Page 35 of Three Pucking Ex's Brothers
Probably running into you, for one, since you spent the night in his damn house.
I get in the car and Tommy doesn’t waste a second. He throws his backpack in the cab behind our seats and sets to turning the car on. The radio blasts with the sugary sounds of Sabrina Carpenter who croons on about havingbed chem.
And immediately I feel my cheeks pinken because my mind wanders to this morning. To waking up with Russell Sterling of all people.
I pull out my phone, the awkward silence between us almost palpable. I see a couple missed texts from both Zayne and Abby.
Abby…
The last thing I remember is her telling me her mother was in some sort of accident, and my heart races a little. I open her texts, breathing a sigh of relief that her texts tell me Pam is okay.
It looks like the last text came in late last night,or early this morning. Three am—the damn witching hour.
Abby:Text me let me know you got in okay.
Abby:I hope you’re passed out in bed and not ignoring me.
Abby:Mom’s okay. No concussion or any scrapes or bruises.
Abby:You better text me in the morning and give me all the details or I’m going to send a search party.
I smirk at her texts—not just the news that her mom is okay, but her concern forme.I know she wouldn’t have left me otherwise, and a part of me feels strangely conflicted.
If she would have stayed I might not have danced with Rush. And I certainly wouldn’t have woken up with him or noticed Freddie and his heated gaze this morning…
Tommy glances at me from his peripheral vision before looking forward. “You can change it, if you want. The radio, I mean.”
I let out a sigh as I stare at Abby’s text. “I’m good, thanks,” I say, but even I can hear the guilt and tiredness in my voice.
Thankfully, I don’t have any clients booked until noon today, which means I’ve got at least a few hours before I have to bein the shop. A few hours to feed the cat, maybe decompress. Shower and try to put this damn mortifying moment behind me.
God, Rush and Freddie must think I’m a damn idiot.
Why I care about what they think—especially now, given the present circumstances, is beyond me. But I can’t shake the feeling that I do. Care. What they think of me.
Tommy looks back at me as we stop at a stop sign.
He opens his mouth, then stops. Looks forward. Then he sighs, looking back at me, and just as I think he’s going to say nothing and drive off, he speaks.
“Are you…um…okay? You seem…nervous,” he says carefully. “I hope it’s not something I said or?—”
“No, it’s not,” I assure him, shifting my position in the seat next to him. I’m strangely aware of how close we actually are. I’m also acutely aware that he keeps looking at me weird, but it doesn’t make me feel strange. If anything, it’s almost a comfort. Like a balm to my uneasy soul.
The words come easier than they should, even though my head is splitting and the sting of remorse and pain fester inside of me.
“Brett and I broke up,” I say carefully as he presses on the gas and takes off once more.
“What?” His gasp is not missed. “Since when?”
I sigh, glancing at my phone. I check my text thread. No text since that last one, theit’s overtext that broke my damn heart.
“Since the other day when I came home to find him in bed with someone else.”
Tommy sighs deeply as he pulls around the bend. I know we’re almost to my brother’s and part of me wonders how he remembered the address when I can’t say I even remember telling him about my brother in the first place.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and the tone of his voice is so vulnerable, so sweet…
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Me too.”
