Wrecked Heart

by Cassie Wild

  It was only eleven, which was late for me, but I’d yet to see him walking around the big house before noon, so I figured I had a bit of a reprieve. While I had the chance, I ducked into the kitchen to make myself something to eat.

  I came up short as I approached the counter, though.

  My phone sat there, in a bowl of rice, along with a note written in unfamiliar handwriting. The guy who took care of the grounds must have found it.

  I was clearing away the snow and found this on the patio. It got a bit wet.

  “Thank goodness,” I muttered, grabbing the phone. It turned on without a hitch. I’d updated to a newer model recently and was now profoundly glad I’d splurged a little. It was waterproof up to four feet, so hopefully, that meant the snow wouldn’t have any effect

  Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to keep it in the rice a little longer, I put it back in the dish and went about making breakfast.

  It was a good call. I’d barely finished putting my dishes in the rack when Sean came in. I sensed him more than heard him, my skin prickling and heating, my nipples tightening. Stupid, stupid body. Even my heart, still bruised from last night, thumped harder and faster. Summoning up every bit of will I possessed, I gave him a disinterested look and went to scoop up the dish of rice.

  Sean shifted in the doorway, his gaze darting away.

  “Excuse me,” I said.

  Sean lingered, drawing in a breath. “Tish…”

  I slanted a look up at him. “I need to get to work,” I said bluntly. “Can I get past?”

  For a second, I thought he’d say something.

  But he just shifted to the side, letting me pass. I took great care not to touch him.

  Maybe if I’d done that from the beginning, this whole mess could have been avoided.

  The beauty of hindsight.

  Twenty-Six

  Sean

  I couldn’t get the look of her face out of my head. Her features, smooth and blank as a doll’s, had haunted me all night. I’d only slept in bits and pieces, and on top of my headache and gritty eyes, I was dealing with a nagging sense of guilt.

  Of all the nights for a nightmare to come in and kick me in the ass, it had to be last night. Sure, it wasn’t like I had a lot of nights without nightmares, but they did happen from time to time. Couldn’t I have had one of those nights last night?

  “Or maybe I could have just not been an asshole,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. I shoved off the wall and stared down the hall, wishing I’d found the backbone to say something to her while she was there.

  Something. Yeah. Something like I’m sorry.

  Pissed off with myself, I stormed into the kitchen and jerked open the refrigerator. There was a neat row of imported beers on the top row, and I had to ignore the temptation to grab one—or three. I didn’t give a damn if it wasn’t even noon. My head was pounding, and a beer or two would take the edge off. But I ignored the colorful bottles and snagged the orange juice instead. After draining two glasses, I made myself some toast and poured another glass of juice, sitting down at the table.

  Tish was still weighing on my mind, and I didn’t know what I was going to do about it—what I was going to do about her.

  I couldn’t think straight with her clouding my every thought. Snagging a triangle of toast, I sank my teeth into it and stared at the surface of the table.

  It wasn’t the table I was seeing, though.

  It was Tish.

  A nasty mix of guilt and need burned through me, and I didn’t even try to shove it down.

  The smart thing to do would have been to just stay away. I’d never been very good at doing that, though. More than once, I found myself going by the library. The first two times, she either wasn’t in there or she was out of view of the doorway, and I was too ashamed of what I’d done to outright seek her out.

  After the second time, I headed to the gym and hit the treadmill.

  Mile after mile, I ran and brooded.

  What had happened with Tish had been…amazing.

  For the first time in months, I’d touched a woman without feeling like I was doing it to empty my mind or chase away demons.

  I’d been doing it because I wanted her.

  I wanted Tish.

  Beyond that, I didn’t know what else to make of what I felt about her. She frustrated me, annoyed me, intrigued me, amused me. Under most circumstances, I probably would have avoided her, simply because she was so far opposite of what I knew and understood. Yet, even when I told myself to stay away, I couldn’t seem to do it.

  Even now, feeling as guilty as I did about what happened last night, I wanted to hunt her down and watch her. Talk to her.

  Tell her I was sorry.

  And I was sorry.

  The muscles in my thighs burned, my lungs ached, and I pushed myself harder, trying to outrun myself and the thoughts in my head.

  It didn’t work.

  I kept seeing her face and the way she’d shut me out last night.

  We’re done.

  I didn’t need to ask why I’d done that—I knew. She’d asked about Isabel, and I’d been an asshole, reacting out of guilt and panic. But that hadn’t been fair to Tish. We’d had sex and fallen asleep together. Then, while we were still lying pressed together naked, I’d had a nightmare and apparently mentioned my dead wife’s name.

  Although my mind shied away from it, I couldn’t help but wonder how Isabel would have acted if I’d said somebody else’s name while holding her, nightmare or not.

  She’d wouldn’t have comforted me and smoothed my hair back from my face like Tish had done. I wasn’t trying to belittle her memory, but I’d known Isabel—she’d been impulsive. React first, ask questions later had kind of been her motto in life. I should know. I was the same way.

  But Tish had calmly asked who Isabel was.

