Shatter Girl

By Shay Miranda

A cocky playboy who craves the spotlight,
a sheltered girl with no patience for jerks,
and a crazy summer that will change both of their lives.

 

Jude Taylor has it all: the fame, the hot girl, and all the money he could ask for. But when a disastrous drug-fueled bender in Berlin ends with him being shipped back to New York in shame, he's forced to lie low over the summer in an attempt to get back on his dying father's good side, which seems to be no easy feat.

The reclusive Aubrey Vestergaard comes from a long line of old money – but you'd never guess by looking at her. She's spent her life hiding from the spotlight, and she's happy to keep it that way. After Jude unceremoniously crashes into her life, she resents his cocky attitude... even if she struggles to resist his charms.

 

Stuck with Aubrey over summer and forced to confront some painful personal realities, Jude reluctantly embarks on a journey of personal growth. With the help of Aubrey and a new therapist, he begins to uncover the root causes behind his arrogant persona and his wild behavior, and try to make changes to last a lifetime.

 

Can Jude find the courage to face long-buried trauma and grow into a happier person? And will his unlikely friendship with Aubrey blossom into something much more?

 

As a whirlwind coming of age story that's set in the vibrant and bustling streets of New York City, Shatter Girl is a deep and heartbreaking summer read with larger-than-life characters, timeless themes, and a love story that feels like magic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Narrativ Press
• Release date: May 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798987634608

Book preview

chapter

one

The warm early summer sky looked as if it could have its own space in the Guggenheim, amongst the abstract art. It was a generous slew of warm and cool tones as the sun continued to drop lower into the horizon. Berlin was quiet in this part of the city, windows in buildings lighting up with human life as the sun dipped lower and lower into the horizon.

Margot would be home at any moment. Tonight, they had to appear at a club Jude frequented. Some big Swiss DJ would be there, and the owners wanted Jude’s presence to draw a sizable crowd. These events were typical of a Friday or Saturday night, and Margot never complained. She worked odd hours, sometimes on the weekend. But being linked to Jude Taylor brought a nice uptick in followers, and Margot craved the attention.

When he first moved to Berlin four months ago, Jude laid low and didn’t want to draw too much attention. He ended up meeting Margot in a bar downtown. She was a nurse in a hospital nearby. The tall, thin blonde had dragged herself inside, still in scrubs, collapsing on a bar stool two seats away. She spoke pretty German—German that was less angry and softer, almost melodic. The bartender took her order and her gaze had then shifted to Jude. She said something to him in German.

Sorry, he had said with a smirk. I don’t speak German.

Typical American, she had joked back. The rest of the night, she had knocked back shot after shot, holding her liquor better than even Jude did. She was a nurse that ran a medical-themed Instagram. Almost a saint.

Jude and Margot entered a whirlwind romance of sex, drinking, and the girl’s rise from small influencer to fame. Jude lived with her in her flat, where she worked during the week and showed up at events with Jude on the weekends. When Margot was at work, Jude stayed in the flat on his own.

Tonight, the keys clattered in the doorway as Margot let herself in. She walked past Jude in silence, going straight to the bedroom. The door clicked shut behind her and moments later, the shower switched on.

Jude lifted himself off of the couch, following her into the bedroom to the only bathroom in the flat. He undressed on his way, leaving his clothes strewn on the floor. Margot would pick them up later. The bathroom was steaming already, the air thick with humidity and moisture. He could see the shape of Margot’s body in the fogged glass of the shower, her curves slight and small.

Jude stepped into the shower, pressing his naked body and already hard member up against her ass. He used his hips to push Margot against the wall, and she moaned, letting herself lean back into Jude’s muscular chest. He nipped at the right side of her neck, using her left hand to pull down on her hair so her neck was better exposed for him.

Jude slid his dick between her legs, letting her get a feel of him across her lips. She tightened her legs at his touch, leaning forward to rest her head against the cool tile of the shower. Her hips bucked back against Jude’s hips, asking for him to take her.

