All the Pieces of My Heart

By Cat Mason

Be warned, this isn't the typical love story I write because this is reality. And, let's just face it, the way my life has gone is nothing like anything I could have imagined. Love doesn't exactly follow your expectations and it certainly doesn't come when you plan on it. The road was broken more often than it was smooth, but no matter what was thrown at me, it didn't break me.

This is our story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rollin' Low Media
• Release date: Oct 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215034095

Book preview

Dear Reader,

If you’ve read my previous books, and are looking for that same sort of story, consider this your warning. This is not going to be anything like those. Those were fiction. I’m about to cut myself open and bleed some serious truth onto these pages, though names have been changed to protect the not so innocent. This also isn’t a self-help book on dating in the real world after a lifetime sprinkled with trauma and a trainwreck marriage that led to a nasty divorce. I’ll be the first to tell anyone that given my past experiences, I have never had a clue what the hell I’m doing.

What I do know is that life doesn’t come with an instruction manual or any sort of suggestion booklet on how to deal with the things it decides to throw at us. All we can do is take it as it comes. Either we crumble under the weight of whatever bad shit happens, or we find a way to rise above it to find the beauty in what brings us to the good stuff.

So, if you’ve read this far and decide to turn the page anyway, grab on to your seat and hang on tight. It’s a long and bumpy ride that will probably have you laughing, crying, shaking your head with the insanity at times, but I’ll tell you what, it sure as hell hasn’t been boring.

You’ll also hate the whiny ass heroine in this story a lot of the time. I sure as hell did. Though, I think she redeems herself eventually.

It also isn’t edited like a typical book. It reads more like a diary and confessional. It’s a reflection of my life thus far. For someone who spent decades without a mirror hanging anywhere in her house, in an attempt to never have to look herself in the eye, that is saying a fuck of a lot.

P.S.

If you’re close friends or family, just a fair warning that if you turn this page, I’m not really holding anything back. Get ready to potentially feel uncomfortable and a little shocked. Also, I write romance, so yeah, it should go without saying there’s going to be some steamyish bits.

Sorry, not sorry...

For Eva

Your beautiful soul was taken from this world far too soon.

There isn’t a day that goes by you are not painfully missed.

No justice in this world could ever fill the hole losing you left behind in so many lives.

Chapter One

Historical Trauma at its Finest

First things first . For the sake of providing you a clear understanding of why I am the way I am now it's probably a good idea if I shed a little spotlight on my earlier years. This is the house that built me so to speak.

I spent a lot of my time, especially while I was married, making it a priority to pretend things didn't happen. Denial was my very best friend. You know the things I mean. Unpleasant and painful. I ignored a lot from my now ex-husband, as well as the past parts of my life before he came barreling into the picture. Instead of choosing to process those things, and potentially heal from them, I'd just decided the best option was to box it up as if I could pretend it out of existence altogether.

I can't say that I was always a happy girl, though there were a lot of happy times. Good times or not, I had plenty of issues growing up and as a teen, though few really knew about those things. I’ve never been much for feels and oversharing. 

I watched my parents' toxic marriage play out, then disintegrate into a pit of fiery ash. While I remember it all vividly, my sister was far too young to really remember the fights, threats, adultery, various forms of abuse, and the serious unhappiness my mother tried desperately to hide from us and so many others. I was, and still am a very observant and empathic person. I feel everything so intensely that sometimes it's as if I endure just as deeply as those it’s happening to.

While there was plenty of bad shit I could fill an entire shelf of books about, that part of the story isn’t mine to tell. I see now that the best thing to do is focus on the good memories that I have of my now deceased father. Losing a parent, no matter the status of the personal relationship, and its ugly ass ups and downs, is a whole level of hard I never truly understood until receiving the phone call telling me he was gone.

Even at the time of the call I didn't fully absorb the reality. I don't know if I have even now. I've lost people in my life that truly crushed me. Best friends, family, people that made my heart ache at the loss so painfully I'd even wished for death just to stop the hurt. There were even a few times I actually tried to help it along before I had my children.

Thankfully, God had other plans.

Make no mistake that while I don’t go out of my way to sing his praises, I did and do love my father. I won’t speak ill of the dead, but I sure as shit won’t sugarcoat it either. My name isn’t Willy Wonka. 

There were times where I was very much a Daddy’s girl. However, I still find myself waiting for that feeling of crushing loss to set in so that I can start to truly grieve and process having lost him so unexpectedly. Although, I’ve honestly wondered seriously if it will ever come at all.

My sister, and stepbrother, have very different memories of the man we called 'Dad'. That nearly four-year age difference gave them a lack of memory that I am very grateful they have, even if most times I very much feel like an outsider within my own family. And whatever memories of the bad they do have, they choose not to give it any traction in their lives. Which is good. I’m glad. There is a lot of shit I wish hadn't happened, things I would sell my soul to forget. However, I'd always much rather it be me living with those pieces of him trying to outweigh the good than for it to be burdening how anyone else chooses to remember him.

