Page 85 of The Wrong Heart

It makes fucking sense. There’s no way I would develop a connection withtwoseparate women at the same time, after living my entire life despising them all.

It could only be her.

Fuck.

Not allowing my anger to abate because it’s comforting somehow, I jump back to my feet and hunt down my shoes and the keys to my truck. I’m not sure what I’m doing, I’m not sure how I’m going to handle this, I’m not sure how I’m going to look Melody in the eyes anymore—but right now her eyes are the only thing I want to see.

She needs to know.

She needs to know the truth.

—TWENTY—

“Zephyr79 has left the meeting.”

A burning ball of shame funnels through me, a cruel, wicked windstorm, stealing the breath from my lungs. My fingers curl into tight fists as I stay rooted to the couch cushion, desperately trying to hold the tears back before they burst through like a broken dam.

Maybe he lost connection.

Maybe his phone died.

It could be the storm.

I suck in a breath so hard, my chest aches. Standing from the sofa, I pace over to my propped-up cell phone and close out the video call, then send him a message to see what happened before I jump to conclusions and join a nunnery.

Me:I’m going to choose to believe that your phone died, and that you didn’t voluntarily leave after seeing me.

He doesn’t appear to be online, so I try to stay hopeful that it was a fluke and had nothing to do with my face.

Shaking away the jitters and anxiety, I distract myself by scrubbing down my countertops twelve times like a psycho. I try not to think about Zephyr.

I try not to think about Parker.

I try really hard not to think about the way his hands felt on me, or the way his words sliced me down just as I was about to leap into something new and frighteningly intoxicating.

Pushing through the weighty pit of dread in my stomach, I snatch my phone back up fifteen minutes later and check for a response.

Nothing.

But… itdoessay that Zephyr was active two minutes ago.

Oh, my God.

He saw my message.

He saw my message, and he ignored it.

Hedidvoluntarily leave that chat after seeing me for the first time.

Tears prickle my eyes like little rose thorns, and I feel sliced down all over again.

That’stwice. Twice in one night I’ve been rejected and stomped on by two men I’ve grown to care about. Two men I’ve developed feelings for. Two men I’ve opened up to and become vulnerable with, despite the coil of guilt I’ve felt at betraying Charlie in some twisted way.

I toss my phone onto the kitchen counter, then storm out my patio door in bare feet as the rain pours down, pelting the earth and masking the wretched meltdown that is brewing in the back of my throat. After spending an hour wilting in the shower when I returned home, washing away Parker and the stains he left behind, it seems I need another cleanse.

My feet carry me out to the center of my spongy lawn, naked toes sinking into the grass. My loungewear is instantly soaked, the white tank top and cotton shorts sticking to my skin as I shiver beneath the cathartic rainfall.

So much rain lately.

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