Page 39 of How to Break My Heart 1
So much so that I go for round two without a second thought.
The day didn’t improve, even after I slept for two hours and my release in the shower. Madelina is in the city for something urgent, leaving me alone with nothing but a questionable box of take-out Chinese in the refrigerator.
All the food Hilda supposedly left behind has been eaten. I can only assume it was my father, and despite him staying in the same house, our paths haven’t crossed. Thank fucking God for that.
My mother landed at JFK but chose to stay in the city for the next few days before traveling out here. Honestly, I don’t blame her. I know I’m not the only one avoiding my father at all costs.
After his golf game, he calls to lecture me on how I handledhis mess. His voice carries the husky edge of too much Macallan, laced with his usual condescension. Even though I’m his son, he treats me with zero respect. However, the message is painfully clear—I’m nothing but a disappointment to him.
So, I put the phone down and let him rant while I answer emails.
Tomorrow, he’ll be sober and won’t remember a thing.
It’s early evening when darkness fills the house. I stretch my arms and crack my neck to alleviate the stress of staring at my screen for most of the day. The only light in the room comes from my laptop and my phone, which pings continuously with messages.
Little Brat
I’m stuck in the city, there’s been an accident on the interstate. Can I crash at your place?
I let out a huff. My sister knows I don’t like anyone staying at my penthouse—not even her. It’s my sanctuary, the one space I keep solely for myself. No matter how many women I’ve been with, none have been allowed to stay the night. I am quick toset boundaries, drawing a firm line in the sand.Fuck me all you want, but you better be gone before the sun rises.
Me
Fine. Don’t touch anything.
Little Brat
I’ll sleep on the couch. Wouldn’t want to catch cooties from all the women you screw in your bed.
Me
Anything else? You leave me here in this godforsaken town with nothing to do on a Sunday night. I’m starving.
Little Brat
Go to The Spice House. They serve the best tacos and margaritas. Plus it’s where all the single women hang in case you’re looking for a small-town romance.
Me
Small-town romance? You’re delusional. I’m more than happy to continue living my life as your single older brother.
Little Brat
Two words for you. Grumpy/sunshine.
Me
?
Madelina doesn’t respond, but my notifications alert me to someone entering my apartment. I click on the front door camera to watch Madelina removing her coat and knocking over a vase near the coat rack. The sound isn’t on, but judging by the way her mouth opens, she’s swearing at her clumsy mistake, staring at the glass scattered all over the marble tiles.
“Fuck my life,” I mumble.
I grab my keys, wallet, and phone, desperate to leave this place.
The drive into town is dark, and only a few lights can be seen from some ranches nearby. When I hit the main intersection, I turn left to drive down Butterscotch Boulevard. Unsurprisingly, all the shops are closed, the complete opposite of the city. How people don’t die from boredom in this town is beyond me.
The Spice House is well lit, which makes sense since it’s one of the few places that seem to be open. I park my car in the street, then make my way to the pub. Upon entering, I notice it’s bigger than I assumed. The place itself was a jam factory back when I was a kid. In junior high, the owners officially closed it down, and it remained abandoned for years. The brickwork still stands, and whoever owns it now has restored the building with a modern twist.