He couldn’t help himself but oblige, and in a swift moment, entered her in his entirety. She shuddered and shifted her hips to take him more comfortably. He grabbed her hips and started thrusting inside of her with a smooth rhythm. Margot moaned louder, her weight becoming more in Jude’s hands as her pleasure became unbearable.

His own pleasure filled up inside of him, and he slowed his thrusts to avoid finishing too quickly. He leaned forward, sliding his hands down the front of Margot’s wet body until he found her clit. Her breath hitched, and Jude smirked, knowing he found the right spot. He pleasured her until he could feel her walls clamp down on his dick as her orgasm overtook her. Jude quickened his thrusts inside of her, riding her hard and fast until he came with a roar. The release was almost euphoric, but when it was over, he felt nothing else.

Jude removed himself from Margot and slapped her ass hard enough to make it burn red immediately, hoping to turn the attention away from any romantics Margot would attempt post-sex. She slapped him in the chest, mock offense on her face. Enough of that, she said, breaking into a grin.

Nah, that ass is mine, Jude said with a smirk, grabbing her butt in his hands and squeezing it tightly. Like that pussy is mine, he whispered into her ear before nipping at it gently.

Margot waved him away from her. You’re disgusting.

You like it.

Margot rolled her eyes.

Tonight, she wore a flimsy gold dress and black heels. Her hair was in loose curls, her lashes were probably fake, but her makeup looked nice. Margot’s features were soft and shallow: ivory skin, blonde hair, blue eyes. Normally, that wouldn’t be Jude’s type, but Margot was so easy. She was never home, and when they went out, she was a perfect accessory for Jude’s image on the internet.

Margot shook a small baggie at her boyfriend, snapping Jude out of his thoughts. His gaze registered the white substance inside, and a wide grin broke out on his face. Set it up, baby girl, he cooed, his hand resting on her ass as she bent over to cut the first line.

She took her time with it, measuring out each line with precision, a quality Jude briefly admired about her. Sure, this was probably the only way the girl could function in the way she did, but Jude didn’t care how she did it, just that she did.

When she finished, Margot sat back and waited for Jude to go first. He leaned forward, plugged one side of his nose, and inhaled deeply. It felt like a jolt of electricity entering his system and he sniffled, shaking his head at the sudden alertness he felt. He was ready for anything.

Margot called a car, and they went down to the lobby together—laughing and stumbling through the lobby. In typical fashion, they couldn’t keep their hands off one another. Outside their apartment, a black car waited to whisk them away.

The ride to the club was short. Immediately after stepping out of the car, photographers ambushed both Jude and Margot. The lights flashed bright enough to leave Jude practically blind, and he raised his arm to cover his face.

The air inside was noticeably warmer than outside, the night air still cool as it clung to the end of winter. Bodies packed the small club, which rested atop one of the taller buildings in the area, overlooking all Berlin.

Jude was sweating, but he felt extraordinary. Jude and Margot made their way to the dance floor, laughing and shuffling their feet around the best they could in their inebriated state. The music and energy inside the club was decent enough for Jude to have a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest.

I’m going to get drinks, Margot had to shout in Jude’s ear. He nodded in response and together they stepped off the dance floor and separated—Margot to the bar and Jude to the VIP booth.

She returned a few minutes later with two shots, feeding them both to Jude and kissing him deeply afterwards. Margot cut out another line on the glass table in the booth, protected from the public eye. They each took one, sitting back in exhilarated excitement.

Margot said something in German with a sigh. Jude didn’t bother to ask.

Back on the dance floor, girls’ bodies pack against Jude. He let them grind against him, some of them whispering promises of a good time in his ear. He thought about what it would be like to fuck any of them, and even shared kisses with some of these women, but his attention usually turned back to his girlfriend.

Girlfriend?

Where was Margot?

Jude scanned the crowd, looking for a glimpse of her curled blonde hair. He spotted her across the room, sitting in another booth, twirling her hair with her finger and batting her eyelashes at the man she was with.

