Broken Beast Read online

  Copyright © 2020 by R.R. Banks

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Broken Beast

  R.R. Banks

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Accidentally Married (Sample)

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Also by R.R. Banks

  Chapter One

  Simone

  God, I can actually breathe up here. The early March air is damp, especially up in these mountains, but it’s still infinitely easier to breathe than the air back in Manhattan. The wind streams in through the open window of my rental car, and my blasting music flows out.

  The winding roads up the Catskills test my rusty driving abilities, especially with half of the contents of my apartment in the back seat and trunk. I never thought I had a lot of stuff until I had to shove it into a sedan as fast as I could in the middle of the night like a bandit.

  I grip the wheel a little tighter, looking at the finger-shaped bruises my ex Max left, peeking out from the wristband of my sweater. I did what I had to do. This six-month creative sabbatical is going to be the fresh start I need.

  My boss Katya claimed that I looked burned out from working too hard in the frenetic energy of our offices, which I wasn’t. I was just trying to dump my now-ex, Max — who had clearly never been dumped before — over the course of a month, which takes a big toll on a girl’s psyche.

  I haven’t told her that, though. I took the opportunity to leave without protest. Katya’s extraordinarily chill about everything, but she doesn’t need to know the dirty details of my hot mess love life.

  Regardless of why I looked like shit the other day, she thinks some time off will help me design some great clothes. Hopefully she’s right. I need a lot of time to myself to get my head back on straight and do some soul searching. I still can’t believe how I stayed with him for a year and a half when he is absolutely batshit. Maybe because he’s just as gorgeous as he is batshit, which makes me cringe just thinking about how shallow that sounds.

  But seriously, he’s a freaking model, and not the kind with a weird look that only works for high fashion. Max looks like he just strolled out of a Calvin Klein underwear ad (though, to his dismay, he never booked them). Piercing blue eyes, dark hair that always looks great, a square jaw… He has the whole package. I’m pretty good-looking in a non-model way, but I’d never dreamed of being with a man who literally turns heads. In my brain, I’m still the emo teenage girl filled with too much dorky creative energy, a body with boobs and hips that she hadn’t quite gotten used to, and braces.

  Maybe that’s why I got all swept up and ignored the flaming red flags he waved in front of me. It was the perfect illusion. Finally, I had nabbed a guy who seemed like he had it all. Not only is he super hot, but he has it together. His career is pretty steady and solid enough for him to make a good living without being an actual celebrity. I didn’t have to worry about being knifed by a fan or having to pay for every date we had. My past adult relationships had been with guys who didn’t have anything together. They were nice and good-looking, and the type who had their shit together, but they couldn’t spend any time with me because they were too busy making shit happen.

  And none of those guys had Max’s charm. God, he can sell anything to anyone. That’s another reason why I stayed so long — he talked me out of dumping him at least three times before I finally shut him down. And he manipulated me like a pro and made me believe I could never be anything without him. All of my accomplishments? To him, they were all because of his influence.

  If I got some praise at work, it was because he inspired me. If someone said I looked hot on Instagram, it was because I’d lost five pounds doing some stupid low-carb diet he’d pushed on me for a few weeks. Well, that was only if a woman said I looked hot. If a guy said I looked hot, he would tell me to delete the picture.

  If my best friend, Gigi, hadn’t sat me down for an intervention, I would probably still be with him, trying to be perfect. I still have a lot of reflecting to do, but just being away from him already feels like a weight is lifting off my shoulders.

  At least I can pretend to be back to normal if I’m not close to the city. I haven’t told him, or any of my friends — besides Gigi — of my exact location.

  “In a quarter mile, take the exit on the right,” my GPS says, interrupting my song for a moment. My heart flutters with excitement rather than anxiety for once.

  The little mountain town of Gray’s Point isn’t a huge tourist town, but it’s absolutely beautiful. Well, at least from what I’ve seen in my Googling and on my Airbnb’s listing. It’s nestled in the Catskills, with stunning views in every direction. My home for the next six months is a guest house on a little farm owned by a young family. From the looks of it, it’s even bigger than my apartment, with plenty of space for my sewing machine, fabric, and yarn. The area is rife with alpaca and sheep farms, with some hand-spun yarns and fabric shops close by. It’s perfect for me, since I love natural fabrics, and Katya’s customers do, too. Maybe it’s an untapped goldmine for designers.

  I pull off the highway and slow down significantly, taking in the sights along the main street. Gray’s Point is beyond charming, from the old-school looking tavern to actual roadside stands where people probably sell apples when it’s warm.

  I want to come back and explore later. It’s already getting late in the afternoon and I’m exhausted from all of my driving and anxiety. So I keep driving, and pull off of the main road onto a smaller one to my new home for the next half year.

  I see the main house right away, and then the guest house. It looks just like the picture online, except for the truck in front and the worried couple talking to a man in a handyman’s outfit. Something in my gut tightens as I slow to a stop.

