Page 4 of Broken-Hearted

Getting rid of Nathan Blackshaw is easy.

One of the drivers calls out for me, wanting more coffee, and I leave Nathan Blackshaw to serve him.

As I’m topping up coffee, the midday rush starts with a family of six, and I’m run off my feet trying to be in five places at once.

When I glance over at Nathan’s table, it’s empty and I spot a couple of folded dollar bills—more than the coffee costs—tucked under an empty coffee cup.

I smile.

2

It’s been one day since I arrived in Rosenwood, and already I’m living like a slob without Martha to rein in my slobbish nature.

It doesn’t help that my motel room, a double-double, came with two beds. Give me space to spread out my crap, and I will take advantage every single time.

Grumbling at the injustice of it all, I grab a trash bag and spend the next couple of minutes picking up after myself now that I no longer have a clean freak big sister to prod me into action.

Martha is twenty-five, and I’m twenty-two. Ever since I was five or even six, I was leaving my crap everywhere while Martha would carefully put away her toys when she was through playing with them.

It doesn’t take long, and the mess isn’t as bad as I thought. Mostly it’s the remnants of snacks I picked up from the grocery store on my way back to the motel. I didn’t have to worry about dinner.

O’Shane let me eat for free at the diner and packed up a burger and fries in takeout containers for me to eat when I gotback to my room. I stuck on a TV dating show, made myself comfortable on my spare bed, and inhaled my food in seconds.

Minutes later, I have a bulging bag of trash in hand. The bathroom isn’t too bad. I have a habit of leaving dirty towels on the floor to trip over in the middle of the night, so I pick up the towel and hang it behind the door.

On my way out, I trip over my brand new hairbrush, insanely overpriced from Rosenwood’s grocery store. But I needed a brush to tame my shoulder-length, blonde hair that, at the slightest hint of humidity in the air, I resemble a fluffy poodle.

After placing my brush next to the sink and wondering how it wound up on the floor in the first place, I head out of my room to dispose of my trash in the dumpster near the motel’s entrance.

My room faces a parking lot, so I don’t bother putting my shoes on or even brushing my hair. It’s 9 p.m. There won’t be anyone around to see me in all my scruffy glory.

No sooner have I pulled the door open than I’m jumping out of my skin as a tall figure peels away from the wall beside my room.

Nathan Blackshaw.

“What are you doing here?” I hiss as my heart stops pounding.

His eyes flick to the bag in my hand. “Taking the trash out?”

“Yes. But?—”

He pulls the bag from my hand. “I’ve got it.”

“Why are you here?”

“I told your sister I’d keep you safe, and I told my alpha I’d bring you home,” he says as he walks away.

I watch him dump my trash in the dumpster. When he returns, he drops to the ground outside my room.

“What are you doing?” I frown.

“Keeping watch over you.” He peers up at me. “Why? You got more trash that needs to go out?”

“No, I don’t have any trash that…” I shake my head. “You can’t be serious. You’re not sitting out here all night.”

He isn’t even wearing a coat. Just the same black T-shirt and jeans from the diner.

“Of course I am.”

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