  Instead of reacting with any sort of decency, I’d kicked her out of my bed.

  Fuck.

  I was an asshole.

  The sick sensation inside me spread, the guilt burning until it was like acid in my veins. I wasn’t a stranger to guilt. I’d been living with it for almost a year now, but ever since Tish had walked out of my room, it had been ramped up to an all new level.

  Trying to outrun it didn’t work, and I hadn’t been able to sweat it out, either. The only other viable option was booze, and I didn’t want to risk getting drunk off my ass, because if I did, I might do or say something I’d regret. I had enough regrets already. I didn’t need to make it worse.

  Brooding, I found myself standing just outside the library hours later, hands jammed into the pockets of my jeans while my tongue was practically glued to the roof of my mouth.

  She was in there.

  I could hear her muttering to herself.

  She sounded pissed off, which was new. I’d never heard her sound remotely annoyed, much less pissed off.

  But even with that edge in her voice, just listening to her talk was…soothing. I didn’t know what it was about her. There was something, though.

  She affected me in a way that couldn’t be denied. Maybe it was just the plain and simple fact that she was so…different from what I knew. While she might have some idea now of who I was—what my family was—she looked at me without any sort of preformed judgment in her eyes, and she never talked to me with some sort of agenda.

  There were very few people in my life, aside from my family, who didn’t want something from me, even if it was just the notoriety of hanging around the son of a mob boss. Hell, even my brothers and Dad had expectations of me. Not that I’d met them since Isabel died—and they could happily fuck right off if that bothered them too.

  Isabel hadn’t wanted anything from me other than just to be with me.

  Cedric was happy just to be my friend.

  But even Dominick was in my life because of family connections. We were friends, yeah, and I knew he’d go to the wall for me, but we were cousins on my mother’s side.

  Tish…she
was different.

  A sharp yelp and crack came from the room, startling me and driving me inside before I could even think about what I was doing.

  Tish jerked her head up, her dark blue eyes locking on me. She had her right hand in front of her, index finger pointing out. A fat drop of blood welled there, growing larger and larger.

  I grabbed the box of tissues sitting on the table just inside the doors and strode to her.

  “What happened?”

  “An accident,” she said. Her voice was polite but distant. Yanking a tissue from the box, she caught the drop of blood before it could fall, pressing against the wound. “I’m fine. You can go.”

  “Dismissing me, are you?”

  Her brows, just a few shades darker than her hair, came together over her eyes, and she frowned at me. “I’m pointing out that I don’t need assistance, Sean. You can go. I’m fine.”

  “So you said.” I glanced around, trying to figure out how she’d gotten hurt. A hammer lay on the ground next to a large wooden crate, and the top part of the crate looked like a big wedge had been broken off. “You know, you can ask me to help you open these. I don’t mind.”

  “I can handle it.” She dropped her gaze.

  I did the same thing, focusing on her injured hand. “Shit.”

  Blood had already stained the tissue red. I pulled another out and held it to her. “Come on. You’re going to need more than just some tissues to deal with that.”

  “I’m—”

  “What’s the matter?” I said, cutting her off with an arrogant smile. “Too flustered to be alone with me now?”

  The expression on her face chilled. “You really are full of yourself, aren’t you?”

  Instead of responding to the insult, I nudged her out the door. “There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen. Shelley keeps it stocked.”

  The long, taut silence before she answered was heavy, weighing down on me like a wet blanket, unpleasant, stifling. Finally, she huffed out a breath. “Fine. You can show me where it is, and I’ll take care of this.”

  Again, with that cool, icy dismissal.

  I pretended not to notice how much she didn’t want to be around me as I pulled out the kit and opened it, placing it out of her reach before gesturing for her to give me her hand.

  She opened her mouth to argue.

  “It will get done quicker by somebody who has two hands free instead of one,” I told her. “And you’re right-handed.”

  Her shoulders slumped on a heavy sigh, and she relented, giving me her hand. I peeled the layers of tissue away. Clumps of it stuck, soaked through with blood. “Come over to the sink. I want to wash some of this away.”

  She remained silent as I rinsed the wound clear and let the water wash away the stain of red on her thumb. While she stood there, I tore open some gauze. Once I had it ready, I turned off the tap, then guided her back to the island where the light was brightest. Blood was already welling back up, and it looked like there was a sliver of something lodged in her finger, although with the bleeding, it was hard to be sure. “I think you’ve got a splinter of the wood stuck in there. Does it hurt?”

  “It doesn’t feel good.” Her head was bowed. She could have been staring at her finger or just avoiding my gaze. I had no idea.

  “We need to get the bleeding to stop so I can make sure there’s nothing in it.”

  “I know.” She sighed, the sound filled with frustration.

  I kept the pressure up, using one hand to steady her wrist while pressing down on her finger with the other.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She went stiff. As she tried to back away, I shifted our positions, backing her up against the island and caging her in. If she tried, she could get away.

  She didn’t try.

  “I was being an asshole, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have acted that way.”

  Slowly, her head came up. But she didn’t look at me.

  I wanted her to. I desperately wanted her to.

