Page 20 of Broken Hearts

“Can I have a little time alone, please?” I know it’s unfair of me to ask; it’s her space as much as it is mine.

She appears conflicted, and it’s rare to see that version of Nessa. I’m so used to the abrasive, comical side of her.

“You have no reason to be ashamed,” she says gently, and it makes my eyes water again. I can’t deal with any sentimentality right now, not when the control over my feelings is still so feeble.

“I know, I just need…”

She looks at me pensively before turning toward Liam, who is waiting in his car. She sighs, turning toward me again. “Okay, I need to go buy something anyway, but I’ll be back soon, and I’m not far. Call if you need me even in two minutes.”

A sincere smile breaks across my face, reflecting my love for my girls. After a quick, affectionate hug, I go upstairs for a hot shower. There, eyes closed, the focus shifts to the meditation techniques learned in therapy. I take deep, slow breaths as I concentrate on how the water hits my skin, how it feels when it slides down my arms, my back, and my legs to end on the porcelain floor. After a few minutes, I feel like all the emotions are back in the box, and I do feel lighter somehow.

Maybe that breakdown was not completely crazy after all. Maybe I truly needed it.

Settling on the sofa with a cup of tea and Anne of Green Gables, my comfort reading is cut short by Poppy’s return, bringing with it a wave of embarrassment for spoiling her fun.

Addressing her concern and finding the right words to apologize seems daunting. I need to start somewhere, but then Nessa appears, back to being herself—the larger-than-life heart of the party, carrying alcohol that both Poppy and I are surprised Liam acquired for her.

Liam is the perfect image of stoicism, and I see what’s simmering under the surface. It’s one of my gifts. I’ve always been invisible before Cole set his eyes on me, and this invisibility allowed me to see how people reacted to each other; it gave me a certain sixth sense… Not that it really helped me to prevent my own drama, but it does allow me to see the potential chaos that will be Nessa and Liam and the way they look at each other. There will be something there, and I’m not sure if it will be her greatest love or her hardest fall, but I’ll be there for her like she’s here for me now.

The invisibility never bothered me, though, because I had my violin, which was all that mattered. I may have been invisible to people around, but when I was playing in a concert hall, all eyes were on me, people holding their breath as I played and letting the beautiful sound of emotions come out from the magical piece of wood in my hands.

“Ladies,” Nessa announces, “it’s time to get shit-faced and spill secrets.” She places the bag on the counter, extracting bottles.

And I agree, despite what we vowed at the start of the year, it’s not working. We are close now; we know each other, and the past won’t change how I see my girls.

I watch Nessa prepare the cocktails, and the amount of alcohol she’s using is staggering, but I won’t complain because I suspect I’ll need that much to talk about Cole.

Nessa comes with the cocktails, and I take a sip as she sits down. I wince as the alcohol goes down my throat. Jesus, I could light the world on fire with that.

Nessa downs her glass in one go and exhales audibly. “Alright, I’ll kick things off,” she declares, pouring herself another and leaning back with a mischievous grin. “Bet you didn’t know you’ve been living with a deaf girl, did you?”

Deaf? I look at her with shock, and suddenly, it all clicks together. Lord, I’ve been so blind! We listen to her story, and it’s humbling, but I also feel a kinship I didn’t expect to find. She’s lost something important, and I’ve lost my ability to use my hand with the same dexterity as before, losing my whole life’s purpose in the process. This admission helps so much more than anything in the world, and I go next.

Delving into the full story feels overwhelming. I feel too fragile inside after the nightmare and the breakdown, but I tell them more than I’ve told anyone other than Max.

Clearing my throat, a determined yet shaky voice emerges. “Cole Westbrook and I were… from different circles in high school. He was the star athlete and I, the music geek. Our paths never really crossed until—” I take a sip of my drink, hoping to numb my feelings a little more.

Poppy reaches for my hand and squeezes it. This gesture of comfort is all the encouragement I need to keep going.

Turning my left hand to reveal the blunt scar across my palm, the story unfolds further. “I had a full scholarship to Julliard, then the accident happened.” I almost snort when saying the word. It was no accident; it was a planned destruction.

“It cut the nerves in my left hand,” I continue, and it’s far more difficult than I first thought. “And Cole… he played a part in it, whether he meant to or not. It’s a wound that never quite healed, and seeing him again, it’s like ripping off a bandage that was barely holding everything together. I can’t play the violin like before. Julliard, my dream, it’s gone. I spent a year in rehab trying to fix the damage, trying to figure out a new unplanned future, and this is why I’m starting one year late. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.” I finish my drink in one go and reach for the pitcher to fill my glass again.

It’s Poppy’s turn, and she tells us about her family’s descent to hell and how Ethan’s family played a significant part in it. Her strength is as humbling as Nessa’s is. These girls can possibly understand me in ways nobody else can, and I’m thankful that life, for once, seems to be on my side.

Leaning back in my seat, I smile; our fractured souls find solace in shared pain and unspoken understanding, forging a bond that promises not just survival but the emergence of an unbreakable sisterhood.

Chapter 10

Cole

Sitting in my car, parked a few doors down from Eva’s building, I dial my father. The phone rings twice before he picks up.

“Cole, thank you for calling me back. I only waited twenty-four hours this time.” His voice is smooth and cool. The voice he uses at work with his colleagues and with me when I irritate him, which is quite often.

Groaning, I hold the phone a bit away from my ear, bracing for the familiar reprimand. “You’re welcome. What can I do for you, Dad?”

“Your mom is getting all excited about the break. I want to make sure you’ll make an appearance,” he says, his voice tinged with expectation and caution. I picture him in his study, the dim light casting shadows over his furrowed brow. Like I would ever do anything to hurt the woman I adore.

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