  “Hi, are you Simone?” the woman asks, hiking a baby higher on her hip. The little boy has a fist full of her gorgeous waist-length hair, which he’s trying to shove into his mouth. The woman doesn’t seem to be bothered by it.

  “Yep, I am.” I hop out of the car, my booties sinking slightly into the mud. I stop myself from wrinkling my nose. I can’t seem like some dumb city girl who can’t handle the outdoors if there’s not a patio and a margarita involved. But ugh, these are my favorites. Gigi says I’m the queen of impractical footwear, and I can’t defend myself against a claim that’s entirely true.

  “I’m Holly. Nice to meet you.” She smiles, but it’s tight with anxiety. “And that’s my husband, Andrew, talking to the plumber. And this is Justin.”

  She raises Justin’s tiny fist at me to wave, making me grin. I love babies, and Justin is insanely adorable. His round little cheeks! His chubby little arms! I want to squeeze him.

  Yet again, Max flashes into my mind. He’s not a kid person — yet another reason we broke up. He said he could make himself a kid person, which I put a hard stop on. I can’t imagine how he would be as a dad. Like, the images literally can’t come to my mind, not even one of him in the same room
as a baby.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, pulling my attention away from Justin.

  Holly bites her bottom lip. “The roof sprung a leak and partially collapsed, and then a pipe burst, so the floor is ruined.”

  “Shit.” I lean against my car.

  “I know. I’m so sorry. A big storm came through last night that was way worse than we expected.” She gently pulls her hair from Justin’s grip. “Andrew is working on it. We have space on the couch, but that’s clearly not what you paid for. There’s a chance that it’s not too, too bad, and things will be fixed in a bit, but I’m not sure.”

  Shit times two. I run my hands through my hair. I wouldn’t mind staying on a couch for a bit, but part of the reason I picked this place was that it has plenty of room for me to work. I need space for my sewing machine, my dress form, my fabrics, my knitting… From the looks of the house, it’s not that big inside. Especially not if a whole family is going to be there, too.

  Regardless, I can’t go back to Manhattan. Max’s craziness is escalating rapidly, and I can’t go back there until he cools down. And on top of that, the person subletting my apartment already moved in. Gigi lives in a studio apartment with her boyfriend, and my other friends have families crammed into apartments. I don’t have a place to go.

  Andrew finally walks over, giving me the same nervous smile that Holly did. He looks like he belongs in the town. His shirt is flannel that’s actually functional and not just for fashion, and his work boots aren’t stylish, but practical.

  “You must be Simone. I’m Andrew.” He shakes my hand. “I’m sure Holly has filled you in on what happened."

  I nod. “I’m sorry everything imploded in there.”

  Andrew chuckles, even though his face says he’s minutes away from having a breakdown. “It looks really bad. I knew I should have had those pipes fixed ages ago. The floor was original hardwood from the 1800s, and now it’s wrecked from water damage.”

  Ouch. I don’t know anything about home ownership, but I can tell that kind of loss has to hurt.

  “That’s the bad news,” Andrew continues. “The good news is that I think there’s a solution. Our neighbor has a similar guest house on his property, just a little bit down the road. He’s a carpenter and blacksmith, so he might even have some space for you to work if his guest house doesn’t.”

  Relief floods through me. That sounds perfect, almost better than their guest house.

  “But how do you know he’ll even go for that?” Holly asks, bouncing Justin up and down absently. “He’s a nice guy when you get to know him, but you know how reclusive he can be.”

  Andrew stuffs his hands into his pockets, watching his son rest his head on Holly’s shoulder. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. And he does owe me a favor since I connected him to some people who needed some metalwork done last month.”

  Holly sighs, and says, “Yeah, I think that might be our best bet. Let’s drive over there. I’m sure he’s home.”

  After Andrew finishes up with the plumber, we get into his SUV and start the drive to their neighbor’s house.

  “Sorry for this mess,” Andrew says, looking over his shoulder at me in the backseat next to Justin’s car seat. He’s probably around my age, in his late twenties or early thirties, but he seems old-school in a way I can’t place. Like a dad, but a warm, pleasant, sitcom dad.

  “It’s not your fault at all,” I nod.

  “Did you at least have a nice drive up?” Holly asks, turning in her seat so she’s sitting on her hip.

  “Yeah, I did. It’s weird driving again. I mean, I grew up in New Jersey, so it’s not a totally new thing, but I’m out of my element.” I look out the window at the passing trees, still naked from the winter. “It’s so beautiful.”

  “Yeah, that’s why we moved up here,” Andrew replies. “It’s very laidback, and even though it looks pretty old, there’s a lot going on in the area without it feeling too touristy. No offense, of course.”

  “None taken.”

  “And it’s a nice place to raise a family,” Holly smiles, looking over at Justin again.

