Page 6 of Mended Hearts

“Well, shit.”

“Yeah.”

I used my chopsticks to spear a spectacularly slippery hunk of mandarin chicken. “Thanks for this.”

“Thanks for saving my ass today,” he countered, twisting a cap off a bottle of beer and handing it to me.

I grinned as he did the same to his own.

As far as brothers-in-law go, Alice could’ve done a hell of a lot worse than Oliver Hart.

“For those two?” I smiled, flashing him a quick wink.

“Anything, anytime.”

With an uncharacteristically sheepish smile, Ollie held out his beer, and we clinked bottles before wordlessly watching at least three more episodes together.

When I woke up, he’d tucked me in before locking up when he left.

2

Yeeted Off A Bridge

LEIGHTON

October

“I gotyeetedoff abridgeand you’refiringme?!”

Just to emphasize my point, I wielded my sling-bound arm at my pissed-off manager.

Four weeks ago, Alice, Tillie, and I were on our way home from my brother’s first game quarterbacking for theEmerald Bay Bombers, when our vehicle wasshot atby gun-toting psychopaths.

All because—allegedly—my sister was worth a pretty penny on the ransom market, and they trusted the wrong guy: a sweaty ball goblin by the name of Royce. But that was a whole other story.

According to the detective I’d been annoying on a weekly basis, law enforcement still hadn’t made any new arrests—gotta love Southern California—and I’d done my best to forget the whole thing in the weeks since. Which wasn’t hard, because nobody seemed to want to talk about it except story-starved reporters.

But that wasn’t the important thing.

The important thing wasChad—a six-foot dickweasel with the beginnings of a beer belly, either the world’s worst hairpiece or a terrible combover, and a smile that fought to compensate for it—standing in front of me when I walked in for my shift Friday night.

“You’ve been out for four weeks, Leighton,” he supplied condescendingly.

Like I hadn’t fought off death itself in a mad scramble to escape that sinking SUV, after breaking three ribs and my collarbone in the impact.

But Chad wasn’t done.

“And you show up for your first shift back with a horde of reporters as an entourage.”

“You havegotto be kidding me,” I drawled. “Like I invited the stalkarazzi?!”

“Apron,” was his grunted response, waving me forward. “And your order book, please.”

If I cracked a molar because my boss was a sniveling idiot, would that be covered by workers’ comp?

I certainly hoped so as Chad jerked his chin toward the window behind me.

I didn’t have to look to know he was right.

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