Now though, I've come to realize over the time I've spent so far on this earth without him, that no matter the hurtful things he said or did, no matter the size of the space that grew between us over the last two decades, being a parent is the hardest job anyone will ever have. Not everyone is made for it and I'm sure he did the very best he could.

I sure as hell wasn't the easiest child either.

After all, don't they say the first pancake never turns out right?

Therefore, being the oldest, he and my mother sort of had their hands full with figuring out parenting me of all kids first.

We may not have always seen eye to eye, especially in the later years, but I can admit that I was and am a lot like my father in some ways. I'm a stubborn insomniac, set in my ways, loud and sure about my opinions, and my angry streak runs on a deep and long fuse that sometimes comes with a NOS button for super speed detonation.

He was also extreme and very intense. Nothing the man did was ever thought out or executed halfway. My father was always thinking, perfecting, and working toward the next big thing he wanted to accomplish in life. No matter what that was. He had an incomparable drive and determination to make things happen no matter the cost.

If something didn't work out how he planned; if he ever had regrets or doubts, he never once voiced them. And he sure as hell never gave up. He kept moving forward; rolling, reworking, and adjusting whatever was needed then went on to plan b,c,d, and who knows beyond that. I admired his determination and drive. It was one of the things I loved most about him.

He also instilled in me a serious love and appreciation for music. Some of my best memories of my father are watching him listen to a song on the radio, either record it on tape or buy the cd, take it apart note by note as he blast it on repeat to be able to damn near have it perfect before the night was out. There will never be a time I won't smile fondly when I hear Sweet Child of Mine by Guns ‘N Roses.

My father also had a love of cars, even if he had a sick obsession with Fords I'll never understand. Like him, I love cars but for me that carried over into a love of most things except Ford.

Found On Road Dead- Need I say more?

One of the things we bonded over most was racing. I basically grew up spending my weekends running around any of the dirt tracks within a decent driving distance from my hometown. I was instantly in love with the sound of a revving engine coming off that first turn, the high from the waving of a green flag, and the adrenaline rush I got when he finally put me behind the wheel to race something of my very own. I was the only girl in my division and I sure as shit gave those boys a run for their money. I was and still am an adrenaline junkie, a speed demon. In fact, I only ever lost one race behind the wheel of that gorgeous, blue souped up go-kart. A race that almost killed me when I was thirteen.

I don’t mean chicken noodle here, y’all. That thing was a finely tuned beast that my dad and I affectionately referred to as the demon.

I literally had dreams about doing donuts in the winner's circle of Tri City Speedway in my very own late model, with a checkered flag in my hand. If you don’t know anything about dirt track racing check out the movie Lady Driver on Netflix. It totally sums up exactly what I felt, wanted, and dreamed about.

But I digress...

My dad was hard on me. Much more so than he was on my siblings. No matter if it was school, sports, racing, or life in general he refused to allow me to be soft or ill-focused. This isn’t a sob story where I expect pity or anything. I know he loved me, and that he was proud of me. The constant criticism and pushing me to be better was his way of teaching me not to stop when life got tough. While he didn't always have the best temperament when it came to encouraging me to be driven and focused, I do realize he was trying to instill in me the determination to work hard and never give up on what I wanted to accomplish in life.

Those are the things I now choose to remember; versus the things I pray one day to forget. The yelling, the fighting, the constant replacing of things he had broken in a fit of rage. The abuse no one wanted to talk about. Sometimes I would get so angry at the situation. I just couldn't understand why my mom didn't end it sooner than it did. It wasn't fair in my eyes for her to continue to take such toxic bullshit she didn't deserve when she knew she didn't have to.

Then, I met Theo, who turned out to be so much worse than anything I ever witnessed as a child.

Chapter Two

Theo 

Now, climb in the time machine and buckle up, buttercup. I’m about to take you way back to the year 1999. Back when Britney and Christina were battling it out with sad emo chicks on the charts, boy bands were all the rage, and Dawson's Creek was all the angst I needed or wanted in my life. I was a sophomore in high school, played volleyball, sang in the chorus, and had huge dreams for my life after high school.

I wanted to write books and be a journalist that wrote these enthralling pieces that touched lives. I also wanted to chase tornadoes. That’s the adrenaline junkie in me talking. However, the main goal is I wanted to change the world in some way. I wanted to leave my mark.

I had what I call my first serious relationship even if I really had no idea what love was at that time. He and I were a mess together. Even when it was good, and it rarely was, it was nothing more than living a lie. I tried way too hard to make it work even when I knew it wasn’t. Any time I saw him trying to pull away, I moved closer to eliminate the distance.

In case you were wondering, this was a terrible idea. Not that my teenage ass knew any better. When it ended, instead of the relief I should have felt, I felt no real closure. I had made this guy my entire world for a very long time in teenager years, and stupidly believed my life was over because we were.

So, I decided to take my own life.

That was a hard sentence to write. I don’t like to admit this incredibly low time in my life. There are very few people on this planet who even know about what I had begun to set in motion that day. It made me feel incredibly weak when I worked so hard to come off as this strong, unshakable person.

I chose my day: April 16th, 1999. I wrote my letters saying goodbye and made my plan. I was doing the one thing my father taught