Fractured Read online

  Fractured

  Dani René

  Contents

  Letter to the Reader

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  The Salvation Society

  Acknowledgments

  Books by Dani René

  About the author

  Copyright ©2020 by Dani René

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Dani at Raven Designs

  Editing: Candice Royer

  Proofreading: Illuminate Author Services

  To the women who fight every day to overcome.

  To the women who have survived.

  You are beautiful, strong, and resilient.

  Don’t let anyone take that away.

  Letter to the Reader

  Dear Reader

  I’m so excited and humbled to be writing in this world. The Salvation Series is one of my favorites, and it’s been an honor to be included as one of the authors.

  I hope you enjoy JD and Autumn’s journey. There are a few scenes that are difficult to read, but I hope you’ll trust me, and follow Autumn in her falling in love, her heartbreak, and her overcoming something that is a very real threat to young girls and women all over the world.

  Thank you for reading,

  Mad love, Dani xo

  Chapter One

  Autumn

  Eight years old

  I don’t like when winter comes to New York. Everything is cold, and Momma is never happy or smiling. Snow is piled high on our porch, and even when I beg her to sweep it away, she will tell me to jump over the white mush.

  That’s not the only thing I don’t like.

  Going to school in the city is scary. Not because I’m afraid of walking down the sidewalks or shoving through groups of people on their way to work, but because the other kids at school don’t like me.

  Momma tells me that it’s not true. She says everyone loves me because I’m her beautiful girl. She told me that nobody could ever hate me, but she doesn’t know how hard it is making friends when I’m not like them.

  Today is one of those days when the sun isn’t shining, and my heart hurts in my chest. When this happens, it reminds me that I have to be sad. My heart hurts because I no longer have my dad, who loved me like a princess. Even though I love my momma, it was Dad who would always be there to make me laugh. I can see how much Momma misses him. I hear how she cries at night, and I think if I were happy, it would be bad because I shouldn’t be. Momma said he’s in heaven, in the clouds, and she told me he can see me. But I don’t believe her because if he could see me, then he wouldn’t stay there; he’d come back and love me again.

  Tears run down my cheeks as I watch everyone on the playground, laughing and talking to each other. I should go to them, but I don’t want to be happy.

  I blink when everyone in front of me becomes blurry because I can’t stop the tears that leak from my eyes. The other kids never want to be around me because I’m different, but also because I’m the girl without a dad, which only makes me even weirder to them.

  When I look at them running around, I see them smile, I see them talk to their friends. But I don’t have those. I settle on the bench that overlooks the playground and open my lunch box to find the sandwich Momma likes to make—peanut butter and jelly. It was Daddy’s favorite, so Momma always puts it in my lunch box, so I don’t forget him.

  Can you forget someone you love?

  Momma says Daddy went to live with Grandma, but I don’t like that he’s gone. Even though I know he won’t come back, I still pray every night and ask God to send him to me again. To send him here to fix Momma and me.

  Every morning I wake up and I find out that my prayers haven’t been answered because he isn’t sitting in the chair at the kitchen table. Nothing will bring him home because we put him in the box that went into the ground.

  “Hey.” A voice startles me, and I almost drop my lunch. I lift my teary eyes to see a boy standing in front of me. He doesn’t block the sun because the gray clouds have taken over the sky. But his eyes shine when he looks down at me sitting on the bench. His hair is spiky, sticking up in all directions like he just ruffled it.

  “Hi.” My voice sounds scratchy, and I clear my throat, which Daddy used to tell me there was a frog in when it got like that. I'd giggle so hard—I thought it was the funniest thing I ever heard.

  “What are you doing?” the boy asks me before he sits next to me. He’s holding a candy bar in his fist. It looks so good, but I can’t ask him for a bite of his treat.

  “I’m having lunch,” I tell him and lift my box to offer him half of my sandwich. He looks at it for a long while before he takes half and bites into it.

  “Peanut butter,” he says while chewing, making his teeth turn a funny color because of the sticky, crunchy goodness. I want to smile, but my heart hurts too much today. Instead, I wonder why he’s sitting with me. He doesn’t look at me; he’s watching the rest of the kids.

  He has brown eyes that remind me of the candy bar he’s holding. His pointy hair is black, like the nighttime when the moon doesn’t come out. His skin is like Momma’s milky coffee, not exactly pale like the other kids, but not as dark as mine. When I look down at our arms, I notice how he looks more like caramel, and I’m like chocolate.

  “I like peanut butter,” he says, causing me to lift my eyes to his face. He’s still chewing, and I decide I like how his mouth moves as he enjoys his lunch.

