Page 26 of Heartbreaker

Scowling, she grabs her picture as we make our way up to the front door.

I let us in.

“Grass!”

“That’s a good one.”

She smiles proudly. “And I have another.”

“What’s that?”

“Guitar!”

The feelings sweep over me in a way I both love and hate—because I used to love playing the guitar and nowadays I love teaching Frankie how to play, and because I hate that I can’t do what I used to, and…

I hate that it makes me think of a certain collection of chords on a certain song that just won a certain blond bombshell a very important award.

And, of course, while I’m feeling all of that, processing it all, trying to shove it all down so I don’t have to think about it?—

Briar walks into the room.

She’s on a call, but she still clocks whatever is on my face because she hangs up almost immediately.

And though she greets Frankie and oohs and aahs over the drawing and asks all the right questions about her daughter’s day at school, her focus hasn’t completely left me.

Case in point?

How she reacts when I sidle to the door.

“Why don’t you go sit at the table, honey?” she tells Frankie. “I put your snack out.”

“’Kay!” Frankie says, running into the other room.

Briar turns to face me but doesn’t say anything.

“What?” I ask into the terse quiet that falls.

She just crosses her arms and lifts her brows.

But I’ve had far too much experience with the glares that Briar can dish out to crack that easily.

“I need to get home.”

“Right,” she says, telling me she knows exactly what bullshit that is. “Well, you can go…”

I start to turn again.

“Right after you tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“I have the pool guy coming. We think there might be a leak in the spa.”

“Idealt with the pool guy last week.”

Fuck.

Her brows flick up again. “Now spill.”

“I—” My mind is racing for a believable excuse—the last thing I need is for Briar to get an inkling for exactly how fucked up my head is right now.

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