Italian but loved Italian food. I knew, even though she hadn't told me, that Marianne had convinced Giovanni to hire him. I knew what her argument would have been – Giovanni's wife Luisa was about to give birth, and they needed someone to replace her, someone who could make coffee as great as Luisa. And I knew, by the sparkle in his eye earlier, that Giovanni was now on board to set the two of us up.

Marianne was convinced we would hit it off and that if I relaxed and went with it then ... what? All my troubles would disappear? She was sketchy on that last part.

I leaned back against the door jamb as Helena the waitress wobbled past with a pile of dirty plates. 'You know, I do have a life outside of this place,' I whispered to Marianne, who studied me carefully. 'So, what have you told him about me?'

Marianne grinned. 'Just do me a favour,' she whispered. 'Order yourself a coffee.'

I nudged her back into the hot kitchen. 'Shit, now you've made me nervous,' I said, louder now my voice had to compete with kitchen noise.

'Isn't he kind of stunning though?' Marianne mused.

'I have to get back out there,' I said, shaking my head. 'And you know you have to come talk to my mother.'

Marianne jabbed a finger at my chest. 'Just don't leave me alone with her.'

*
We ate baccala, crab risotto, and drank Prosecco and beer. Dad toasted me for my upcoming birthday and for a brief shining moment I was content in their company. It was a rare occurrence, and I knew that on some level I still wanted their approval; for them to be proud of me, treat me like an adult, and enjoy spending time with me. I would never admit that to Marianne.

Giovanni floated back and forth, joining us for a drink and charming my parents. Once Mum was tipsy enough to practice her basic Italian greetings on him, I took the opportunity to introduce myself to Lucas.

'You're Amanda,' he said, before I'd even opened my mouth. I raised my eyebrows in reply. 'Marianne pointed you out.'

'Yep, she's been wording him up,' Pete the barman called, stacking glasses into a rack beneath the bar.

'It's good to meet you, anyway,' Lucas said. The blue lights behind the bar cast him in an eerie glow that made my breath catch. Glancing towards the kitchen, I was pleased that Marianne wasn't spying at least. She was right about one thing; he was kind of stunning.

'You too.' Taking a breath, I shoved my hands into my jeans pockets. 'Apparently you make great coffee.'

He beamed. 'Well, what can I get for you?'

'A latte would be great.'

'What about your parents?' He lifted his chin in their direction and I looked over my shoulder. Mum threw her head back and cackled at something Giovanni said.

Oh God, she's pissed. 'I think they're fine.'

I made small talk with Pete and tried not to stare at Lucas while he prepared my coffee; hunching over the cup, swirling the milk into a feather pattern. He nudged the cup across the bar and waited, arms crossed, while I took a sip.

'It's very good.'

He grinned. 'You have a great blend here.'

I smiled back. Pete edged closer along the bar to watch our exchange. I cleared my throat, aware that everything I said or did was being scrutinised. It was warm in the restaurant, and I fought the instinct to fan my face. 'You like it here?'

'Yeah, everyone's been great.' He flicked a glance at Pete, who whipped a tea towel out of his belt and started wiping down the bar. 'By the way, Marianne invited me to the barbecue for your birthday ...'

A flutter in my tummy. Damn you, Marianne. 'Okay, no worries.'

'Well, she's met my housemate Cam and they've hit it off, so she's asked him too.'

I forced a nonchalant smile. I suck at this. 'That's fine.'

An awkward silence fell between us. People waited behind me, but Pete hadn't seemed to notice them. I picked up my cup and saucer and shrugged, relief coursing through me that this first meeting was finally over.

'We'll talk more on Sunday, then,' Lucas said.

I nodded. 'Thanks for the coffee.'

*
Outside, the breeze snapped its teeth against my skin. Mum was still tipsy, and as we stepped onto the street, she collided with a man in a black trench coat. Instead of being embarrassed, she wrapped her painted fingernails around his sleeve, cooing, 'Well, hello there!' He tore his arm free, disgust stark on his face.

