Page 32 of The Wrong Heart

“That look I haven’t seen in a long time.”

This catches my attention, and I’m certain “the look” promptly fades. A sudden surge of guilt permeates me, as if I were just caught doing something wrong.

Was I?

Is it wrong to smile again, to feel a small weight lift with each passing day, to watch the sunrise every morning with hopeful eyes instead of an insatiable yearning for sunset?

Is it wrong to communicate daily with the man who has Charlie’s heart?

Is there something wrong withmyheart for wanting to move forward and live a life without him in it?

Leah gives a pinch to my thigh, her gilded eyes twinkling when our gazes meet. “That’s not a bad thing, honey. That’s not a bad thing at all.”

“It feels like I’m cheating on his memory—on what we had together.” My confession is heavy, enveloping us both in a dense cloud. “It feels like a betrayal.”

“What does?”

I swallow. “Living.”

Leah runs her palm up and down my jean-clad thigh, her softness the antidote to my thorns. “Mellie, listen to me.Livingis the greatest honor you can give his memory. Do you really think Charlie would want you to walk around like a zombie every day, with that smile he loved so much snuffed out?”

My eyes water.

“I know it sounds cliché, but he would want you to be happy. Trulyhappy. And I think, deep down, you know that, too,” she finishes.

The back of my throat feels tight and prickly, like I swallowed a mouthful of needles. “I told you Charlie was an organ donor…” I begin, eyes slipping down to the little pink polka dots on my ankle socks. “I, um, located the recipient of his heart, and we’ve been… talking.”

Leah blinks, eyebrows dipping. “What?”

“It’s all anonymous. I promised him I wouldn’t invade his privacy or ask personal questions. I honestly didn’t think he’d ever contact me back, but… he did. And it’s been helping me with the healing process.”

“Babe.”

Her tone is a little bit of love and a whole lot of warning. I continue to stare at my socks. “It’s nothing, really.”

Leah lets out a hard exhale, her lips puckering as she falls back against the couch cushions. “Your therapist and support group are there to help you heal, Mellie. This sounds… messy.”

“It’s totally innocent,” I counter.

She spears me with a pointed look. “The fact that you need to tell me it’s innocent makes me wonder.”

I clench my jaw, trying not to let her words sour the little bit of joy I’ve managed to pull from the rubble. My correspondence with Zephyr has heightened over the past week and a half, and while our conversations are vague and casual, there is still something earnest, something deeper, hovering beneath the repartee and easy exchanges. There’s good advice. There’s heart.

There’s hope.

And I think there’s something else… a blossoming connection.

Something kindred.

Something potentiallymessy.

Zephyr strikes me as a broken soul, much like myself, only he’s broken in a different way. Longer, maybe. His pieces are scattered in the wind, some long gone.

But broken is broken, and we cut ourselves the same.

Leah nudges me with her toes when she catches me zoned out, picking at my fingernails. “You know I’ll never judge you, right? I’m not trying to hinder any progress you’ve made. Shit, girl, nothing compares to seeing you smile again.” We share a tender look. “Just be careful. And don’t tell West… you know he’ll get all weird about it.”

Speaking of West, his timing is impeccable.

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