Page 78 of Boarded Hearts

Racing through security, which thank fuck is quiet, I pull out my phone and type Felicity a text.

Me

I land in London at seven a.m. GMT. I’ll have my phone on WIFI the entire time. Be there soon, Angel.

Hearing her broken voice on the phone earlier cracked my heart straight down the center, a feeling which left me without any doubts that I am totally in love with my girlfriend. I pause my fingers over the text I’m typing. I want to tell her, my heart pleading with me to admit to her what I’ve likely known for months. But it’s not the right time. So instead, I hit send and swallow the words down even though I’m not sure how much longer I can hold them in.

I haven’t slept in over forty-eight hours, and by the time I pull up to the black iron gates in front of Felicity’s former house, my eyes are raw, my head is banging, but my body is thrumming with adrenaline. I’ve never been this wired, even for the playoff finals.

I’m relieved when the gates open without a code, and I pull into the gravel courtyard. The house is nice. It has that typical English country feel to it. It’s double-fronted with a stone porch and a thick black wooden door with a brass knocker set in the center.

Pleading with myself not to hit him but knowing all too well I’m likely to knock him out at first sight, I fling my door open and jog to the entrance.

The door swings open before I reach it, and Felicity stands there, her tiny frame dressed in plaid red and green pajamas and those ridiculous bunny slippers. I smile, amused by her outfit but mostly relieved to find her safe.

I wrap her in my arms, pull her off the ground, and plant a kiss on her forehead. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. Setting her back down on her feet, I cast a glance over her shoulder. “Where is he?”

“He went out. I haven’t spoken to him since last night, so I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

I scan my eyes over her face and then down her body. “Did he hurt you, touch you?”

She shakes her head but keeps her eyes pinned on me like she’s begging me to believe her. “No, he was just an asshole.”

“Grab your things. I’m guessing Darcy and Jack are still out?” The driveway is totally clear.

“Yes, they haven’t got home yet.”

Packed up and making our way to the car, Felicity stops dead in her tracks. The iron gates begin opening, and a white Jaguar F-Type pulls alongside my red Mercedes rental car.I feel Felicity stand closer to me, her breath unsteady, and her intimidated response instantly ignites my rage. I’m grinding my molars so hard, they could snap under the pressure.

Elliott’s already striding toward me as I look up at him with a shit eating grin. “Get off my fucking property before I call the pol?—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his threat. Instead, the end of his sentence is met with the force of my fist. Bones crunch in his nose and blood sprays across his pristine Jag. Shame.

“Jesus, I think you broke my nose!” he screams, clutching his face and buckling over.

I grab Felicity’s hand, and we make our way to my car. Popping the trunk, I fling her bag in next to mine and open the passenger door. Buckling her seatbelt, I close her door and make my way back to the piece of shit still wailing in his driveway.

Crouching down in front of him so he can see my eyes, blood still pouring from his nose, I talk very clearly and slowly. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Elliott. Come within a hundred feet of my girlfriend again and your nose will be the least of your worries. I’ll take your fucking head off.”

With that, I casually make my way back to the car but stop and turn on my heel. He’s still bent over, clutching his face. Perhaps he’s never been punched before and that thought alone surprises me. “She told me what you said last night,” I say, my shit eating grin making a return. “And I wouldn’t be concerned over our exclusivity. I plan to make her my wife.”

FELICITY

We twist and turn around country lanes, Jon’s bloody knuckles gripping the steering wheel so tightly it could crush under the pressure.

The navigation system is on, but he’s ignoring it. The robotic voice has been asking us to “make a U-turn” for the last ten minutes.

“Do you know where you’re going?” I’m not sure he does.

“I’m just driving as quickly as I can away from that house. The further I get, the less likely I am to turn back and gouge his eyes out so he can never look at you again."

He’s raging. I’ve never seen him this upset. His knees bounce with adrenaline; his hands squeeze and tremble.

"Pull over."

"What?"

"Just pull over. Here, in this lay-by.” I point to an area set to the side of the road.

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