Red flashed in his vision as his eyes landed on the guy. The crowd parted like a sea as Jude moved through it in a straight line. They weren’t speaking English. German.

The guy leaned forward, brushed a lock of hair behind Margot’s ear, and his hand dropped to her thigh, gripping it slightly. Margot threw her head back in laughter.

In a flash, Jude was across the room, his hands closing around the dude’s neck as he pushed his skull to the wall. His left hand curled into a fist, sending punch after punch to the stranger’s face in rapid succession.

Margot screamed. Hands grabbed Jude from behind, but he could focus on nothing else but what he was hell bent on destroying. Rage fueled his existence, exploded in his core, enough to make him feel electrified.

Real electricity surged through his muscles, and he became unable to move as his muscles violently contracted and he fell to the ground, three Taser prongs on his back. Margot sobbed as the police moved in, handcuffing Jude’s barely conscious body.

For the third time in fifteen minutes, Jude shifted his weight on the bare plastic mattress, trying unsuccessfully to make himself comfortable. He didn’t know what time he got to jail, but he could see sunlight filter through a barred window high above the bed. Jude’s head was pounding. He groaned.

One of the police officers that had put him in this cell appeared again. He said something in German.

English, Jude grumbled, not even trying to understand the basic German he knew. "I speak English."

You don’t have a visa to stay in Germany, Mr. Jude Taylor.

I don’t need a visa. I’m a tourist.

The officer looked down at the clipboard in his hands. You’ve been here for over three months. You overstayed a tourist visa. And maintain a residence with… the officer stared closer at his clipboard to read. Margot Müller?

That stupid bitch ratted him out. Fine, Jude rose from his cot and stretched his arms. I’ll leave now. I need my phone to make a call.

The officer nodded and left, returning with Jude’s cell phone, wallet, and jacket. His cell phone had tons of notifications, missed calls and texts. No doubt his face was plastered across all the websites this morning.

Jude tapped his finger on his mom’s name. It rang twice before going to voicemail. Frustrated, he hung up without saying a word.

He stared blankly at the screen, thinking of someone else, before finally succumbing to his fate and tapping on his sister’s name. After four rings, Florence picked up with a sleepy, Hello?

Flor, can you deposit some money in my account for a plane ticket home?

Florence scoffed. Dad cut you off again?

You know good ol’ Wayne.

It was silent on the other line for a moment. What time is it there? It’s one in the morning.

Who knows, early?

What are you doing up so early?

Waiting to get on a plane to go home.

Florence hung up. Jude waited patiently in his jail cell for ten more minutes before an email notification came up on his screen: Flight Information for TAYLOR, JUDE R.

I’m ready! Jude yelled loudly, banging his fist against the bars as they made a loud clanging noise. He continued to do this until a different officer appeared. Jude could tell he had annoyed him. He didn’t mind as the officer unlocked his cell and let him out.

Did y’all get me a car at least? Jude asked.

No, the man grumbled. You’ll leave the country by yourself, not deported.

So I can come back?

No.

Jude furrowed his brows. The officer returned his passport to him, stamped newly with a big red German warning that Jude knew meant he could not return. Which meant that Jude had to return, broke and homeless, to his father, and beg on his knees for his mercy.

chapter

two

When Jude stepped out of the terminal, he looked around for his mother, swooping in to pick up her prodigal son in his triumphant return. She was in the corner of the baggage claim, cell phone in hand, sunglasses still hiding her face even while inside. And, Jude noted with a heavy sigh, she looked pissed. She raised her hand towards her son. When Jude got within five feet, she raised her sunglasses and scowled in a way only mothers could.

Are you fucking kidding me? was the first thing she said to him in a low growl. Elizabeth Taylor was a tall woman with heavy east European features that Jude didn’t inherit a ton of—olive skin with straight black hair and cold gray eyes. Her family came from old Russian oligarchy that left the country when the Soviet Union fell, and her survival depended on how rich she ended up marrying, which was very.

