Page 50 of Reaching Hearts

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Brendan

Wound: stretching painfully as I get out of bed too fast. Feet: hitting the tile with a slap. Racing: not after her.

Iretrieve my jacket, yanking it off the chair with the wrong arm, pissed. I cringe and groan in pain again, and hold a moment to sense if I pulled out the sutures or not. Satisfied, with my eyes on the door and thinking about what she said, I reach into my pocket for my phone. There’s not one preview message on the screen, which means only one thing: Rebecca opened my phone. She knows the password, apparently. The screen should be filled with messages, and the battery should be dead. I key in the password and look at the battery. Not only did she open the phone, but she charged it. Should I thank her or throw this at her head? Unbelievable.

The numbers next to the icons of voicemail, text and email, are staggering. Clicking the phone icon, curiosity makes me check the outgoing calls and I see one from Tommy and one incoming, too. Fuck. Rage pounds adrenaline into my veins, like I’m on fire. I cut my eyes to the door again, considering going after her. But something stops me. What would I say to her? Come back? I don’t want to say that.

But fuck me if I’ll let Tommy hurt her.

He answers after the first ring, “How’d you like The Inn?”

“This is Brendan.”

A heavy beat of silence, then, “Hey B-man. Good to hear your voice.”

“Leave her alone, Tommy.” Silence. “Don’t act like you don’t know who I’m talking about. She was just here.”

Silence again. He’s thinking how to block me, how to counter. But I’ve got him off guard, coming at him with an aggressive front kick he can’t get away from.

I wait.

And I wait.

Finally, he says, in a cool, measured tone, “Rebecca’s a big girl. She can do who she wants.”

It’s like rusty nails are slicing into my veins. “Leave. Her. Alone.”

“Come on! Lighten up. I won’t touch her, B-man, if that’s what you want. We’re friends, right?”

“I mean it, Tommy.”

“Brendan, I hear you. I won’t touch her.” My eyes fall on the flowers the agency sent me. Tommy and I have to work together. If he doesn’t keep his word, I’ll punch him in the face the second I clock in. I do have that as a consolation.

So I say, “We’re having a thing right now. You know how women are,” listening for his reaction, anything that might earn my trust.

“Yeah. They’re nuts, right? Well, you know what? I respect Rebecca. You know that.”

He waits for me to agree, and even though I do know it – remembering how I caught him looking at her at the softball game – I don’t speak.

So he laughs again. “Okay. I get it. You’re protective of her and guys don’t violate the guy-code. I won’t touch her. I won’t see her. I promise. We good?”

“So you’ll cancel?”

“Right after we get off the phone.”

“Okay.” My shoulders relax. “We’re good.”

He says, more slowly, “She said you got shot. That true?”

Exhaling deeply, I’m wishing I could escape this room and this explanation. Tommy is not one I confide in. Ever. “Yeah. I got robbed. I’m fine.”

There’s rustling of fabric as he shifts around on the other side of the phone. “Huh. Do you know who did it?”

I close my eyes and hold my fingers to the bridge of my nose, tired and annoyed. “Nah. No fingerprints at the bar. Blah blah blah. But if I ever find the guy, I’m going to kill him myself.”

Tommy chuckles.

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