Page 81 of Broken

“Then I hope Nathan uses some of his mob contacts to scare the living shit out of him instead then,” he huffs.

“No,” I groan. “That would be even worse.”

“Someone has to do something about him, baby girl. He’s ruined two people’s lives, and for what?”

I rub my cheek against his soft jersey and close my eyes. “I know, Ty. And I’m sure Nathan will deal with him somehow. If he has any sense, he’ll call the police, but I doubt that he will.”

“Maybe he’ll ruin him instead. Like financially. That seems more his style,” Tyler muses.

“Yeah, and it wouldn’t take that much effort. I’m sure he’s already on the brink of ruin. Goddamn useless asshole.”

Tyler snorts a laugh. “What are you gonna do now, baby girl?”

I choke back a sob. “I don’t know, Ty,” I reply honestly. “I feel so empty.”

“Oh, baby girl,” he says softly, and his compassion breaks me. My already shattered heart disintegrates in my chest, turning to a pile of ash as I press the phone to my chest. Loud, guttural sobs wrack my body. I hate that Nathan has been hurt because of me. I hate that I wasn’t honest with him about Bryce’s stupid plan from the start. But most of all, I hate my useless, waste-of-oxygen older brother.

When I press the phone back to my ear, Tyler is patiently waiting on the line. “I wish I could wrap you up in a hug, Mel.”

I wipe the tears from my cheeks. “I wish you could too.”

He sighs, and I love that he doesn’t tell me everything will be okay or reassure me that Nathan will forgive me, because we don’t know if either of those things are true.

I hear someone calling his name in the background and remember he’s supposed to be working. “You go, and I’ll call you later.”

“I’m right here on the end of the line whenever you need me.”

“I know.”

“Love you, Goose.”

“Love you too, Mav.”

After we hang up, I stare into space and hold onto Ty’s Maverick jersey, wishing with all my heart that I had my Iceman back.

I keep glancingat my cell phone on the coffee table, then at my coat hanging on the rack. I’ve been sitting on this sofa all night, wondering what the hell to do next. Drifting in and out of sleep with all manner of horrible thoughts swirling around my head. Do I call him or go confront him in person? But confronting him face-to-face would make me break my no-violence rule because I’m absolutely certain I won’t be able to hold back from punching him in his fat, arrogant mouth. Or scratching his eyes out. Maybe both.

My heart is racing like a prize-winning stallion headed for the finish line, and my fingers tremble as I pick up the phone. I take a long, soothing breath and dial Bryce’s number.

Waiting for him to pick up, I wonder if he knows what happened yet. Has Nathan already contacted him? Maybe he’s in police custody? A few seconds later, he answers.

“Why are you calling me so early? It’s barely seven,” he barks.

“Why did you do it, Bryce?” I fight to keep the tremor from my voice.

He snorts. “Do what?”

His contempt shreds my last bit of restraint. “You know what I’m talking about. You knew Nathan was traveling to Chicago for that meeting. You knew he’d be there,” I screech.

“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, little sister. And you’d do well to remember your tone when you’re speaking to me.”

“You’d do well to remember that I know exactly the kind of man you are, Bryce. I told Nathan about your ridiculous plan to trigger the morality clause in our prenup—”

“You did what?” he roars.

“I. Told. Him.” I enunciate each word clearly.

“You stupid little bitch!”

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