Page 129 of Worth Every Penny

“Managed it how? By losing your shit and smashing stuff like you did last night?”

My stomach sinks, followed by a blast of pain that runs straight to my heart. He must have spoken to Nico.

Nico.

The pain increases, and I’m aching with the cruelest type of heartbreak. I’m suffering so much emotional agony that even standing in the same room as Jack is difficult.

I haul my awareness back into the kitchen to find him inspecting me, looking for proof of what he’s implying. He mustfind it because he adds, “Turns out you’ve got secrets of your own, too."

“That’s different.”

“How exactly is having a relationship with my best friend and hiding it from me different?”

“Because I'm not obliged to tell you about my love life.”

“So it’s a love life, not a sex life?”

Love. Those four letters tear at the edges of the wounds Nico’s words left last night.

I scowl at him. “It’s a phrase. It doesn’t mean anything. But either way, I don’t need some stamp of approval from you. And the fact you’re even suggesting I do brings me back to my original point. You’ve treated me like a kid for far too long.”

We stare at one another, me trying to conceal the fact that him knowing about me and Nico is making me internally freak out, and him still holding out a mug of tea like an olive branch. I glance down at his knuckles, which are raw and bloodied.

I fix on them for just long enough that he withdraws his hand and puts the mug down on the side.

“And don’t lecture me about losing my shit,” I argue.

I don’t need to ask who he hit. I try to ignore the uneasy swirling in my stomach at the thought of Jack smashing Nico in the face.

Maybe they both deserve it, but that thought doesn’t make me feel any better. My entire body is rigid with anger and resentment, but it shifts abruptly as I begin to numb out, unable to bear the mixture of shame and heartache that the memory of last night’s events dredges up.

Nico might have confessed that he loved me… or some strange version of it, and God knows I’d have given anything to hear him say that before Martin Brooks spoke to me. But I’m not sure Nico Hawkston is capable of love. Not really. Even last night, he onlysaid those words to take control of the situation. To get me to put my anger aside because hisloveis more important.

But the thing that really stung were his words about quitting.I don’t fucking quit, and I cannot be with someone who does.He spoke them with such certainty that it drove home his point hard and fast, skewering all of my insecurities like a piece of raw meat… the belief that I’m not good enough and I’ll never be good enough, so I might as well give up.

I’ve always been a disappointment to Mum. And as for the company… Dad left it to Jack, not me. He shared his secrets, his failures, his fears—all of it—with Jack, and neither of them trusted me enough to tell me the God-damned truth, and Nico’s just as bad.

I’m spiraling. I know I am. The destructive thoughts running through my mind will bring me so low I won’t be able to climb out of the hole of my own making.

Not only have I walked away from Nico, the one person with whom I finally found a sense of comfort and safety, but I’m giving up everything I worked for on the spa project.

Mum enters the kitchen, her hair a mess, her face makeup free. It’s shocking how old and worn out she looks. She glances between us, notes that Jack’s holding a cup, whereas my hands are free, and promptly launches herself into my arms.

“Oh, Kate, darling. Oh, my goodness…” She bursts into tears, collapsing on me, her arms weak and frail around my neck. “He tricked me… he stole from me… what did I do to deserve it?” she wails.

I pat her back. “Oh, Mum…” My attempt at comfort sounds wooden, but her wailing continues regardless.

“He said he loved me. And I loved him. Oh, how can I bear this broken heart?”

Over the top of her head, I catch sight of Jack, pressing his lips together. His eyes flash to mine, and I note his gaze is full of amusement.

He’s holding back laughter.

It’s wrong… but as soon as I see the way he’s desperately trying to keep it together, I want to giggle myself. Not because it’s funny, or because I don’t care… but because the whole scenario is awkward and ridiculous, and the urge to laugh is some misguided reaction beyond my control. My body cannot contain the unpleasant emotions that Mum’s weeping is dragging up in me, and clearly, neither can Jack’s.

It’s either giggle or sob right alongside her, breaking down over my own heartbreak. And there’s no space for the latter in Mum’s house.

She would likely accuse me of stealing her thunder or being attention-seeking if I even alluded to the fact that I have my own crap going on at the moment.

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