Page 92 of Heartfelt Pain
“Think about it more and come to me with a business plan.”
I see it in the way his shoulders remain tight. He’s stopping himself from telling me my dreams are stupid. Because he knows even without Ren, I don’t want to work for him anymore.
Protecting my family isn’t mutually exclusive with working for them.
And I’m mad it took me so long to figure it out.
CHAPTER 21
Ren
Iwake up to the usual amount of texts and emails. The news is playing as I take an extra-long time, standing in the scalding hot water of the shower. My eyes seem perpetually red these days so I add some eye drops before I put on my eyeliner.
I add my favorite perfume and walk out to grab my phone. I thought after yesterday things would calm down. Isolde joined me at Fujimori’s. Ben remained noticeably absent, but the coward in me preferred it. It’s awkward around Abe, but he stayed in the kitchen and we did that thing where we ignored the argument.
Yet, here I am, tired and weary the next morning.
Powering past things is how I’ve dealt with stuff the last few years. I’m hoping it’ll work now, but my expectations are currently low.
When my phone lights up with a text from Lennie, I debate ignoring it. That’s rude, though.
Lennie: I’m just checking in.
Lennie: Are you okay?
Lennie: Look at our new roommates.
There’s a photo of two cats.
Lennie: The black one is Jacks and the white one is Charles.
Ren: Aren’t you afraid Albert’s going to feel outnumbered?
Like I did at the party. I bite back my bitterness, knowing Len’s trying to be a good friend.
Lennie: He won’t if Elijah lets me get him a puppy brother like I want.
Considering she can get Elijah to do whatever she wants, I’m sure it won’t be an argument for long.
I let the texts die off. I’m in the kitchen when it happens. My high heel wobbles on something as I’m turning. It’s stupid considering I’m standing in the one area where there’s nothing on the floor.
The next thing I know, I’m on my ass. My tailbone is the first to ache but that is washed away by the red hot pulsing pain in my wrist.
My head hitting the lower kitchen cabinets does nothing to distract me from the agony. I’m on the ground, one leg under me, when the tears come.
It’s a short burst that dries up quickly. A physical reaction to the sharp unexpected pain coursing through my wrist.
If I reach up, I can grab my phone, but I stay there.
When shit like this happens I normally tell myself it’ll be fine. I’ll grab some ice, I’ll take some pain reliever. The car will be here in ten minutes.
Untangling my leg, the slightest movement has my eyes pricking again.
I’m so exceptionally screwed.
Trevino knocks on the door. When I don’t bother to answer, it opens. I’m guessing he either made himself a key or he jimmied the lock. It doesn’t matter.
It’s the first time I’ve seen something like anger and fear on the man’s face. At least at first.
