Page 53 of The Breakup Broker

The casual cruelty in his voice crystallized everything. “We’re done,” I said. “Whatever power you think you’re about to gain, whatever plans you’re making—I want no part of it. Not anymore.”

“Don’t be dramatic. Once your mother inherits?—”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” I turned away. “Some things can’t be bought or controlled. James taught me that. It’s a shame you never learned.”

I stumbled out of the room, down endless corridors that were too bright, too sterile. My phone showed seven missed calls from Savvy and three texts asking if everything was okay. The last one sent a knife through my chest:

Some things never change.

The driveto River Bend passed in a blur, my vision clouded by tears I couldn’t stop. I’d cried the entire way—for James, for the years stolen from us by my father’s “care,” for all the moments we’d never have.

Main Street was quiet, and most shops were dark except for the warm glow from River Bend Books. My hands shook as I climbed the familiar stairs to her apartment, barely able to see through fresh tears. I probably looked like hell—red-rimmed eyes, tear-stained cheeks, completely undone. But none of that mattered. I needed her.

The door swung open with force, but the anger burning in her expression froze when she saw my face. Her eyeswere red and swollen, too—she’d clearly been crying, though for a different heartbreak. She thought I’d abandoned her again, while I’d been watching my world collapse.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Savvy

“He’s gone.” Henry’s voice broke on the words. “James is...”

I didn’t let him finish. I pulled him inside, and he came willingly, like a ship finding a harbor in a storm. His body shook with silent sobs as I wrapped my arms around him. All my anger from the past hours—the unanswered calls, the fear of being ghosted again—melted away at the sight of his pain.

He buried his face in my neck, his tears hot against my skin. My fingers threaded through his hair, holding him closer as grief wracked his body. We stood like that for what seemed like hours until his breathing steadied.

When he lifted his head, his eyes were dark with need. The kiss started gentle—seeking comfort—but quickly blazed into something more desperate. His hands tangled in my hair as he backed me against the wall, pressing into me like he needed to feel anything other than loss.

“Savvy,” he breathed against my mouth. “I need...”

“I know,” I whispered, pulling him closer. “I’m here.”

Our clothes fell away in desperate layers, hands seeking skin, needing to feel connected.

When he lifted me, I hooked my legs around his waist, gasping as he pressed me firmly against the wall. His lips ignited a fire down my neck, across my collarbone, lingering on every sensitive spot he hadn’t forgotten.

His mouth captured mine again, urgent and searching. The salt of his tears lingered on my lips, and his hands explored my body, a silent plea wrapped in desperation. Each touch held him together, pulling him back from the edge of his grief.

“You’re so warm,” he murmured, his lips brushing my skin. “So alive.” His voice broke, raw and unsteady, and I tugged him closer, wrapping myself around him like I could shield him from the depth of his pain.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered, running my fingers through his hair. “I’m right here.”

He carried me to the bed, but instead of the urgent passion from before, his movements turned almost reverent. His hands and mouth mapped my body like he was memorizing every inch, every reaction. Like he needed proof that life continued, that love survived, that some things couldn’t be taken away.

“Savvy,” he breathed out my name like a prayer. “I need to feel you. Need to know this is real.”

I drew him down to me, cradling his face in my hands. His eyes were still bright with tears, but there was something else there too—a desperate hope. When I kissed him, soft and sure, he melted into me with a broken sound that was half sob, half moan.

He pressed against me, steady and sure. I pulled him closer, my body responding instinctively as his hands moved over my skin, drawing invisible patterns that soothed andignited all at once. Each touch was a reminder, a return to something I’d almost forgotten. When we came together, the sound he made was raw, a broken exhale that carried the depth of his need.

“Look at me,” I whispered, and his eyes found mine. The vulnerability there took my breath away. All his walls were gone—no defenses, no masks—just Henry, raw and unguarded in every way that mattered.

You feel like hope,” he murmured, his movements slow and deliberate. “Like something I didn’t think I’d find again.” His forehead pressed to mine as we moved together, sharing breath, sharing heartbeats.

I held him tighter as his control slipped, as grief and desire tangled into something primal and necessary. His rhythm grew more urgent, more desperate, but his eyes never left mine. In them, I saw everything—loss and love, pain and hope, endings and beginnings.

“I’ve got you,” I promised again as he shuddered against me. “Let go, Henry. I’ll catch you.”

He buried his face in my neck as he shattered, my name tumbling from his lips, raw and aching. I followed right after, clinging to him as waves of pleasure blurred into the salt of fresh tears—his or mine. I couldn’t tell any more.

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