Page 46 of Heatwaves

Another wrenching pain hits me when his voice cracks at the end of his apology.

The other men might be hurt, but none of them show it outwardly like Ty, and I’m thankful for that.

It’s hard enough watching Ty in pain. Watching tears fall down his cheeks as he stares at me, pain radiating from him.

It makes me want to be weak—to give in. To listen to what they have to say.

Anything to take away Ty’s pain.

But that’s not right. It’s not fair to me.

My pain matters, too.

“Will you ever be ready to hear what we have to say?” This time, it’s Carter who speaks, his massive arms crossed over his bare chest.

My eyes are drawn to the tattoos running over his chest and arms. I can’t see his back, but I’m sure there are more there. He’s added to them in the last ten years.

There’s one on his left pec that I can’t seem to look away from—it’s a beluga surrounded by flowers.

Why would he tattoo a beluga on himself when he’d abandoned me?

It makes no sense.

Nothing about this makes any sense.

“I don’t know,” I finally admit. “But I’m definitely not right now.”

My eyes jump around the group of men, watching as they each deflate. But it’s Ty I can’t look away from.

He turns his back on me, his shoulders shaking as he folds in on himself.

This time, I can’t help lifting my hand to my chest.

He’s hurting so much.

I take a step toward him before I remember myself. I shake my head as I step back. “I can’t do this.”

Though it feels like my heart is breaking all over again, I turn my back on them and sprint to my car.

I stumble more than once on the dry sand, unable to really see through my tears.

I have to get away from them. Now.

I fumble with the keys, dropping them twice before I get the door unlocked and climb inside. Hitting the button to start it, I tear out of the parking lot without bothering to put on my seat belt.

The car beeps at me, but I ignore it as I grip the wheel and lean forward in my seat. I try to brush away my tears with my shoulder, but they’re quickly replaced with more.

Should I be driving in this condition? Probably not, but I need to put as much distance between them and me as possible.

I’ve lived here my entire life, so I know these roads like the back of my hand. I should be able to make it home without too many problems—even if I can barely make out anything through my tears.

What I really should do is pull over and call Wyatt, but I really don’t want to listen to him tell me, “I told you so,” again.

Nor do I want to hurt him any more than I already did today.

Is this who I’ve become? A woman who just hurts those around her in an attempt to keep her heart safe?

I hate that the answer is yes. I hate that this is who I’ve become.

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