Page 74 of Broken Bonds

I sigh.

I really fucked up.

Forde has been an incredible friend to me in recent weeks. He’s been a tremendous support as I navigate my grief, understanding me unlike anyone else. From the first day that he came to my house, he has supported me, always listening to me when I need to let out my emotions and rebuilding me afterwards. Finding ways to help me cope, things I can do to relieve the pressure from all my anxieties.

How can I ever bring myself to look at him again after what we did? To make matters worse, I know I hurt him. I heard it in his voice when I refused to look at him, when he asked me not to shut him out. After he was so sweet and caring with me.

I asked for everything he did —and it was amazing— only to treat him terribly after.

I kicked him out!

I let out a deep and exhausted groan, scrubbing my hands down my face, taking a few moments to gather myself before getting up to make a cup of coffee. As soon as I stand, a kick to my bladder has me squeezing my thighs together to keep from peeing all over myself. Another kick has me wincing, wishing they wouldn’t use my bladder for kickball when I’ve only just woken up.

“Alright! I’m going,” I grumble, detouring to the bathroom first.

In the kitchen, I get my coffee brewing, staring intently at my coffee machine as if my gaze alone could force it to pour luscious elixir of the gods into my cup more quickly. As I wait, my mind takes me back to last night and a wave of heat washes over me.

How Forde felt pressed against me. How strong his hands were as they gripped my hips. The way his tongue—

Ugh.No!

No. Not going to think about it.

I drum my nails on the counter, blowing out a breath as the silence around me becomes overbearing.

I need someone to talk to. Someone that won’t judge me or tell me I did nothing wrong just to spare my feelings. Someone that will give it to me straight.

I hear the chime from my coffee machine and move quickly, grabbing my mug and stirring in some sugar and creamer, then I grab my phone from the counter and settle down at my kitchen table. With my cup of coffee in hand, I scroll through the contacts on my phone, pondering if I have anyone I’m comfortable enough with to discuss this matter.

With my cup almost at my lips, poised to take a sip, I pause when I catch sight of a number I haven’t used yet.

Perfect.

I quickly take a sip and set my mug down, clicking on the name to open up a new message. Once my message is sent, I wait anxiously, staring at the phone screen and willing them to message me back. I’m so surprised by the speedy response I receive that my pulse quickens, and I barely manage to stop myself from dropping my phone. I exhale and lean back into my chair, my shoulders slumping in response to their words.

I can be there in 30 minutes.

Gulping down my coffee, I try to steady my nerves as I go to get dressed, nervous energy radiating through me.

* * *

“Hey,” I say, giving Shelby a grateful smile when I open my front door and see her. “Thanks for coming. I hope you weren’t busy or anything.”

She smiles back at me and steps in when I move back. After closing the door behind her, I guide her toward the kitchen.

“It was no bother,” she says as she takes a seat at the table.

“Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Coffee?”

She shakes her head. “No, thank you. Come on, have a seat. You didn’t invite me to come out here on a whim to provide me with drinks.”

Her eyes twinkle with mirth as I blush, clearing my throat as I take a seat across from her. I don’t even know where to start. Shelby is, for all intents and purposes, a stranger to me. She knows a little about my situation, but not everything.

But surely she can understand the guilt I’m struggling with over this instance?

“Before I start, can I ask you something kind of personal?”

She gets comfortable in her seat, crossing her legs and setting her hands in her lap. “Ask away. I’m an open book.”

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