Page 68 of Loving Lies (Granton University 3)

She had someone else.

She’d moved on.

Hell, maybe she’d always had this guy. Jonah knew she’d lied to them about them being together, but he’d never thought she’d had someone else. She’d touched Jonah and kissed him, and…they’d talked like…Shit. Had she just been playing him all along, just as he’d accused? Maybe she’d even sent Bailey in to make him think she was innocent to really complete the act. Maybe—

He turned away, unable to concoct another scenario. It hurt too much. And besides, it didn’t matter. Because he couldn’t believe the worst of her. Maybe she’d moved on and had someone else now. But she hadn’t when they’d been together.

This was good, he decided. Really. She needed to move on, find someone good for her. She needed to be happy.

It hurt, though. It hurt more than all the physical therapy sessions Frenchie had put him through. It hurt more than any of his bullet wounds or his head wound. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he could survive from this kind of pain.

Stumbling when one of his crutches caught on an uneven piece of ground, he moaned out a sound of pain and kept hurrying away. By the time he made it to his truck, his leg was throbbing.

Pale and trembling, he fell into the driver’s seat and panted, realizing he was probably on the verge of another panic attack.

“Damn it,” he muttered, rubbing circles over his chest where the heart inside his ribcage kept chipping away shattered pieces.

He closed his eyes and rested his skull back against the headrest. He probably sat there for ten minutes before he fumbled for his wallet and yanked out a business card he’d kept for weeks but had yet to use. Hoping it brought about a miracle, he dialed the number and listened to the ring.

“Hey,” a chipper-sounding woman answered almost immediately. “This is Sam.”

He licked his lips. “I need—you said I could call if I needed help.” Exhaling, he realized he was probably making no sense, so he started again. “I mean, this is Jonah Abbott. I—”

“Oh! Of course. I’ve been waiting for you, dear. I’m so glad you finally gave in.”

She sounded relieved. For some reason, that calmed him. Running a hand through his hair, he gave a small smile. “Yeah. Well…” What now?

“Do you need to talk now?” she immediately asked, smoothing out all the awkwardness. “I have some time. But I’m starving. Do you mind if we meet for some pizza? There’s a great pizza parlor on Grant Street.”

Samantha had her light hair pulled up in another perky ponytail when Jonah managed to edge his way into the restaurant. He had a little trouble at the door because it kept wanting to close on his crutches, but once he was inside and hobbling her way, she finally noticed him.

Offering him a big smile, she waved him over before sinking her teeth into a large slice of pepperoni. “Sorry, I couldn’t wait to order. I hope you don’t mind.” She gave him a guilty grin and dabbed at her face with as napkin as he propped his crutches on the wall beside their booth and hopped on one foot before sliding his way into his seat. “Hey, it looks like you’re getting around well on those things.”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing at the food teasing his nostrils.

“Help yourself.” She waved her hand toward the pizza. “And if you don’t like this kind, I’m going to order another one anyway. My boys will kill me if I come home with pizza on my breath and don’t bring them any.”

“This is fine,” he said and hesitantly picked up a piece. “Thanks.” When he took a bite, his gaze met hers, and a strange kind of companionship filled him. He’d only met this woman once, and yet he instantly felt a comfortable easiness around her.

As they ate, she did most of the talking, telling him about her two sons and some of the crazy things they did. A couple things reminded him of his childhood in the trailer park with Sean, and he found himself smiling, despite the heaviness in his chest.

“So…” Sam patted her belly as they polished off all the pizza they were going to eat and the waitress went off to get her a box for the leftovers. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about…Einstein. Or did you call him Anthony?”

The name made him shudder. Not expecting this question, he shook his head. Why did she want to talk about Einstein? Didn’t she specialize in grief therapy? He sure as hell wasn’t grieving over Einstein.

“I’ve seen you on the news, you know,” she murmured with a hint of sympathy in her brown eyes. “I’ve heard what they’re saying about you. I thought you might like to start there.”

No, he didn’t want to start there. Actually, he didn’t even want to go there. Truth be told, he didn’t want to start anywhere. He’d kind of been hoping maybe she’d just hand over some miracle pill that would numb him to all pain and send him on his way. But, no, the woman wanted to talk.

It figured.

“What do you want me to say?” he croaked, already bracing himself and feeling defensive. “If you saw the news reports then you already know everything, right?”

She laughed softly. “Watching the news only confirmed that there was a lot more going on between you and Einstein than I originally thought.”

The color drained from his face. He wasn’t sure he could talk about this. It’d end up being his word against the freaking media. Why would anyone believe him after what they’d said about him?

Sam sighed. “Let me tell you a little story. My husband died in the line of duty. A drunken parolee had kidnapped his child and ex-girlfriend because he’d lost all his parent privileges. After hours of trying to negotiate with him to come out of the house where he was holding his family at gunpoint, the police finally sent in a SWAT unit. Frank was one of the first officers inside. When the crazy drunk opened fire, he aimed at his own family instead of the police. So…selfless man that my husband was, Frank dived in front of them and shielded them. He saved their lives that day. But not once in all the media coverage over the event did one reporter call him a hero or commend him for saving that woman and little boy. They were too busy degrading the other officers who used an excessive amount of bullets to return fire on the drunk. So, I know exactly how only one portion of the story gets told, or how some details are blown out of proportion, while others are completely neglected.”

---