Page 13 of This Wild Heart

“Well, the marriage certificate we signed might say differently, but whatever makes you feel better.”

I snapped my fingers. “Stop looking at my legs.”

His eyes snapped up, lips curling unrepentantly.

My chest was one big life revelation from caving in, I couldn’t find my freaking suitcase, and my hands were shaking uncontrollably.

“Where are my clothes?” I groaned.

“From last night? In the bathroom.” Parker stretched his arms over his head, and dammit, it was like he had an attention magnet all over his chest and shoulders because the way those muscles shifted was probably illegal in seventeen states. “You wanted a shower before bed.”

Thank God there was a seat right behind me because my ass stumbled into it. I shoved my hands in my hair and tried to breathe, cataloging the impending signs of a panic attack.

Tingling hands?Check.

Tight throat?Check.

Spinning head?Check.

An elephant sitting on my chest?Fucking check.

Parker gracefully stood out of bed, and I exhaled sharply through my nose because, thank you, sweet baby Jesus in the manger, he was wearing black boxer briefs.

Hisass,though. The tight black material did nothing to disguise the perfection there.

I snapped my eyes shut and tried not to stare at it. In general, I didn’t make a habit of objectifying men because Lord knows I fucking hated when men did it to me, but I could probably bounceseveralquarters off Parker Wilder’s ass.

His body, in no uncertain terms, was a work of art.

“I must not have showered,” I said, tearing my gaze away from the ass when he turned around. Why was he watching me like that? All calm and shit. “My hair is still curled,” I said when he gave me a curious look.

“No, you never made it because you almost fell over, and I didn’t really feel like watching you crack your head open on the tile on our first night of wedded bliss.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Out of the goodness of my heart, I gave you the jersey because as much as I try not to sleep with women who are blackout drunk, I’m also not a saint. Having a beautiful, naked wife in bed with me just might’ve tested my personal limits.”

I groaned again, elbows braced on my thighs while I dropped my head in my hands. “Stop saying that. There’s no way I would’ve married you.”

“You really don’t remember?”

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and there was a creepy-crawly sensation over my entire body. Something was inherently terrifying about having an entire night of my life when the whole thing was just gone. Wiped clean.

I managed a slight shake of my head, and the sound of Parker approaching had me rolling my lips between my teeth to keep the sob from escaping. With nowhere to go, it pressed against my throat, so uncomfortable and horrifyingly big that I could feel it climb through my cheekbones and push against the back of my eyes.

God, if this single drunk mistake made me cry while I was hungover, I’d be so pissed.

I’d shave my head before crying in front of Parker Wilder—a veritable stranger, for how well I knew him—over something like this. I’d shed enough tears the past few weeks, and I’d done a really great job of keeping those to myself. Only Vida got the sad Anya. Everyone else thought I was doing a killer job of rolling with every single fucking punch that came my way. Even when my stepmom, Isabel, sat me down and showed me the news articles about Max’s stunning display of infidelity, I managed to keep it all locked down.

She got the shock and the anger and the immediate vilifying. It was the only way I’d manage to keep my family in check.

If I broke down? They’d be homicidal.

Probably because moments like that in the Hennessy/Ward clan generally involved revenge planning of a violent nature, and the greatest concern would be keeping Max from getting murdered by half the women in our family simply because I didn’t want them to end up in jail.

It was in private where the heartbreak was allowed to slip down my cheeks. And it felt literal too. Like someone sliced straight through my actual heart, and every single day, I told myself it wasn’t my fault, that it wasn’t personal. An insecure man with a wandering penis was not my problem.

It felt like my problem, though, given I wasn’t that far away from walking down the freaking aisle. And heartbreak went hand in hand with just a bit of fragility, no matter how strong someone was.

Even without the hangover and the husband sharing a bed with me, my insides felt like glass. Just one more thing, one tiny thing, and I’d shatter.

Parker crouched in front of me. Even with my eyes closed, I knew this because I could smell him. I could smell the sexy forest smell just … right the hell in front of me.

---