Jude rolled his eyes and shrugged past her. Don’t make a scene, Mom.

That stopped his mother in her tracks. Don’t make a scene. Her catchphrase practically. Don’t make a scene, Jude. Like a lifetime mantra. She confidently strutted past her son, knowing he would follow. Elizabeth led him to the black car waiting right outside, as if traffic laws didn’t apply to rich mothers reuniting with their shitty sons. Photographers were outside, and they shouted questions at the duo. Elizabeth, wearing sunglasses, covered her face with her hands as she walked. Jude raised his hands to wave, sending his signature smile in the direction of the flashing lights. He left his luggage on the sidewalk as he climbed into the car. Grigori, the family’s driver, got out of the car to put his bags in the trunk.

Get in, Elizabeth commanded.

Jude complied.

The duo waited in silence as the driver finished putting Jude’s bags away and came back to the car. Elizabeth scrolled absentmindedly on her phone. Jude wiped his clammy hands on his jeans. As the car pulled back onto the road, Elizabeth finally sighed and dropped her phone, pulling her sunglasses from her face. Did you run out of money?

What do you care? You didn’t even call to check on me. Jude’s tone was short and cold. He stared blankly at a single crack of leather in the seat in front of him, his eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

I had the press to do that for me.

Jude sighed heavily and sunk into the soft black leather of the seat. Would’ve still been nice to hear from you.

Your father—

Jude didn’t give her time to finish her sentence. Yeah, I bet.

Silence filled the car in a suffocating, thick smoke. Jude pulled out his phone, checking all the normal media sites and Instagram. FINANCE HEIR RETURNS TO MANHATTAN, accompanied by a photo of Jude and his mother at the airport. He scoffed. He loaded Margot’s Instagram, which had gone quiet since Jude’s arrest. Her last post, taken the night before, showed a time that was only a few days ago, but for Jude it felt like a lifetime: Margot in her skimpy gold dress, shimmering in the flash’s light. Jude in a button down and slacks, his hand around his girl’s waist, smiling brightly at the camera.

Jude glanced up from his phone to read a passing freeway sign. He shook his head in confusion and waited for the next one to pass. Instead of the typical route, Grigori had taken the Nassau Expressway through Brooklyn. His parents, in their fancy luxury building, lived in Murray Hill in Manhattan. Grigori would’ve taken, at least initially, Van Wyck. Where are we going? Jude asked, sitting up.

Elizabeth finally put down her phone and turned her head towards her son. Your father and I decided it was best if you didn’t come home.

I’m still cut off? Jude shouted. He rose to tower over his mother as he yelled in her face. You told me if I came home, you would take me back! Restore my accounts! Why would you let him do that?

Elizabeth cowered under the volume her son used, her breath quickening but still rising evenly. When she spoke, she held her tone firm. Don’t you dare yell at me. It was a joint decision, Jude.

Jude relaxed back into his seat, folding his arm across his chest. You always say that about shitty things my father says.

You will stay in the Vestergaard house in Park Slope until further notice. Consider it a favor from your father.

Jude furrowed his brows, thinking of the last time he’d heard the Vestergaard name. The guy died a few years back, and Jude couldn’t remember why. The wife skipped town. There’d be no reason to even have an apartment in the city.

The Vestergaard family was from the same realm of old money as the Vanderbilt, Rockefeller, and Astor families that helped shape early New York. They had a kind of wealth that Jude’s father couldn’t dream of. As with other families of New York fame, the Vestergaard left the traditions of high society decades ago, choosing instead to live privately.

His family had spent some summers in the Vestergaard estate in Connecticut, and while the husband had been nice enough, he was dead and his wife was a bitch.

Eventually, Grigori pulled the car to the curb and signaled behind him they had arrived. Elizabeth sighed and placed her phone in her bag. She looked at her son, staring accusingly at her. She