Page 51 of Shattered Hearts

The only time I find to work out anymore is early in the morning. The temperatures are a steady zero degrees Fahrenheit, but that’s not bad for a run if it’s not windy. The stars are out, the world quiet, people still sleeping warm in their beds.

Baby runs along in the snow, the half husky in her element.

Pop will give me hell about the truck. A shit-ton more than he did over the phone. Our first day back in the office after the New Year’s holiday, he’ll be full of piss and vinegar. He always is when I do something stupid on the job.

I told Zane I thought whoever blew up my truck was a ticked off case, but in private Pop wondered about Zane’s comment—the collateral damage that came with being linked to the Maddoxes. Pop said that made more sense than anything he could come up with, but I don’t understand what I did besides date Zarah. Even if that cop is right and Ashton Black happens to know Zarah’s seeing someone, what would he care? He’s in prison—he’ll never see her again. Maybe he thought she’d neverfind someone who would love the woman he turned her into. Maybe hedidwant to keep her for himself. I don’t know.

I exhale, and my breath streams out of my mouth. The physical exertion is welcome.

Mattress gymnastics won’t keep the pounds off, no matter how much fun Zarah and I have playing around.

As my feet pound the snow-covered pavement, I write a mental list of what I need to do in the coming week. Seeing Zarah as much I possibly can is number one in bold, underlined. I wish she lived in the city, but it’s safer for her at the country house. Stella and Lucille will keep watch, and Sansa and Arya won’t let anyone hurt her.

Zane would never let her move in with me, and I’m not there enough to warrant it. I don’t like that he let her fire Ingrid. There’s too much shit happening, and it’s one fewer person making sure she’s okay, even if she was paid to do it.

Pop’s going to want me to check into my truck. I haven’t emailed the cop my whereabouts for the past few days, but I’ll call Ross instead and see what he’s heard about it. I didn’t like the way the one cop looked at Zarah. Contempt, mixing with a sick desire. He wanted to fuck her, and he hated himself for it. His partner was an improvement, but not by much, and I’ll ask Ross if they can be trusted. It’s doubtful.

We still have to talk to Savannah Mesa’s fiancé. Meredith Mesa is sure he knows something, and his family will be back any day. Those rich people and their vacations.

I have a lot on my plate, and none of that includes cleaning out Max’s apartment, reading his journal, or watching the CDs he left me.

I wish I were strong enough to tell Zarah that I need a break. It would be safer all around if we didn’t see each other so often and it would buy me a little time, but I crave her too much. She consumes me, every second of my day, and the twoweeks around Christmas when I didn’t see her were the longest, loneliest, and the most painful of my life.

Not seeing her isn’t an option.

I run a hard eight miles. My mind is clearer, my muscles are loose, and the urge to slam my fist into something has lessened. Not considerably, but it isn’t an itch under my skin like it used to be.

I stand under a hot shower, dress, and the sun is coming up as I sip a strong cup of coffee and drive my new truck to the office.

It’s spectacular, the little kid in me gleefully jumping up and down every time I sit behind the wheel, and it boggles my mind Maddox won’t miss the thousands that paid for it.

Baby appreciates the larger extended cab, napping on the wide bench behind me.

I hit a drive thru to buy breakfast and more coffee, and if it wasn’t for all the shit I have to scratch off my list, I’d be in a good mood. I sigh. If Zarah’s stuck in limbo, a constant state of worry may be my new normal. I hope to God not. She deserves to enjoy the rest of her life.

The line at the nearest fast food joint is long, but I still beat Pop and I’m hanging up after talking to Meredith Mesa when he hustles inside shaking snow off his jacket.

“You’re up early,” he says, stomping snow off his boots and walking deeper into our little office.

“I was chewing over some stuff, and I took Baby on a run. I called Zarah last night, and she was upset. She decided to let Ingrid go, and she hightailed it out of there, barely said goodbye. It hurt Zarah’s feelings.”

“Can’t blame her. The nurse, I mean. You get let go, you want to move on as quickly as possible.” He helps himself to a coffee and a carton of little spicy hashbrowns.

Hopefully, Baby lifts her head. She loves hashbrowns.

“Yeah. I got that, but after a year and a half of practically being glued to her side twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, you don’t say goodbye? It’s weird.”

“Not that weird. That nurse struck it rich and she knew it. She was paid a mint for not doing a damn thing, especially since Zarah met you. She’s hardly been home. I bet there was a lot of resentment. She’ll have to earn her paycheck again.”

“That’s what Zarah said. She didn’t want to keep Ingrid from helping people who need her.”

Pop scoffs and mutters something about being out of touch. “No one wants to work, and I hope Zane had her sign an NDA because mark my words, that woman will write a tell-all worth millions. What being a paid companion to the country’s richest woman is like. Never mind hurt, mixed up, and just plain heartbroken.”

I swallow hard. I hope not. I hope Ingrid grew to care about Zarah and wouldn’t sell her out that way, but I know what people will do for money. I see it on the streets every day.

Pop feeds Baby bits of his breakfast. “Gage—”

“You have your serious face on. I know you want to talk about the explosion, but I don’t have anything, Pop. Rourke threatened me, yeah, but do you think he’d lower himself to do something like that?”

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