Page 24 of My Favorite Mistake

“What up, Pappy!”

“Get your hungry ass out here and go to lunch with me and Liza.”

Per usual, Connor’s hateful treatment of her had completely killed Liza’s appetite.

“I think I’m going to pass,” she said, collecting the squares of faux album covers. “I feel like I’m still jogging in place with a few things, so I’m going to eat and work today.”

Jimmy pointed a finger gun at her. “You sure? Want us to bring you something?”

Liza shook her head. “I have yesterday’s leftovers in the fridge. Thanks though.”

“Okey-dokey then.” He waited with his hands on his hips while Frankie emerged from the hall and then followed her to the front door. “If you change your mind, just holler.” He laughed under his breath. “Hell, if you feel like blowing off the rest of the day to have a drink with us, that would be fine, too.”

Liza managed to match his easy laugh. “Definitely not ruling that out.”

Jimmy and Frankie slipped out. Just as the door clicked shut, adrenaline started fleeing Liza’s body with such speed and intensity that her hands began shaking violently. The full-body tremor catapulted her brittle emotions over the edge of sanity and composure, and a loud, pitiful sob lurched out of her throat. Another sob followed. And another. And another. And another.

To the point that Liza pressed the album cover squares to her face to muffle the sound of her own wailing because that was just one more trigger.

These were the guttural, soul-shredding wails of her as a young woman, alone in the bloody, devastating aftermath of the last phone call she’d ever received from Connor.

For a moment, she wasn’t even in the label house anymore. She was in a hospital bed in Houston where she woke up after Connor had ripped apart the fabric of the universe they made together.

Blinded by tears and deaf from her own hysterical, furious crying, Liza wandered aimlessly through her current environment and eventually found herself hovered over a bathroom sink. The heave of her shoulders intermittently forced her to look at her own, splotchy, puffy face. Despite that, she managed to avoid looking at her own eyes for fear of seeing the shattered hope of something that was never meant to be.

A large, solid hand settled between her shoulders, and Liza yelped in stark terror as she snapped upright.

Brennan was standing in the doorway to the restroom, and she shouted at the top of her lungs, “Is barging into an occupied bathroom one of your hobbies,B?”

He lifted his palms neutrally. “The door was open, and I heard you sobbing.”

Liza could feel how contorted her face was—lip snarling, brows knitted—as she panted between trying to hold her breath and stave off tears. He looked at her like she was a ticking time bomb, bracing and still, palms still held up at the level of his chest. And then she felt herself crumple.

Bent over at the waist, she hid her face with her hands as the sobs overtook her again. The same large, solid hand wrapped around the base of her head and pulled her forward, and her face was now hidden in Brennan’s crisp, white Oxford shirt. Every inhale filled her lungs with a scent that fell at the intersection of leather, citrus, incense, and black coffee.

He wrapped his arms around her and rubbed large, slow circles on her back. “Breathe, darlin’,” he murmured against the side of her head. “Just breathe.”

He spent several minutes quietly talking to her like that, rubbing circles on her back, and stroking his hand over her hair. Slowly, but surely, Liza’s sobbing quieted and retreated, and her heart rate and breathing returned to a normal rhythm.

Once she was sufficiently calm, Brennan pulled back his face and peered at her below a drawn brow. “There you go.” He produced a tissue and dabbed below her eyes and nose. “That’s better. You’re okay now.”

The ache in her heart electrified. “I amnotokay. After what he did to me, I willneverbe okay.”

He searched her eyes, frowning subtly, the look on his face making it painfully obvious that he was wondering how sinister his friend might be.

He stroked her hair back again. “Tell me about it, L.”

“I willnevertell you about it,” she said through her teeth.

He inclined his head slightly to one side. “Why?”

“You’re his best friend. You’d have to tell him.” She swallowed hard. “And he willneverknow about this.”

Brennan was probably one hundred percent convinced that she was psychotic, but if he was, he hid it well and continued to embrace her. He held her in the shell of his substantial arms long enough for the last of the post-adrenaline rush tremors to leave her body, and then he backed away from her.

Studying her appearance for a moment, he nodded at her. “A little better now?”

Liza nodded, facing him while leaning against the sink. “Why are you like this with me?”

---