Page 35 of Her Defiant Heart (Damaged Hearts 1)

He nods. “You like them?”

Ignoring his question, I ask, “What do you mean you’ve been waiting out here for almost an hour? Why didn’t you knock?”

“I did knock. A couple of times,” he answers, stopping just at the edge of my porch. “I guess you didn’t hear me.”

I must not have. I’ve been too busy packing and trying to figure out what I’m going to do with my life.

“Looks like you’re going somewhere.” He nods toward the suitcase next to me.

“Oh.” I shrug, trying to be nonchalant. Inside, though, I’m a bundle of nerves.

Rhett is here. He came to see me. And he left me flowers.

What does this mean?

“Oh? That’s all you’re going to say?” Now he’s standing directly in front of me, the only barrier the vase of flowers between us. “I’ve tried texting you for days, but you haven’t responded.”

I’ve ignored all of his texts. I eventually blocked his number a couple of days ago so I wouldn’t see them anymore and be tempted to answer him.

So why does he stick around? No one else does in my life.

What makes Rhett the exception to the rule?

“I even tried calling you.”

A weak laugh escapes me. “I never answer phone calls.”

“I figured that.” Rhett chuckles, but he sounds nervous. And this makes my heart want to crack wide open. “I haven’t been able to think about anything else since we were together Friday night.”

His admission makes my heart crack open even more. Why is he saying this? Why is he doing this to me?

“But I’m starting to think I’m the only one who feels this way, since clearly you’re doing all right without me.” He waves in the direction of my suitcase, like he’s upset. And maybe he is. Maybe he’s hurt because I ignored him, and now he’s giving me flowers and I look like I’m running away, which I am. I so am. I don’t deserve him. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

He turns and starts walking toward the sidewalk, and I watch his retreating back.

Let him go.

Let him walk out of your life.

You don’t owe him an explanation.

It’s better that he thinks of you as a fond memory versus that evil bitch who used him.

Let.

Him.

Go.

“Rhett. Wait.”

I chase after him, the vase still clutched in my hands, the flowers bouncing in my face. I grab hold of his arm and he stops, turning to face me. There’s high color in his cheeks, and his eyes are blazing with frustration and anger and…

Want. Lots and lots of want.

My body responds automatically. I want him too. Despite everything I just went through, I lean into him, wishing he would touch me.

But he doesn’t. He’s too angry to give in. I can see it in the determined set of his jaw, the wary way he’s watching me. He’s put himself on the line and I’ve done nothing but make him feel worse.

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