Page 32 of Shattered Hearts

“Yes, but I’ve never been there.”

“You don’t own it, do you?”

His droll tone amuses me, and I laugh. “I don’t think Zane’s been working on that aspect of the business. All he’s done is try to keep it afloat and clean up Clayton’s and Ash’s messes.”

“Okay. Because I’d like to pay for our meal.”

I force a smile. “Then I’ll let you.”

The dog doesn’t look happy to be left behind, whining as Gage locks the door behind us.

“She’ll be okay. Don’t feel sorry for her.”

The drive to the restaurant located in an older commercial development on the south side of town lasts about twenty minutes, and we sit quietly, his hand holding mine, our fingers linked together. He turns into the parking lot, and I study the building. The walls are made of huge, floor-to-ceiling glass windows. It’s busy, but Gage manages to find a parking space near the rear of the lot. We step inside the restaurant, Gage holding the door open for me, and large sunflowers are potted in almost every area of the dining room. It’s a cheery place, cream-colored tiles covering the floor, and we sit at a corner table, the snow sparkling in the sun.

“They have a garden, too, and there’s al fresco dining in the summer. When it warms up, we can come back and eat outside.”

I stare at the menu, jealousy getting the better of me. If he’s brought other women here, I don’t want to know—or come back. My stomach growls, and I focus on the menu. I didn’t eat breakfast, and we skipped lunch. The selection is extensive, but I don’t try anything new and order a chicken Caesar salad, a bowl of wild rice soup, and a glass of sparkling water. I entirely miss what Gage orders, watching his throat work as he speaks to our server.

“I didn’t mean to brush off what you told me. About Baby’s name,” he says, linking our fingers on the tabletop.

I let out a sigh. Baby. That’s her name. How could I have forgotten? Oh, yeah. I have a gazillion drugs coursing through my veins at any given moment.

“Can you tell me more about what’s going on? When did it start?”

“The night I stayed at your apartment and had my anxiety attack. I woke up and I didn’t know where I was, who you were. I had...dreams, I think, nightmares, of men asking me questions, and I didn’t know the answers. The voices echoed in my head, and I have no idea if they were real or fake. If they were real, where did they come from? Quiet Meadows? I don’t remember much of my time there. Maybe they were fake. Since then, facts flit in and out of my brain. Days I’ll remember, and days I won’t, like bingeing a show with Stella. I can’t tell her I don’t remember what we were watching from one day to the next. So I sit there, pretend to enjoy the episodes, even if I’m completely lost.”

“Okay, but what changed, sweetheart? Were you always this shaky? You couldn’t order a coffee the day we met. Can you walk me through that?”

That isn’t the same thing, and I say, “That day was stress. All the choices, my mind a jumble. You were looking at me, the woman behind the counter was waiting. You’d just rescued me from the paparazzi, and I was nervous around you. I couldn’t make myself think. This is different somehow. It’s hard to explain.”

“Your doctor hasn’t done anything to your medication?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Only lowering it. I was doing so well, but after the night at your apartment, he’s going to stop. I’m supposed to see him for another adjustment soon, but I know he’ll tell Zane they should wait and see what’s happening.”

He nods, but he pauses and lets the waitress serve our food before he responds.

My salad looks good, and my soup steams, emitting a spicy aroma into the air. Despite our serious talk, my stomach rumbles, and I lift my spoon, ready to dig in. Our server adds a basket of fresh rolls to the table, and after asking if she can get us anything else, rushes away. If she knew me, at least she didn’t stare. I hate all the attention. I feel like a freak.

Gage snags a French fry, and I steal one off his plate. He swats at my hand, but in invitation, he nudges his plate closer to my huge salad bowl. “Are you still seeing Jerricka Solis?” he asks.

Laying my napkin in my lap, I say, “Yes, and I start up my regular appointments next week. I need to talk to her about the new medication she prescribed me.”

Gage stills. “Do you think that’s what this is?”

I bite my lip. “I texted her this morning and asked. She said to be on the safe side I can skip my dose today and see what happens, that maybe the medication is too strong.”

“You told me this before, but I want you to tell me again. Zane and your doctor know she prescribed it.”

“Yes, that’s what she said.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t sound okay.

He cuts into his steak, and I sneak another fry. The corner of his mouth lifts up and I swirl my soup around the bowl as I chew.

“What?” I finally ask. The silence that settled over our table makes me uneasy.

“I don’t like her, that’s all. I’ve told Zane I don’t agree with you seeing her.”

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