Page 66 of Broken By the Bad Boy

The silence until he answers is heavy and uncomfortable. I fidget in my seat, glassy eyes focused on the floor. He pulls his hand from my grasp, and my heart lurches against my ribcage. Maybe it’s too late to fix us. His fingertip brushes my lip. He pecks me, and a tear rolls down my cheek.

“Don’t cry, babe. I’m not mad.” I take this as a sign to sit on his lap, and his hand reaches behind to steady me. My head drops to his shoulder. We can fix this. “Just sad. I’ll miss you every day.”

Sadness darkens his gaze. He puts his emotions on display, and my heart hurts for him. Thank God I’m staying. I press my forehead to his temple and take his hand, brushing his knuckles with my lips.

“You don’t have to miss me every day.” His eyes narrow, but he waits for me to finish. “I’m not leaving today. There has been a change of plans.” So many emotions flash across his face, but I recognize relief. His arms tighten around me as I relay everything Mom told me. “Maybe March.”

“March is so close.” Almost two months away. He pecks my lips. “Is that what you told Asher?”

“Partly. I wanted to tell you first.”

He grins. His phone rings, and he lets out a groan. “My mom’s calling.”

Asher’s words flow back to me. I slide my hands into the pockets of Ben’s coat. “You’re going there?” With a heavy sigh, he nods, and I clear my throat twice. This can go sideways. “Do you want me to come with you? I don’t mind. Mom doesn’t mind either. She was going to call you.”

That piques his interest. He lifts a thick brow. I should trim it. “Why?”

“Because you broke her baby’s heart.” My gaze lowers to his chest. I bite my lips and finally let out the words. “Um, I was at your house when I called. I was so scared and angry and sad.”

His eyes soften, and his fingers caress my jaw. I push down my guard. Our eyes meet, and he palms my face. Staring at me with a raw intensity that makes me feel vulnerable, his lips brush mine in a gentle, almost kiss, and he pulls back to smile at me.

“You broke my heart first,” he whispers.

“Sorry.”

Ben chuckles. “It’s okay, Gracie.” Hugging me, he whispers, “We will figure it out.”

His ringtone interrupts my answer. I head to the dining table to get my breakfast. Mom’s plate is missing. She’s probably sharing it with Asher. For the duration of Ben’s call, he offers monotone replies to his mom, and I nibble on my soaked pancake to keep from chastising him. We haven’t spoken about his mom since that day. I doubt their relationship has improved. He doesn’t have bad things to say about her, but he doesn’t have good things to say either. Ben is my boyfriend, so I’ll pick his side, but the fact that Asher likes her and Josef has my curiosity hitting a new level.

“Are you sure you want to meet my mom?” Ben asks as soon as the call ends.

Back on the couch, I cross my legs and nod with my mouth full of pancakes. “You don’t want me to come with you?”

He wipes his palms on his legs. “It’s not that, babe. I want you to meet them.” I finish the slice of pancake and start on another. He refuses to join me. His loss. “But I have never brought a girl home.”

My heart flips. I slide the empty plate onto the stool beside the couch.

“There’s always a first time for everything.”

“Always is. I missed you, Gracie.” His eyes shine with vulnerability. I sit astride him, and my hands slide into his hair. His head falls back. “I wish you didn’t have to go, babe.”

I plant a kiss on his nose. “Me too.”

We will discuss my school choice later, but for now, I let myself be comforted by his presence.

Thirty-Two

Ben’s momis nice and sweet. I want to be on Ben’s side, but my little interaction with her makes it hard to believe she and Josef are the bad guys in his story. I steal a peek at Ben. He pushes his meal around his plate and finally takes a bite. His mom stares at him for a full second and smiles.

“How’s soccer?” Maddie, his mom, asks Ben. Josef beams at her question. He must like sports.

Soccer was Ben’s first love. I think she’s trying to lighten the mood, but it’s the wrong question. Ben stopped playing last session after his knee injury. He found fighting and has not returned to soccer.

Ben’s fork stops moving on his plate, and a wave of anger rolls off him. “It’s fine,” I reply on his behalf. He clenches his fist on the table. I wrap my hand around his to calm him. “He’s taking a break from it.”

“Oh.” Her mouth closes. I stare at my plate and count the seconds until the awkwardness passes. Sadly, it doesn’t, but I’m thankful she doesn’t ask about the break. “Are you still involved in any sports?”

Maddie’s voice is hopeful, and I feel so bad for them. They are trying. We steal glances at Ben, who shoves more food into his mouth. He scowls when my eyes narrow at him, but he doesn’t proffer a reply. If he wasn’t going to behave himself, he shouldn’t have invited me to the house.

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