'Sorry,' I murmured, trying to tug Mum away. His eyes slid over to me, and his mouth twisted into a sneer. My stomach clenched and I grabbed Mum again, making her stumble. 'Come on,' I hissed, yanking her behind me.

'That's the type of man you want to find, Amanda,' she said loudly as we turned to follow Dad. He was whistling on ahead, strolling towards the tram stop with his hands in his pockets. 'Not some boy with long hair who makes coffee for a living.'

I increased my pace. Adding alcohol to my mother's already insufferable personality was such a bad idea.

'Now he might be fun, but you need to get yourself a real man.'

'Oh, Jesus, you're drunk, Mum.'

'No really,' she cried, adding a shrill giggle. 'Did you see the suit on that guy? Now, he has money, and that's important. Security is important, you know that.'

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the man lingering outside the door to Alberto's, watching us walk away. His stare made my stomach turn. What's his problem? The man stood eerily still. A muffled ringtone escaped his suit but he ignored it, simply staring after us as I hurried my mother along.

'I'm not really looking for a relationship right now,' I said, fighting a shudder.

'So you keep telling me.' The toe of her shoe scuffed the pavement, tripping her a little. I caught her shoulders, straightening her out.

'Then maybe you should start listening to me.' I nudged her ahead of me. 'Come on, Dad's waiting.'

CHAPTER 2

'Oh, it's absolutely freezing in here.'

The criticism of my apartment resumed as soon as I'd unlocked the door. It was almost a relief after the ride home, enduring her lengthy opinion of men and relationships as she slowly sobered with each jerk of the tram.

'Amanda, did you hear what I said? It's bloody freezing.'

I switched on the electric heater at the wall and didn't answer. After I made tea – using the fine china she'd given me for Christmas – we sat in silence, my mother huddled rather dramatically in a blanket on the sofa. I was desperate to get to bed; exhausted after only a few hours in my mother's company. The worst part? She was right about a lot of things. My apartment was old and cold, and it didn't have a security system. But it was home. I'd lived here for a couple of years and had loved every minute of it. It was small and dark, but that was all part of its charm. I loved the cosiness, and the kitchenette with the chipped brown-panelled cupboards, and stained bench tops. I loved the worn-out couch and overstuffed bookshelves that threatened to fall at any moment. I loved my espresso machine – the newest item in the whole place – that sat polished and gleaming in my kitchen.

Mum didn't listen when I told her I had no intention of moving, because she could never be happy in such a place. Her life was in a constant state of flux; always renovating, the furniture and appliances regularly upgraded and rearranged. My mother loved to live in a catalogue, as though she was living the dream. During my childhood, I never felt settled, never 'at home' anywhere. I was happy and proud I'd managed to find my home somewhere as an adult – places and people I couldn't live without. I loved my apartment, and Alberto's, and Marianne, and Giovanni. They were all home to me.

'You sure you're okay on the couch?' Dad asked, stacking our empty cups.

I nodded, and moved over to give him a hug. He was a big man, with a big heart, but not a lot to say. It bothered me that he didn't defend me, that he didn't tell Mum to stop criticising. But he loved her.

'Night night, sweetie.'

*
Marco stands on the balcony at Amalfi, overlooking the rough sea below. His hair streams back from his forehead, whipping in the wind. Above him on the road, hard sun beats down on me. It's so hot here; the sweat pours off me. But I'm safe. He doesn't know I'm watching.

The wind begins to howl, the balcony shakes against the cliff. He turns, sees me, his dark eyes frantic. He screams my name. I don't want to go to him, but my legs disobey, moving slowly, taking me to him. As I near, I taste the salty air; the wind hurls the scent at me, the mist cools the sweat on my skin. The sun has disappeared. I shiver.

I reach the stone steps that lead down to the house but now I can't move. The waves are thrashing at the rocks, spitting white froth. I'm frozen. Marco's scream cuts through the air; the balcony comes away from the side of the cliff. I watch, helpless, as everything crumbles, and Marco falls to the rough sea below.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Broken"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Brooke Linford.
Excerpted by permission of Close-Up Books.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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