Page 93 of The Wrong Heart

I purse my lips through a blink.

“Besides, sex leads to babies, and what if I don’t want the baby just like my parents didn’t want me?”

Oh.

My heart seizes with a jolt of grief. “Amelia…”

She smiles, shaking her head with a dismissive chuckle. “Sorry, that was really dramatic. Never mind.” Amelia hops up from her chair before I can say anything else, giving me a little wave. “See you next week.”

And then she’s gone, leaving me reeling with equal parts heartbreak for her and palpable realization that there is nothing left as a barrier between Parker and me. I can’t help my eyes from floating to him briefly, noting the way he ducks his head back down, staring at the floor, the tendons in his neck straining as he rolls his jaw.

I release an exasperated breath, deciding to bolt. He clearly doesn’t want to talk to me, and sitting here is awkward and emotionally daunting.

Throwing my purse strap over my shoulder, I jump to my feet and breeze right by him, eyes straight ahead, chin raised with an illusion of detachment. I keep moving forward, my pace quick and desperate, until the tepid early evening air skims my face, and I can breathe.

“Melody.”

I stop breathing.

My gait slows, unlike my newly galloping heartbeat.

Parker’s hand clasps around my elbow, catching me just as I reach my car. “Hey, wait up.”

Turning to face him, we both glance down at his hold on my elbow—the way his fingers curl around me with a strange mix of gentle urgency, and the way his thumb dusts over my skin for a striking moment before he drops my arm and clears his throat.

Tingles dance along the expanse of skin he’s no longer touching, and I resist the urge to scratch it. “Did you want something?”

“I, uh…” Parker shoves his hands into his pockets, dancing on the balls of his feet. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

A new wave of indignation burns my chest. “Great chat. See you next week.”

He catches me by the arm again, hindering my departure. His eyes slowly close as he exhales, like he’s thinking—like he’s trying to find the words and piece them together in a way that makes sense. His grip on me tightens. “I tried to text you back. I wanted to.”

I inhale sharply. “But you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.” Parker’s eyes open as he takes another step forward, until we’re nearly chest to chest. “Because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I don’t know what this is, whatthatwas, or where I’m supposed to go from here.”

“You think I do?” I counter, my voice wavering as the feelings running rampant through me threaten to take me down. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

His arm falls from mine again as he runs his fingers through his hair. Then he says in a soft, ragged voice, “I thought you wanted me to go.”

All I can manage is a head shake as the emotions start to climb.

“You wanted me to stay?”

A nod.

“Fuck…” Parker spins around, linking his hands behind his head and regrouping before facing me again. “I told you this wouldn’t end well.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because,” he grits out, leaning in a little closer. “You’re so fucking…breakable. And I’m stone.”

Breakable.

Tears sting my eyes, and I clench my jaw, arms folding tightly across my chest. “Gee, thanks, Parker. That’s what every girl longs to hear.”

“Jesus, that’s not what I—”

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