Page 124 of The Wrong Heart

What the fuck?

Her question sends my insides into a spiral, and my heart pinwheels out of control. “That escalated.”

“Are you?”

“No.” My fingers curl into tight fists atop my lap. “I have no fucking clue what love is. We both know that.”

My sister strengthens her grip on my knee, dark chocolate curls swinging along with the shake of her head. Her lips toy with a smile as she tries to connect the dots somehow. But she doesn’t know the dots. The dots hold no context.

Fuck the dots.The only thing they lead to is annihilation.

Regrouping, I shift back against the bench and scrub a palm down my jaw. “I’m just fucking her, okay? Jesus. You make it sound like a damn historical event.”

Bree’s smile turns watery as wetness springs to her eyes.

I lurch back, horrified. “Don’t you dare fucking cry. I’m serious, Bree.”

“I’m just so happy.”

About my dick finally getting action. Awkward.

But I know that’s not the real reason, because Bree has always had a way of seeing right through me. Seeing straight down to my deep, dark center—materializing every little brush with emotion, every taste of humanity, hoping she could drag those crumbs to the surface and build a new home for me.

She’s always held out hope. She’s always wished the very best for me, and for the longest time, my best was simply surviving. My heart would beat with sleet and snow, with icy disdain for life itself, but it wasstillbeating.

Because she wanted it to. She needed it to.

And shit… maybethat’slove right there. Maybe that’s the way I’ve loved for all these years without even realizing it. I’ve prided myself on my unwavering indifference. I’ve relished in my apathy. I liked to tell myself that I didn’t give a flying fuck about anything, that death would be a welcome reprieve to this meatsuit, thiscoffin—but if that were the case, I’d be dead.

Bree has kept me alive.

And now, Melody is showing me what it’s like to trulylive.

My eyes glaze, drifting beside me on the bench and watching as streams of tears slip down my sister’s cheeks while she processes this revelation with me. She feels it in the same way I feel it. She’s always been in tune.

Bree uncoils my fingers until our palms are latched and squeezing tight. “Fight for her, Parker,” she breathes out, inhaling a frayed breath. “Whoever she is, fight for her in the same way I’ve never stopped fighting for you.”

I close my eyes, just as the sun peeks out behind a sky of white clouds.

This war might end in bloodshed, but for the very first time, I’m inclined to draw my sword.

Melody March is my true starting point. My reason for finally wanting…more.

And that’s something worth fucking fighting for.

I’m hard at work that night, sweating beneath my covered carport—my makeshift work station during the milder months. I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing or how long it’s going to take, but I’m compelled to do it anyway.

My carving is interrupted by two blaring headlights, accompanied by the sound of crunching gravel. Using the back of my wrist to swipe the line of sweat casing my brow, I squint my eyes into the intense beams. When they flicker off, I instantly recognize Melody’s car.

Shit.

I toss a stray tarp over my work in progress just as she slips from the vehicle and closes the door, her sneakers kicking up pebbles and rocks as she approaches me through the dim-lit drive. My legs are pulled in her direction, meeting her halfway. “What are you doing here?”

Melody bites her lip, the endearing habit illuminated by my work lamps. Nervous fingers slip into the pockets of her denim shorts when we’re face-to-face. “I wanted to see you.”

I repeat her words, as if I didn’t hear them loud and clear. “You wanted to see me.”

What a simple, straightforward concept. Melody wanted to see me, so she came over to see me. At nine o’clock on a muggy Saturday night after six days of no contact.

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