  Clearing my throat, I made myself go on. “Isabel was…she was my wife. She was killed last January.”

  Tish remained silent.

  Forcing air into my tight lungs, I kept going. “It was an explosion. Somebody rigged my car to blow, and it was supposed to be me inside, but it wasn’t. She took my car to go to a friend’s shower and it…” The clamp that invariably appeared to constrict around my throat made its presence known, wrapping me in a vice-like grip, trying to choke the words off. “The car blew up. I was standing maybe ten feet away, watching her. She smiled at me through the windshield and then she was just…gone.”

  Tish’s breathing hitched. Slowly, she looked up.

  Her eyes, glittering with tears, met mine.

  “I have nightmares about it.” Realizing how stupid that sounded, I added, “I mean, you figured that out. But they happen a lot. Sometimes I can move, and I think I’ll get her out. Other times, my feet are stuck in the concrete. But I’m never able to save her.”

  Tish reached up with her uninjured hand and brushed my hair back from my face. I wanted to turn into her touch but didn’t let myself.

  “It’s been almost a year, but I can still see it all like it was yesterday. I smell the smoke. I can feel the heat, and the pavement under my hands and knees as I tried to get up and go get to her.”

  The ache inside me swelled until I could barely breathe around it, but I had to get this out, or I’d hate myself a little bit more.

  “Then we…” I stopped and blew out a breath. “I’ve spent the past eleven months trying to forget. Booze and sex and running from it all. It quiets things for a while. And last night…my head was really, really quiet. It was the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in ages. Then the nightmare hit, and I woke up…”

  The urgency that had been driving me disappeared in the blink of an eye, replaced by uncertainty. Looking down, I focused on her injury. After checking to see if the bleeding had stopped, I could see there was definitely a sliver of wood still inside the small but deep puncture.

  I got a pair of tweezers out and tugged on it until it came free of her skin. She hissed out a pained breath but stayed silent as I dabbed away the lingering blood, then dug for a bandage.

  Even once I had her finger wrapped up, though, I didn’t let her go.

  “I felt guilty. Hell. I am guilty. It’s my fault Isabel died. It’s why I have the nightmares…and I deserve them,” I said softly. “I woke up, and you were there…soft and sweet and watching me with worried eyes. I don’t deserve that concern, Tish. It’s wasted on me. I lashed out because I wanted that sympathy, wanted somebody to comfort me. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m sorry.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Tish

  The last, soft words fell on my ears, but I barely heard them.

  Sean’s story hit me square in the heart, and I was overcome by the urge to grab him and pull him close, stroke away all the misery he clearly felt, all the way to the core of his soul.

  What must it be like, living with that?

  I couldn’t even begin to imagine, and I didn’t want to.

  But I didn’t have to imagine his misery. It was in his voice, on his face, even in the way he watched me.

  The dull ache in my index finger had started to fade, the neatly bandaged wound showing Sean’s capable handiwork. Tugging free from his grip, I reached up and cupped his face in my hands, drawing his head down to meet mine.

  At first, he was reluctant, even though all I did was give his mouth a soft, gentle brush, my lips feathering over his.

  Innocent and chaste as that contact was, it successfully reheated the fire that had raged through me when we’d slept together.

  That fire hadn’t gone out completely. Even my anger hadn’t been adequate to extinguish it. Now that I understood what had been behind his behavior, that anger was obliterated. Yes, he’d been an ass. And I could understand, even sympathize.

  Still, I had every intention of moving away. It was what I n
eeded to do, what I had to do.

  Sean was bad for me in ways I was just now starting to understand, ways I lacked the experience to realize. If Wylie had hurt me, then Sean had the capability to devastate me, and I’d be wise to avoid him.

  But just when I found the strength to end the kiss, he reached up and cupped my cheek, using his thumb to tip my head back.

  I moaned as he slid his tongue along my lower lip, deepening the kiss, seeking entrance to my mouth. I couldn’t deny him, even though I knew that giving in was likely to lead to madness.

  He pulled me more firmly against him as his tongue sought mine, the kiss going from soothing and chaste to needy and demanding, becoming even more insistent in the span of heartbeats. I reached for him, digging my fingers into the hard slab of muscle atop his shoulders. Pain flared in my index finger, but I ignored it.

  He impatiently reached out, and I heard clattering as things from the island went crashing to the floor, but I didn’t pull away.

  I couldn’t have done that if my life depended on it.

  I sucked in a breath as he boosted me up onto the island, bringing my mouth on level with his. I didn’t have a chance to appreciate it fully because he pulled away and reached for the hem of my shirt, yanking it up.

  It went flying.

  He came back to me, palming my breasts and groaning as he dipped to bury his face in my cleavage.

  “So soft,” he muttered. “So pretty.”

  I flushed, going red at his huskily spoken words.

  He slid his fingers under the straps of my bra and tugged downward. A few more tugs behind my back and the garment fell away, freeing my breasts. Catching my breath, I fell back on my hands as he plumped the full curves in his hands, rolling my nipples back and forth before pinching them.