Page 68 of Mending Hearts

I gaped at him. He thought I was considering what he wanted? With a laugh, I wiped my face, wetness on my fingertips. What he wanted had never occurred to me. I was too much inmyfeelings.

“You’d want to move to the train station?” I asked.

“Mostly, I just want to be with you, wherever that is.” His lips quirked up in a partial smile. “I like being with you.”

Did he love me? Was that a question you could ask someone? What if he didn’t? What if he just liked having sex, and I was reading too much into this?

Did I love him? No. I didn’t. Thebabyloved him. The baby loved him so much. All these feelings I’d never felt for anyone else were because of the baby. I was riding those hormones for all they were worth, that was all.

He peered down, his eyes narrowing. “What’s going on in there?” He tapped my temple gently.

The reality was he loved the baby andenjoyedbeing with me. That was all. Expecting anything else was ridiculous. Once the baby was born, I’d feel like myself again. I just had to get to that point without becoming a complete fool.

“Nothing,” I said with a headshake. “Just hormones.”

Chapter Twenty

Tyler

Being on Mia’s arm at the gala was like jumping into a churning sea after having spent hours floating on my back, staring at the clouds. Each flashbulb, each shout trying to get her attention, blurred together like waves on top of waves. Beside me, she glowed. Every time our gazes connected, it became more and more obvious how much she’d missed this, how much she was sacrificing by being in Little Falls, by having this baby, by settling for any life with me.

Even while I answered questions about the dress and posed for photos with her all over the red carpet, part of my mind was consumed with second-guessing the connection I’d been feeling between us. Maybe being in our bubble in Little Falls was what had made us so close.

No. No. We’d gotten close while we were on tour together too. I’d just always been backstage, never in the swirling storm of fans, paparazzi, and press outlets. Everywhere we turned, someone wanted a piece of Mia, wanted to talk about her cutting the tour short, wanted to know who I was. Her responses came easily, the lies spilling out. It had been months since she slipped on a mask,thismask, and it made me question whether I really knew her.

But I did. I understood her.

I went through the motions, talked about the dress, smiled at the right times, gave Mia my hand when she reached for it.

She had been right, though. Whether for show or if people were being authentic, everyone we encountered loved the dress, were surprised at my talent, couldn’t believe they hadn’t heard of me before. Their flattery reminded me of what I’d wanted ten years ago. Fame. Recognition. I’d wanted what I was experiencing right now.

But I’d also wanted a wife, kids. Back then, my whole dream had felt within my grasp. My first tour of what I hoped would be many, my home with Katie. I’d been on the cusp of greatness.

Then, my life fell apart, and I spent years thinking I’d never get what I truly desired, never reach anything close. I wondered if long-term, comfortable relationships and my shop might be the best I could do.

Mia talked to one of the reporters, and I scanned her lovely face, marveled that I was here, with her. Again, I was so close to having everything. If only it was possible to make someone love youenough. That was the key, at least with her. She felt something. Some sort of intense emotion flowed between us like a current when we were alone—moving, changing—but constant.

“Just one last question before you go inside,” the reporter in front of us begged Mia. As far as I could tell, she was selective about who she talked to, and this reporter earned a wary glance before she slowed her stride. She gave the reporter an expectant glare, the cue to let him know she was listening.

“Can you comment on the Kenny Connors lawsuit that’s pending? He produced your first album.”

“Yes, he produced my first album.” Mia’s tone was pleasant and straightforward, but I could sense the strain.

“Maybe you haven’t heard with your illness, but he’s accused of rape, of committing statutory rape. Of raping the girls he produced.”

“I don’t have anything to do with that lawsuit, so how could I possibly comment?” She gave him a sweet smile, one I knew was fake. She squeezed my hand once we were linked again, while we moved toward the entrance to the art gallery.

“Butcouldyou be part of that lawsuit?Shouldyou be?” the reporter called out after us.

Mia kept her focus on the entrance to the art gallery, but I had been following the story, remembered how Mia told me once that Kenny hurt her. The tension zinging through her was unmistakable. This dickhead reporter thought he already had something on her, thought he had a right to these details at an event like this.

Letting go of her hand, I walked back to the reporter and leaned in. “Are you really trying to ask her on the red carpet of a fashion gala whether or not she was raped? Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I pointed my finger into the camera. “This guy needs to be fired.”

From behind me, Mia tugged on my arm. “He’s not worth it, Tyler. Reporters ask stupid questions all the time. Small minds, small questions. You just gotta let them go.”

“I won’t let this idiocy go.” Inside, I was fuming. “He doesn’t have the right to ask you that question—not here, not anywhere. The entitlement. It’s unbelievable.”

She laughed, but there was sadness in it while she gripped my hand tighter and led him away. “Welcome to my life—the ugly bits.”

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