  “Yeah.” I nod. Taking the other half of my sandwich, I bite into it and look over at the playground. Being at school sucks, but Momma says I have to finish school to get a job. “Do you want a job one day?” I suddenly ask the boy.

  “Yeah,” he says before shrugging as he takes another big bite of the sandwich, then he looks at me. I like what I see when I look into his eyes. They look kind, not like the others who scare me. I can’t stop looking at them. The boy with the candy-bar eyes. I smile. The boy with Snickers eyes. “My dad says that’s how you can make a lot of money. We have a lot of money, but my mom isn’t around much, so I think she uses it all.”

  He smiles at me then, and I can’t help but do it back. It’s the first time I’ve smiled in a long while. I decide I want to see his smile some more. His eyes shine when he looks at me again, and I wonder if they do that all the time or if he’s just happy because of the money his family has.

  “I don’t think it’s good.”

  “What?” I ask, making my eyebrows crinkle like dad used to do when he didn’t understand something I said.


  His face turns serious, like he’s about to tell me his puppy died. My heart breaks. I don’t like that. I hope he doesn’t tell me that. “Money.” He shrugs, eating the last piece of the sandwich. “I just think that people should be happy. Money doesn’t really do that,” he says after he’s chewed all the bread. “Because my parents have money, but they never look happy. I wish everyone could smile more.”

  I have to nod because I agree with him. But sometimes, smiling hurts more than crying does. But how do you make people happy? I suppose you could give them presents. I like presents. But then you’d have to have money to do it.

  “Maybe you can be a policeman,” I tell him. I know they make people happy when they smile with their friendly faces. My momma and me always greet them when we see them walking around the city. And sometimes, they take bad men away, which makes my momma happy. They took her boss away when he became a thief. Momma told me he took all the money and almost ran away with it. They called him a thief and Momma said its only bad men who do things like that. Now that he’s gone, Momma is happy again.

  “Maybe,” he says, looking up at the playground. “What’s your name?” he asks, and then his chocolate eyes are on me. They’re so pretty I can’t look away, and I feel my cheeks get hot.

  “Autumn,” I tell him. “My momma says it’s another word for fall, like the season.” I smile when he does. “And yours?”

  “James Dylan,” he says, sitting up straight as if it’s cool to be called James Dylan. “But you can call me JD. All my friends call me that.”

  “Am I your friend?” I ask, my eyes wide as I stare at him. I’ve never had a friend before, and I hope he does tell me I can be his friend. When he smiles again, I notice his dimple. It reminds me of the pop singer I like; he has dimples too. Or he could be like a puppy. Maybe not as fluffy, but he’s nice. I decide right then that I like JD and his smile.

  “Yes.” He doesn’t look like he’s joking, and my heart jumps up and down; my belly does a weird flip-flop, and it feels like there are a million birds flapping their wings inside me.

  “I like that.”

  “Good, because when I’m friends with somebody, they have to be my friend forever,” he tells me seriously. “And if you ever leave me, I’ll be the saddest boy in the world.”

  “I wouldn’t want to make you sad. Ever.” I nod, and my pigtails fly back and forth, making him laugh.

  “Good. I don’t want to make you sad, so I think we can be forever friends.”

  Again, my belly does something funny, and I smile at him. He’s nice. Even though he is rich—not like me and momma—I like being his friend.

  “So, where are your other friends?” I ask him before I look at the playground. It looks like nobody else knows him.

  When I look at JD again, I notice he’s staring at me. He tugs on my pigtail and says, “If you’re going to be my forever friend, I don’t need others. And maybe I can marry you one day.” His words make my face get very, very hot.

  But then I laugh, and shaking my head, I say, “I don’t know if my momma will let me get married.”

  “But you shared your sandwich with me, and if you share stuff, that means you’re married. And then you make each other happy.” He shrugs and smiles at me. “I guess I should ask how old you are? I'm eleven.” He sounds like he knows everything. It’s like he’s all grown up and he’s teaching me what the world is like.

  "I'm eight." I look at the playground again and wonder just what would happen if I told Momma I am getting married. We sit quietly for the rest of the lunch break, and soon, the bell rings to tell us to go back inside.

  “That’s good. I think me being older than you is better because a husband should look after his wife.”

  “I like that,” I tell him, giving him a smile. “I’ll be your wife then.”

  “Great! I’ll see you tomorrow,” JD tells me. “And don’t forget, we’re sitting together.” He salutes me as if he were a soldier, and I giggle. When he smiles, I memorize it like my teacher taught me to remember things, and I watch him go back inside.

  I didn’t even ask him what class he’s going to. But I guess like he said, I’ll see him tomorrow. And suddenly, my day isn’t as bad as I thought it was.

