Page 122 of Fragile Heart

My breath catches in my throat before I can manage to look away. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move from where he’s crouched. His gaze roams over me. I know what he sees: his sweatshirt drowning my body, my hair pulled back and unwashed, the circles under my eyes that betray my horrible sleeping. I didn’t bother to hide the last couple hickeys fading behind my ears and along the base of my throat. His gaze catches on the one straddling my jaw, just in front of my ear. The last one he’d left. A muscle feathers in his jaw.

I’m struck frozen, unsure what to do. Is this how a deer feels when caught in a trap? Knowing that death awaits and not quite sure if it’s worth trying to escape? My hands are clammy. I drop them to my lap, running them along my leggings. Caleb follows that movement, too, and his lips thin.

“Brielle,” Ethan says again. This time, though, it’s no louder than a whisper, a world of sorrow carried in the two syllables.Oh, God. He’s not here to apologize at all, is he? He’s here to break my heart one last time.

Panic tightens my chest. I can’t do this here, not in public, not with Camden watching everything. It’s one thing to explain to him that the woman he’s started calling mom moved away—maybe got a job in a different city or something. It’s another for him to watch her walk out of his life. I shake my head, my gaze still locked on Caleb.

“Just listen,” Caleb says, his voice a soothing purr. “That’s all I’m asking.”

My mouth is dry, and I can’t manage to remember how to swallow, how to do anything other than sit here and stare at him. His shoulders tighten as I don’t respond, a whisper of desperation crossing his face. His Adam’s apple moves as he swallows.

“Please, sweetheart,” he says. It washes over me, soothing me.

With shaking hands, I tuck the needle into a corner of fabric and drop the entire thing into my bag. I take the moment I’m not looking at Caleb to breathe, to try and remember why I walked out in the first place.

I don’t think of the words, of the deafening silence, just the feeling of being second. Again. Of being the woman chosen because she’ssafe, because she’s considered the most impressive prize, not because she’s actually desired. It doesn’t quite work the way I hope, though. Instead of being angry and defensive, I’m just fighting back tears. I’m sotiredof being the second-best choice.

When I sit back up, Caleb’s pulled a chair up beside Camden. I still don’t chance a glance behind me.

Not that it matters.

The moment my hands are running down my legs again, trying to dispel the anxious pit in my stomach, Ethan palms myknee. He twists me in the seat, forcing me to look at him, the movement so calm and precise that my heart races again.

His ball cap is backwards, pieces of his hair pressed against his forehead. Even with the dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes, he looks like he just stepped out of a Country magazine photoshoot, right down to his scuffed boots. And despite how he left things, it has my body thinking all kinds of things, heat pooling in my core. The scent blocking lotion covers the spike in my scent, though, so only a tiny taste of it bleeding through.

His eyes are hard, his jaw clenched, that muscle ticking in his throat, but his hands are soft where he guides mine away from where they’re picking at imaginary lint along my thighs. His callouses catch on my knuckles with each swipe of his thumbs. Another bolt of heat roars through me, but I do my best to ignore it.

I don’t say a word. I’m done begging.

He rolls his lips together and squeezes my hands. After a full minute of silence, he says, his voice cracked and worn, “You were gone.”

I frown and try to pull my hands away. He tightens his grip.

“What?” I ask. My voice is surprisingly calm given the knot of dread sitting on my chest. “Gone when?”

“It took me longer than it should have to realize I fucked up,” he says. “But when I went after you, you were gone.”

My breathing turns to shallow pants as I try to keep calm.

He’d come after me on Saturday? Was that why Caleb was home when he didn’t think he’d get released until midweek?

“Emily was ready to rip my heart out.” Ethan’s lips twist into a sardonic smile with the confession. “It would have been just punishment.”

Nerves clog my throat.

This couldn’t be happening. Was he actually…

I cut the thought off before hope can swell again.

He squeezes my hands, letting his eyes drop to them before refocusing on me. That desperation, that longing, is back on his face. I brace myself for the final rejection.

“Fuck, Brielle,” he says. He licks his lips. “I’m sorry, princess.”

I flinch at the nickname. It slices across my chest, more effective than a blade. His throat moves with a swallow as the silence extends between us. And suddenly, it’s like a curtain pulls back. Or maybe melts away.

His eyes soften and gain a haunted look, and his shoulders roll forward. He runs his thumb across the back of my hand. He drops his eyes, focusing on where he holds me.

“He had to beg Melissa,” Caleb says into the quiet. “She made him get on his knees before she’d tell us where you went.”

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