Page 11 of Splintered Hearts

The smell of bacon turns my stomach. Even on my best days, I hate it. It doesn’t matter, though, whatever Hunter puts in front of me, I’ll eat. “Drink this.” He slides a thick green juice over.

“What the fuck is this?”

“It looks gross, but just give it a chance. You might like it.”

“Is that what you told yourself when you met Mark?” Hunter closes his eyes, breathing deeply, and grabbing the cup, I swallow it down. I feel a little better after the shower. My nausea faded with the pounding in my skull. I still don’t have the desire to eat, but that’s most likely just depression, not my hangover.

Hunter puts food on the table, and the ache in my stomach doubles. “Mark dumped your vodka.”

Shit. “Good.”

“It looked expensive.”

“It was.”

“Your father’s?”

I nod. On my way out the back through the kitchen, I’d grabbed a bottle of vodka that probably cost a year’s mortgage on this house. I also smashed his aged bottle of whiskey on the floor because I hated whiskey and was petty as fuck. If being gay wasn’t the nail in our relationship coffin, that sure as shit will be. It was the only bottle like it in the world. Just more stupid shit that rich people held onto to make themselves seem more important.

“Good, then.”

Walking in with a bright smile, Mark wraps his arms around Hunter’s waist from behind. It hits something so deep inside me, I hate it. Jealousy. Notofthem, just of what they have. I’d give anything to experience even a sliver of that.

What would it be like to have someone’s whole face brighten upon seeing me? It’d feel like flying, I just know it, but for now I’ll leave it to my books to give me romance. They never let me down.

Blinking back tears, I focus on the ass-flavored juice in front of me. It’s not that bad, it’s just a little sweet, with some other flavor I’m not brave enough to ask about. Mark kisses Hunter’s face before finding his lips. “We shouldn’t,” Hunter whispers.

“It’s fine.” I rest my cheek in my hand, taking another sip. “Seriously, what the fuck is this?”

“You made him your chicken-breast smoothie?”

“Chicken breast? Why the fuck is it green?”

“Vegetables.”

“Mark, I think you should end this now. I’m concerned foryour health and safety.” Leaning back, I swig the rest, because I hate to admit but it’s helping my stomach.

Hunter slides into the chair next to me. “I know it’s soon, but you should talk to someone about what happened. Kicking you out was one thing, but almost—”

“No offense, but nothing will make my father hate me less. I can’t unblow that guy he caught me with. He can’t unsee what he saw. I can’t unfeel my father’s four-thousand-dollar shoes in my ribs.”

“You’re right,” Hunter says, finally. “Topic change, then. My friends are throwing me a party tomorrow night. I think you should come—”

“No.” Mark’s abruptness startles both Hunter and me.

“It’ll be fun. Drinking. Games.”

“And Jamie,” Mark says.

“Can you please give whatever weird feud you two have a rest? One night,” Hunter sighs.

“It’s not a feud. Your friend is an asshole.”

“Jamie?”

“One of my best friends,” Hunter corrects.

“And why do you two hate each other?” I ask.

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