Page 96 of All Her Broken Pieces

Dad’s stern gaze meets mine. “This isn’t over, but we can talk later. Go help your sister.”

“Yes, sir.” I mockingly salute. I’m not one to let my anger get the best of me; I can normally rein it in, but I’ve never been more angry or panic-stricken in my life.

I can’t fucking lose Bridget.

She’s going to run. She literally just did. But if I don’t get out of here soon, she may not be at the apartment when I get back.

I slide my phone out of my pocket and send her a text.

Sweetheart, I love you

Please stay at the apartment.

I’ll be there as soon as I can get out of here, but Lizzy is having a meltdown.

Wait for me

Please

There’s no reply and no dots bouncing. I pray that she hasn’t already run, leaving my broken pieces behind.

CHAPTER31

Bridget

Once the carpulls up outside my apartment, I thank the driver and hurry inside like someone is chasing me. There’s no telling what happened after I left. If Ethan ran out behind me, he could be minutes from showing up. Or maybe he chose to stay behind and be with his family.

The thought of him choosing them over me causes a tightness in my chest as my breathing picks up. I wouldn’t be surprised if he stayed behind; it is Thanksgiving, after all. He should be with his family, and despite our recent confessions, I can never be family to him. He should choose them.

Besides, no one chooses me. His father didn’t, so why would Ethan?

I can’t fucking do this.

Tears start welling in my eyes as I enter my apartment, set my purse on the kitchen island, and stand there paralyzed, trying to calm my rising panic attack. There’s a faint vibration from my purse, and I reach in to fumble around for the power button, not even looking at the screen as I shut it off. I throw my head back and let out one guttural scream, then swipe the tears from my face and try to compose myself. This is all I’ll allow myself to feel as I shove these emotions into a neat little box in my heart. I can do this. I will do this.

How did I not see this? How did I not know they were related?

They have the same last name, but Black is a fairly common last name, like Jones or Smith. It didn’t even occur to me. I know several people with that last name, and I didn’t assume they were all related to Henry.

Hank.

Whatever the fuck he wants to be called now. Did Ethan ever call him by his first name to me, or just refer to him as ‘Dad’?

Now that I know they’re related, I guess I can see some small resemblances. But Ethan’s eyes are nothing like Henry’s, not in shape nor in the stunning green color. His perfect fucking mouth is uniquely his own, and Henry doesn’t have that delicious dimple.

Thinking back to high school, I have little to no recollection of that time in my life after I found out he cheated. My brain went into self-preservation mode, saving me from the emotional trauma I endured. Not a single image of Monica, the other woman, Ethan’s biological mother, comes to mind. He must share her features, but I have no clue. I can’t remember if we’d ever met in high school.

I look around the apartment, unsure of what to do next. I can’t stay here. There’s nothing to stop him from showing up. He has a key that I gave him when he helped after my surgery, and even if I used the chain on the door, I’m not sure I’d be strong enough to turn him away if I saw him.

I move to the window and stare down at the street. After several minutes, I decide it’s safe to take a shower. The need to rinse the day off me is too strong. There’s not a door between me and the shower that isn’t locked. I need to be sure that if he does come over, he can’t find me when I’m the most vulnerable and naked.

Once the water heats up, I slip in and let it wash everything off my body.

My anger.

My heartache.

My grief.

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