  A strange cluster of emotions washes over me. Jealousy’s in there, for sure, but so is my burning ambition to make it, fast so I can get to the family stage of my life. I need to get my designs out there before I even think about getting all domestic or even dating, considering my terrible track record. With all the open time I have not commuting or sitting through meetings, I can work on my own designs alongside the ones for Katya.

  Maybe if my designs are good enough, she’ll help me go independent with a bit of seed money. Then once I’m on my own feet, maybe I can find a partner who’s not a beautiful, controlling asshole. I stop myself before I rub my temples to relieve the growing tension there. I can’t fall apart in front of strangers.

  Andrew finally makes a right turn onto a different driveway. The path looks similar to theirs, but it’s much longer, going deeper into the wooded land. It’s much more inviting, too, lined with lights that we desperately need in the rapidly setting sun. My stomach twists in knots. What if the guy says no? Or what if he’s a creep? I’m sure he’s not a creep, though, if Holly and Andrew are friendly with him, right? God, there are so many ways this could go wrong.

  Soon, the house comes into view, then the guest house. They both have the same vibe as Andrew and Holly’s house, but this house is much larger. Nice, but not too flashy. Beyond the two houses is another building, which looks like it was built way after the others. It looks like a warehouse, with a truck parked out front. When Andrew parks and shuts off the engine, I hear the faint strains of rock music echoing off of the stunning mountains behind the property.

  We walk past the house and toward the source of the music. As we get close enough to hear what music’s playing underneath the sound of hammering, nostalgia slaps me across the face. Their neighbor is blasting Led Zeppelin’s song, “Dazed and Confused,” which brings me right back to high school.

  I remember begging Gigi’s older sister to play it for us when we carpooled to school, which she adamantly refused half the time. I thought I was so much cooler than the other kids for liking music that wasn’t pop or modern rock. God, teenaged-me was so cringey. Though honestly, I still love Led Zeppelin. At least past-me had decent taste in music.

  The warehouse has two garage-style doors, one that’s closed and one that’s open. Their neighbor is in the open side, his back to us. And damn, what a nice back. Even though he’s sitting, I can tell the guy is huge and tall. His broad, muscled shoulders look powerful under his black T-shirt, like he could carry a whole animal across them, and taper down to an equally strong-looking lower back. I can see the long, thick muscles alongside his spine.

  Just looking at this guy’s back is making me tingle between my thighs. Yeah, Max and I had sex one last time before I dumped him, but I feel like I haven’t gotten any in ages. Max relied way too much on his gorgeous face and body, as if that alone would make come. Yeah, no. I swear he could only find my clit if I put its location into fucking Google Maps.

  “Hey, Jay?” Andrew calls over the loud music. “Sorry to bug you, but do you have a second?”

  “Hm? Sure.” The man turns to look at us and takes my breath away.

  It’s been more than ten years since I’ve seen him, but I know it’s Jay Breiman instantly. His steel grey eyes are unforgettable. He was my first actual boyfriend and gave me my first kiss against a stranger’s car in a Target parking lot one day after school. He burned music mixes for me filled with songs I still love today (like the one playing right at this moment) and meticulously decorated each CD with sharpies. We spent so much time making out that I’m surprised we didn’t get brain damage from a lack of oxygen or start a fire from the friction of all our dry humping.

  My parents hated his guts, because they saw him as a bad influence with all of this black clothes and loud music. And maybe the hickeys he gave me. And maybe the pot he smoked. And maybe his clear distaste for
authority.

  Okay, as an adult, I get where they were coming from. But underneath all that, he was always so sweet. He made me laugh, and never made me feel like I had to be anyone else but myself. He’d give me little gifts and always text me goodnight.

  God, it literally looks like he aged up wearing the same outfit that he wore all the time back then — a black T-shirt and black pants, with a ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe. His wonderfully soft, rich brown hair is still longer on top and shaved on the sides, looking effortlessly cool. Now he has a thick, brown beard across his angular jaw, and his face doesn’t have a trace of the baby fat I once knew. His face isn’t gorgeous in the way I’d gotten used to seeing from hanging around Max and his model friends all the time, but he’s still insanely handsome. All of his features are strong and masculine, from his strong brow to his nose.

  And speaking of his past, what happened to him? He moved when his Dad sold his company, and he dumped me just because he didn’t want to do long distance. And, having been dumped, I didn’t really want to keep in touch with him.

  I look him over again, taking in the tattoo that’s peeking above his collar. Gigi says that even though his family was super loaded, he started hanging with a bad crowd. Apparently, he went to jail and got disinherited. That wouldn’t surprise me — his parents were (and probably still are) a piece of work. Maybe that’s why he’s up here in the sticks, doing whatever he does in this warehouse. He certainly doesn’t have the look of a guy who could buy up half the town if he wanted to. His shirt and jeans don’t look designer by any means, and his home looks pretty normal from the outside.