  * * *

  I race into the house, finding Momma at the kitchen table. She’s looking at papers, and she doesn’t look happy. I stop at the door, my stomach making a strange grumbling sound, and she looks up with a smile.

  “Sweet girl,” she says, holding her arms open to me. “Come here.”

  I run into her hug and press my head against her shoulder. I love Momma’s hugs. She always makes me feel safe, just like Daddy did.

  “Momma, I’m getting married,” I blurt out, knowing that if I don’t tell her now, she’ll never know.

  Her laugh makes me shake too. She allows me to stand before asking, “Married? To whom, sweet girl?”

  “JD. He’s a boy at school. We had lunch together, and he’s nice. He has pointy hair, and he smiles nice too.” My excitement makes her laugh even more.

  “You know you shouldn’t get married until you’re at least forty,” Momma says in her serious voice.

  “Forty?”

  Even though she nods, I can see her smile brightening. It’s a better one than before when I used to tell her things that happened in my day. And I’m glad I made Momma happy.

  “I guess I can wait. I’ll let JD know tomorrow.”

  “You do that,” she tells me, tugging on my pigtail, which makes me think of my new friend. I don’t know why he chose me, but I know that I’m happy because I have someone to talk to at school. Even though he is older than me by three years, I’m happy he’s someone I can call a friend.

  Maybe life won’t be so lonely.

  And maybe Momma will also like him.

  I do.

  Chapter Two

  JD

  Thirteen years old

  As my father’s town car rolls through the wet streets, my mind is on the girl that’s somehow become my world. I’ve spent the last two years learning about her, getting to see her come out of a shell she seemed to hide behind. But I can never tell my parents about her because they’ll never agree to our friendship.

  As the car pulls to a stop, I glance over at Dad who’s on his phone. He doesn’t seem to notice we’re two blocks away from my school. His fingers tap on the screen, and I wonder just what’s going through his mind. When I was young, I thought he was the coolest man in the world, but over the past couple of years, I learned just what my father was like.

  With money, with his job, he became cold, as if nothing mattered except the project he was working on at the time. I’m still not completely sure what he does. I know he goes into an office every day, but other than that, I’ve never spent time around him to learn who he is.

  Not because I didn’t want to.

  But because he never allowed me to.

  “Dad,” I call to him, and he finally looks up.

  “I have a meeting. You can run up to the building,” he tells me before reaching over to ruffle my hair. He doesn’t mention that it’s raining heavily and I don’t have a coat on. “Big boys can brave this weather.” He looks so happy with himself as if he made a joke, but I don’t find it funny.

  My chest aches at the way he’s always treated me. Even though I’m his son, his only child, I’m still not important to him. One day, I’ll move out of his house, and I’ll never speak to him again.

  Anger surges in my stomach and I push open the door. I’m too upset to let him look at me again. Because if he did, he’d see me cry. I’m late for school, and it’s lunchtime. I should’ve stayed home, but Dad insisted I come in for the last few periods. Good boys don’t skip school. It’s his fault we’re late, but I can’t tell him that because he’ll only slap me for being rude.

  Since it’s raining today, I know where I’ll find Autumn. The cafeteria is busy. Even though I hate being in here, I will happily sit inside
for Autumn. She finds it difficult to concentrate when it’s noisy, but it’s so wet outside we can’t go to our favorite spot under the tree.

  At our corner table, I watch Autumn scribble her notes. I know she enjoys the sound of rain falling on the roof. She once told me it makes her heart happy.

  Over the past few years, I’ve noticed her smile more. When she was younger, the pain in her eyes used to make my chest hurt. But slowly, she’s become a happier, carefree girl. I hope that it’s also because of our friendship.

  She means a lot to me. Even though my folks haven’t met her yet, her mom has accepted our friendship, and she always makes me feel welcome when I visit their place. After her dad died, her mom had to move, and they found an apartment not too far from the park; which is good since we can take walks without my folks seeing us.

  It’s not because I don’t want her to meet them, but I know they won’t be happy with me having a friend who isn’t rich. Autumn and her mom may not have a fancy house or go on vacations every few months, but there’s something warm about their apartment. It feels like a home.

  “Hey.” I drop beside her. Autumn’s eyes widen as she regards me. Suddenly, she bursts out laughing, which only confuses me, but I grin as I ask her, “What?”

  “You look like you’ve been through a car wash,” she tells me with another little giggle that makes my heart soar. When I hear her laugh, my heart does stupid things. I don’t even think she’s noticed, but I have—she’s growing up, and she’s prettier every day.