Pieces of Me by Erica Cope Read Free Book Online Page B

my mom on the phone—I can't imagine having to work with her.
              He laughs. “No, not really. Well, until she starts trying to interfere in my personal life. Besides, she's rarely here. Travels a lot,” he says apathetically. It must be nice to be able to afford to travel all the time. Even if my parents had the money, I doubt my dad would want to leave the farm for very long.
              “What does your dad do?”
              “No clue.” He takes in my confused expression and sighs heavily before continuing. “Mom left him when I was a baby. I guess they had some issues.”
              “Oh.” My parents are happily married....annoying, well my mom is anyway, but happily married. I can't imagine what life would be like if they weren't together. “Do you ever see him?”
              “Um, well. No,” he says reluctantly. “He's actually in jail right now.”
              “For what?” I ask in shock, without thinking about how rude it might seem. I mean, it's not every day I talk to someone whose dad is sitting in a jail cell.
              He runs a hand nervously through his hair and coughs uncomfortably like he's trying to clear his throat.
              “I'm sorry. It's okay, I didn't mean to pry.”
              “It's okay. It's just not many people ask about him so I'm not used to talking about it.”
              “Seriously, I'm sorry. You don't have to talk about it.”
              “I—” he starts but the first customer of the evening rush walks in, effectively ending the conversation.
              The Java Bean is surprisingly packed for the rest of my shift and by the time we close for the night I'm exhausted. The idea of pedaling even the short distance to my apartment is daunting.
              “Want a ride?” Holden's voice in the quiet parking lot startles me.
              “No, it's okay. It's not—”
              “Far. Yeah, I know,” he finishes with a defeated tone. “Check ya later.”
              I watch him walk over to a vehicle a few spots down from where I'm standing. Right before he opens the door of some rusty old car that looks like it saw its prime in the sixties, he looks up at me with a smirk and I realize I've been caught staring at him.
              I try to play it off but my hands are shaking as I clumsily try to unlock the chain on my bike. It sticks so I pull hard. Apparently it was a little too hard because my left hand flies to the side forcibly hitting the hard metal of the rack. “Holy fuck!” The pain knocks me off balance and I fall to the ground landing hard on my butt.
                  “Are you okay?” Holden is at my side, taking my hand slowly into his and gingerly feeling it. “Can you move it?”
              “No!” I hiss through my teeth. Oh my God, I'm going to cry right here in front of this guy over my stupid hand.
                  “Try,” he says softly. “Just wiggle your fingers.”
                  I take a deep breath and do as he instructs. My fingers move but it hurts like hell.
                  “Good, not broken.” He seems oddly relieved considering it's not his hand. “You're going to have a killer bruise though. Let's go get you some ice.” He helps me up by my elbow, then whispers, “Never would have expected such vulgar words could come out of that pretty mouth.”
                  I just glare at him since the pain in my hand has left me unable to articulate properly for the time being. He just smirks at me in return. Jerk.
                  He forces me to lean on him like some sort of invalid as he guides me back into The Java Bean. He flips on the lights and