Page 39 of Those Heartbreak Scars

“I have to go.” I’ve dawdled long enough. I can’t put America’s relationship with Everett before my clients’ needs. “I really do need to go put out this fire.”

“Right, mate. Text us the details for tonight.” Everett dismisses me. America is too focused on her new book to pay me any mind.

I’m making my first call as I drive back to the hotel. It goes to voicemail, so I leave a message and move on. Three calls later, I’ve achieved nothing but to wonder what the hell is going on back at America’s. Has she told Everett about us? Should I expect a call any minute with all the reasons I shouldn’t be his agent? Or has she stripped the sheets and headed for a second shower as though whatever is happening between us isn’t happening at all? Are they cuddled up on that comfy-looking sofa while she pours over her precious new book?

It’s ugly. This emotion I’m feeling. This desire to go back and tell Mann to fuck off.

She’s not my girl. I don’t want her to be my girl any more than I want her to be his.

I’m so twisted up by Indy fucking me over for that dancing asshole. And now I’m sleeping with her best friend…

The affair, the breakup, it’s coloring every part of my life an ugly shade. It’s possible it’s making me biased against Everett too. He actually seems to care about her.

That makes me the asshole in this scenario. And relating to that prick who wrecked my family is something I’ll never want.

“You did this to me,” I snap at the empty passenger seat, allowing myself to visualize Indy there in her favorite cream dress and those tan boots she loved, while I speed along the main road. Her long copper hair hangs over both shoulders.

Does she even wear it like that anymore? Or those boots? Or that dress?

We haven’t spoken since I walked out of the hospital, so I have no idea who she has become. At least not since I was sober. I vaguely recall talking to him after her surgery. I needed to know that she was still with us. But since then it has only been me and the ghost of the woman I thought I’d pledge my life to. The woman I hoped would care for my heart the way I cared for hers. I would have done anything for her.

But apparently that made me too controlling. A bad guy.

My fiancée was dying. There was not a damn study or trial I wouldn’t have pushed her to try in order to keep her with me. There was no way I was going to willingly let her risk her life with that stupid bucket list. If I had to be the bad guy to keep her safe, then fine, I’m the bad guy.

I would be the bad guy a million times over if even one thing I did in those months had an impact on her still being here. Evenif that means I end up here, with her leaving me for him. Every single time.

Fuck, here really sucks. It’s excruciating.

“I don't know how to move on from you. I don’t know how to cut you out.” I make a jagged motion across my chest. “God, I want to hate you so fucking much. Sometimes I want to call you up and tell you that.”

But I only seem to want to make those calls when I miss her the most. And I miss her now because she was my sounding board. When there were problems with clients or my parents, she was the one who I turned to.

“Does it help?” I imagine her asking, because after ten years it feels like I know what she would say. Or at least I did beforehim.

“I’m sleeping with your best friend,” I say flatly. Do I care about what she would think of me if I called her and told her that? I don’t know, but it would hurt America and that I don’t want. “So what do you think?”

“You like her.” She twists her hands together in her lap. “You’ve always cared about America.”

“She’s your cousin. She was always going to be part of my life. So I tried—”

“No.” She stares at me with that stubborn look she’d get sometimes when we disagreed. “You already had a soft spot for her when we got together.”

“We’re friends.”

She raises an eyebrow. “EJ’s your friend too. You don’t fuck him. You’re not considering whether or not you—”

“I’d fuck him if I thought it would hurt you,” I snarl.

A horn honks behind me, snapping me back to reality. I press the gas to proceed through the intersection. My chest hurts like hell. How can I possibly be considering anything with America when Indy is still so deep inside me?

It’s not like it can be anything but sex.

Everett is hell-bent on finding a team in the States. Securing that for him is a major draw card in this deal he and I are working on.

If he goes then maybe America will too. Even if things end between them, she’s going to want to go home and see her family at some point. For a vacation or for Christmas or to stay.

Being near all those people back home that I can’t bear to be around is where she belongs. Those people who were like family, until they accepted Theo with open fucking arms.

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