Page 90 of The Wrong Heart

It’s already after ten A.M., and I have more house projects given to me by Owen’s thirsty mother, so I need to get the fuck going. But a text from Melody sent an hour ago steals my motivation. I swallow down a hard lump as I swipe it open.

Melody:You just left me there.

My heart stutters.

Fucking hell.

Was I not supposed to?

Were we supposed to cuddle and spoon? Talk about shit? I don’t fucking know.

I scratch at the bristles on my chin, entirely overwhelmed by not knowing what the hell I’m doing. This is new territory for me—allof it. The sex, the false pretenses, thefeelings. It’s new for her, too, because now that I know Melody is Magnolia, I have more insight into her life.

She’s never been with anyone else before.

Only her husband.

And now me.

Her stain, her shameful mistake, her mark of Cain.

Now that I think about it, I suppose leaving her alone, half-naked in the rain after screwing her brains out, was probably a dick move. But I thought that’s what she wanted—for me to get the fuck away from her. She was literally sobbing with regret.

My thumb taps with agitation against the side of my phone while I consider a response, but nothing comes to mind. I’m not equipped to handle this shit. I’ve never had tofixanything before. What does she even want from me?

An apology?

An explanation?

To meet for coffee and chat about our feelings?

I’m not exactly sure what she’s looking for, but I know what she deserves.

The truth.

The truth about Zephyr.

But I’m too much of a pussy to give it to her.

So, I turn off my phone, hop in the shower, and start my day.

“Why don’t you fight back? Too chickenshit, or did you eat too many Twinkies and it’s too much effort to move?”

When I pull into the Jameson’s driveway and jump out of my truck, Owen is getting pushed around by some piece-of-shit kid in his front yard. Cruel laughter spills out of the tall, gangly bully, sporting a buzz cut, too-baggy jeans, and a smirk that I’d love to punt right off the prick’s face. But I don’t because I’d probably accidentally kill him, and prison time isn’t on my bucket list. Not that I have a bucket list—bucket lists are for hopeful optimists, and I’m more of a cynical killjoy—but if I did, orange jumpsuits and horny inmates would not be on that list.

Owen stumbles back when the ass-wipe gives him a forceful shoulder shove, not making any attempt to defend himself. He just stands there with his head bowed, cheeks as red as his bloodshot eyes.

I abandon my tools and approach the scene, flooded with an odd urge to intervene. “Hey. Asshole.”

The smirky kid loses said smirk when his head flicks over to me, and he steps back. “We were just messin’ around. It’s all good.”

“Looks to me like you were being a douche-waffle.” They both stare at me, blinking, so I turn to Owen. “You all right?”

He lies with a timid nod.

“We were just playing,” Douche-Waffle insists, scuffing his sneaker against the grass.

Pursing my lips together, I nod, giving a flippant shoulder shrug. “Can I play?”

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