Torn - Part Three (The Torn Series) Read Free Page A

woke to the sound of the buzzer near the front door. It must have been the late afternoon - if it had still been morning, I doubt the thunders of heaven could have pulled me awake. I looked out the front window to see who had hit the buzzer and spotted a delivery man waiting on the front stoop. Robin usually warned me if she was expecting a package. On the other hand, I'd been nearly comatose all morning. I threw on my jeans and a hoodie and ran down the steps to open the door.
     
    "Delivery for Alexa Riley," the man said, not even looking up from his clipboard.
     
    "Oh. I didn't order anything."
     
    He raised an eyebrow. "You're Alexa Riley?"
     
    "Yes."
     
    "Sign here." He shoved the clipboard and a pen at me, leaving me no choice but to take it.
     
    "Where's the package," I mumbled as I signed my name.
     
    "In the truck. Prop your door open and we'll be right up."
     
    I watched him jog back to where he'd parked the big white van and was about to turn and head back upstairs when my phone buzzed in my pocket.
     
    My heart seized in my chest. The sender was Mallet. It wasn't the first text I'd received from him since that day in his apartment, but I reacted the same every time - excitement and dread, joy and pain. I missed him but I couldn't trust him.
     
    "Sent you something, don't turn the delivery guy away. Should be arriving about now."
     
    That explained it, but what the hell had he sent? Not to mention that he shouldn't have been sending me gifts - we were over.
     
    I listened as the deliverymen struggled at the doorway at the bottom of the stairs. There were two of them, now. Whatever he had sent, it was pretty big. I saw it as they made it to the stairs. It was a bookshelf - wrapped in a protective layer of padding, I couldn't make out many details, but it was a large, dark wood bookshelf.
     
    I fought the tears that threatened to gather in my eyes. I knew it bugged him that I was living in such an empty room, but even when we were together I never would have imagined he'd do something like this.
     
    "This way," I said, leading the guys to my room.
     
    It was a real piece of furniture. I could see that as they unwrapped it. It wasn't something anyone had needed to assemble first, not something from a big box store. It had a sort of vintage style to it, too. I wondered where he had found it. Maybe an estate sale or something?
     
    I had to shake my head and unscramble my thoughts to remember I needed to tip the guys before they left. Once they were gone, I ran my hands over the wood. It looked freshly stained. Did he have that done?
     
    And could I keep it?
     
    I obsessed over the question the rest of the afternoon. I placed a few things on the shelf - books, knickknacks - only to take them back down and return them to their cardboard boxes. I stared at it from my bed, contemplated moving it to another wall, wondered how I could get it out of the apartment if I did want to send it back to him. Hell, could I even afford the shipping cost?
     
    I didn't have all that much time to ponder it. I had a shift at my other bartending gig in Queens at Coconut Cup, and it was a long train ride to get there. I had to get myself cleaned up and hit the road.
     
    Maybe I'll call Shawn later , I thought as I showered. I wasn't as close with the staff at Coconut Cup and didn't feel comfortable asking them for advice, but I was sure I could call any of my new friends. They wouldn't mind. Or maybe they would. They must be getting sick of my shit .
     
    I suddenly felt very alone. Who else could I talk to about my problems? I'd grown apart from the few college friends I'd made thanks to spending so much time with Tyler. And Tyler himself was certainly not an option. Neither was my family - I kept my mother in the dark about my personal life as much as possible and my sister would be utterly disinterested.
     
    Giving in to self-pity, I shuffled into the kitchen to crack open the bottle of red wine I'd bought, somehow