Page 103 of Caught Up In You

It’s loud and stern and?—

And it’s final.

“Please don’t do this, Owen,” I whisper, as if I can bring him back to me, tohimself, with a gentle plea.

“I’m sorry, Wyatt,” is all he says, and I can’t tell if the apology is for yelling or the fact that he’s systematically dismantling mepiece by piece. Everything hurts. Thishurts, and I don’t know how to fix it.

He’s still holding that goddamn pineapple can like it’s proof that this is rational. That this is fair. That it’s right.

Nothing about this is right.

“You’re sorry?” I force my eyes away from the can with the rules that were supposed to keep us honest, with our childish, hastily scrawled signatures. They land on him.

I didn’t want this. The contract was my idea because I didn’t wantanyof this. I was trying to make sure I’d never wind up standing in Owen McBride’s living room, tears welling in my eyes while I frantically tried to figure out what I’d done wrong and how I could fix it.

I thought that pineapple can would protect me.

Just like always, I thought I knew better.

But once again, I chose wrong.

That goddamn fucking pineapple can.

My tornado of emotions is spinning so fast that I can barely separate them, but fury wins out.

I snatch that pineapple can from those strong, capable hands that used to hold me so gently, like I was precious. Like he could protect me. I feel its weight in my hand, pull my arm back.

And then, like a rubber band snapping, I hurl it.

The can hits the living room window with an unholy clatter, and the glass shatters.

The shock of what I’ve done lasts all of five seconds before I turn back to him.

“You did this to me. I didn’t want this. I tried to stop it. But you made me fall in love with you,” I say, sobs forcing their way between my words. “And then you broke my fucking heart.”

And then I race for the door before he can take anything more from me.

I pull into the driveway just as the sun is rising. After I left Owen’s, I drove around, cruising down the rural highways outside of town and praying I wouldn’t come across a cop as I tested the speed limit in several counties. I’m exhausted and frayed. My eyes are dry and swollen from crying, my throat raw from screaming along with Debbie’s breakup mixtape.

And my heart is well and truly broken.

I climb out of the truck and say a little prayer that Libby’s asleep. I don’t think I can take herI told you soon top of everything else. What I need now is to burrow under the covers and sleep until this doesn’t hurt anymore. Or sleep and then pretend this doesn’t hurt anymore when I wake up. I’ll pretend while my tender shattered heart heals, covers itself in scar tissue until it’s strong enough that no one will ever break me again.

It’s what I’ve always done.

It’s the one thing I’m good at.

I sling my purse over my shoulder, realizing that I need to text Carson about getting my suitcase from the hotel. Which means I’m going to have to explain everything that transpired over the last few hours. And oh god, Grace—I’m going to have to tell her that things between her brother and me are over.

Fuck. Everything I was afraid of has happened, and it’s all so much worse than I thought it would be. Once again I looked at all the evidence, knew in my gut what I should do, and then went and did the exact fucking opposite.

I’m nothing if not predictable.

My shoulders roll forward like my body is ready to fold in on itself as I trudge up the front path. The door is unlocked because Libby doesn’t give a shit about safety. And honestly, I’mtoo miserable to care either. I half hope there’s a killer with a chainsaw standing in my living room, ready to cut me to ribbons. It wouldn’t hurt worse than this, but at least it would distract me.

The house is quiet. I exhale in relief and start making my way down the hall.

“You okay, honey bun?”

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