Page 63 of Bleeding Hearts

Bending, I grab the towel and wrap it around my body. “You can leave!” and then I turn my back to her and walk away. I don’t want her seeing that I’m on the verge of breaking into a million pieces because she just ripped my heart out of my chest.

She doesn’t bother coming after me. The coward walks right out my front door and leaves without saying another word.

Fuck her.

Chapter 30

Bethany

“You’re going to burn the gravy.” Micheal hip checks his way in front of me. “Let me help.”

Micheal’s my youngest brother. He was born with cerebral palsy but that doesn’t stop him. Special crutches help him walk. His speech is as normal as the rest of us, just a slight hesitation when he pronounces certain words. Growing up wasn’t easy, but the older he’s gotten, the more self-sufficient he’s become. We aren’t super close, but I check in on him weekly to make sure he doesn’t need anything.

“You know you’re doing a shit job when Micheal feels the need to step in,” Alicia pipes in from her seat at the table, where she’s arranging the marshmallows on our sweet potato casserole.

I flip her off, open the fridge, grab the butter, and start making cinnamon butter for the rolls. While I work, my mind drifts to what’s happening across the street, just like it’s done all day.

Walking away from Nolan three and a half weeks ago has left me in a miserable hell. Not just because he had my body so turned on that my pussy was on fire with the need to come.

And dammit, when I got home and tried to relieve that burn, nothing worked. Exhausted and heartbroken, I cried myself to sleep, curled up in bed.

All my fault, I know, but it’s not like I’m about to do shit about it. I’ll suffer through, because what I did was for the best. Eventually, I’ll be able to breathe again without the constricting pressure in my chest, that feeling of suffocation. I’ll keep faking it. Paste on my happy face and pretend I’m not slowly dying inside. I might have to move, but that’s the price I must pay for getting involved with the sexy firefighter across the street.

Never again.

I’ll revert to my old habits of fucking men to scratch that damn itch and nothing more. I’m not ready to do that again just yet. Before I let another man touch me, I need more time to feel sorry for myself. I’m pretty sure Nolan ruined me. The proof is in my toy drawer; those damn toys mock me. It’s like my body is broken. It’s that, or it’s punishing me for throwing away the man who knew how to make it soar to heights unknown. Hooking up with a younger man who moonlights as a sex god comes at the cost of my sanity.

“You want to talk about it?” Switching off the stove, Michael covers the gravy and slides the pan to the back burner.

“Talk about what?”

With the casserole dish in her hands, Alicia walks toward the second oven. Best thing I added to my kitchen when I renovated it a couple of years ago.

“She’s riding the rough rapids down the river of denial.”

Micheal grunts. “The neighbor.”

To drown them out, I flip on the mixer and listen to the butter thunk around as it softens.

Assholes.

Siblings are assholes.

As soon as it’s nice and fluffy, I flip it off and spin to grab the cinnamon, powdered sugar, and honey. They’re still talking about me like I’m not even here. Which is why when the doorbell rings, I volunteer to get it. I need a break from these two; their constant talking is driving me crazy.

I dismiss Dillon, whose handsome ass is settled in front of the TV with the twins. They’ve been sitting there watching football since Alicia and he arrived earlier this morning.

It’s got to be my parents. They’re late, which is no surprise. Just like it was no surprise when my other brother Chad called this morning to inform us he wasn’t coming. I can’t remember the last time he graced us with his presence. His life in New York overshadows any chance he gets to see us. It is what it is.

I don’t check before flinging open the door, my fake smile back in place and say, “Happy Thanksgiving. Dinner is almost finished.”

But it’s not my parents.

It’s Mollie.

And she’s crying.

Fuck, I can’t stand to see her cry.

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