Page 41 of His Heart

“Hey, I was just—”

“You were just getting the fuck out of here,” Jared said.

The guy seemed to decide it wasn’t worth the confrontation. With a half-glare, half-smile that seemed to say she’s not worth the trouble, he turned and walked away.

Jared grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer. “What the hell was that?”

His grip was tight, digging into my skin. “Nothing. He asked if I had a lighter.”

“You know that guy?”

“No. God, Jared, let go. That hurts.”

Twisting my arm painfully, he squeezed harder. “Don’t fucking do that again. I don’t like it.” He let go and I clutched my wrist to my body. “I want to get out of here. I’ll go get the bike.”

Without waiting for my reply, he turned and left, heading up the street to where he’d parked his motorcycle.

I rubbed my wrist. He’d left red marks in the shape of his fingers. It burned, like a demon singed by holy water. I almost expected to see hissing smoke rising from the redness.

In another life, I would have written that down. Now, I didn’t have anything with me to write on.

My phone rang, the noise making me jump. I pulled it out of my pocket and my breath froze in my lungs as I stared at the name on the screen.

Mary Harper.

It had been months since Liam’s mom had last tried to call. I hadn’t answered that time. I’d texted her a few days later, apologizing for missing her call and promising to call back. I hadn’t.

In fact, it had been almost two years since I’d seen any of Liam’s family. I’d pushed them away so hard, they’d eventually stopped trying. Plus, the last time I’d seen Olivia, she’d made it clear how she felt about me. That had been more than enough to keep me away.

“Hello?” I heard my own voice as if it were outside of me—someone else speaking. Had I answered her call? What the fuck was I thinking? Maybe I was drunker than I thought.

“Brooke?” Mary’s voice. So familiar. So kind. It pushed at the ache in my chest, stirring it up so the pain felt almost fresh. “Brooke, is that you?”

“Yeah,” I said, hoping I sounded clear. I didn’t want her to know I’d been drinking.

“I’m so glad I reached you,” she said. “How are you?”

God, that question. But I was good at lying about it. “I’m good. Fine. Just kind of tired. It’s late.”

“I know, I’m sorry for calling so late,” she said. “I need to talk to you about something. It’s important. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure.”

“We’ve been in touch with someone,” she said. “One of the organ recipients.”

Her words didn’t register at first. Organ recipients? She couldn’t mean…

“What?”

“Four years ago, a young man in Iowa needed a heart transplant,” she said. “He received Liam’s heart.”

His heart? It felt like I couldn’t breathe—like my lungs were caught in a vise. “Really?”

“Yes,” she said. “He wrote to us. And, well, we’ve invited him to meet, here in Phoenix. That’s why I’m calling. We were hoping you would come.”

I swallowed hard, trying to hold myself together. “When?”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” she said. “We’re meeting for lunch at Nora’s Kitchen, do you remember that restaurant? I’m not sure where you’re living now, but if you need a ride, I’m sure we could come pick you up.”

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