Page 109 of Heartbreaker

Frankie has gymnastics today.

I’m close enough that I finish the drive, go to the door, and use my code to let myself in, hoping against hope that I’ll hear Frankie’s adorable little voice echoing down the hall.

Unfortunately, it’s silent.

I still make a circuit, anyway, and in the process, I help myself to a cookie cooling on a rack in the kitchen.

It’s delicious…until I remember Jade’s cookies.

Thenit sits like lead in my stomach.

I’m pathetic and fully aware of it—and that point is driven home even harder when my phone buzzes as I’m walking out the front door.

I shove my hand in my pocket, practically tearing the fabric as I yank it free.

And I can’t hide my disappointment when I see that it’s not Jade texting me.

It’s Briar, who’s clearly spotted me on the security cameras.

She isn’t done either, considering that another text comes in right afterward.

BRIAR: I don’t believe I gave assholes permission to enter my house.

BRIAR: I’d almost feel sorry for that pathetic expression on your face, if you hadn’t been such a dick to Jade.

ROYAL: Never stopped you before.

I suck in a breath, hit the button to engage the lock to the front door, and turn for my car in the driveway. But as I’m walking, I can’t stop my fingers from moving on the keyboard,thumbing out another text to Briar before I tug open the driver’s side door.

ROYAL: She told you?

BRIAR: We knew things weren’t great after the tape broke and Amber’s scene at The Sapphire Room. But Aspen and I took her for a spa day and pried it out of her. We thought you two were holed up together, trying to get a handle on everything. Never in a million years did I think you’d be dumb enough to hurt the woman you love, especially like that.

Love.

Love.

Jade had said it, and I hadn’t reacted. Because it felt right, just like every other moment with her has.

Because I knew even then that I love her too.

Of course, I do.

How can I not?

And I hurt her.

Pain ricochets through me, slicing deep and without quarter. I deserve it. Hell, I deserve so much fuckingmorethan that.

But how do I fix it?

I insulted her music, her professionalism, and worst of all, I hurt her and pushed her away after I had promised—fuckingpromised—to deal with this shitstorm together.

Panic grips my insides, far more intensely than any of the episodes I’ve experienced since my accident. I can’t breathe, can’t see because the black has intruded so far in from the edges of my vision that it’s blinding.

And I can’t think.

Or can’t think of anything aside from the fact that I hurt her.

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