Page 111 of #Bossholes

If he thinks I’m embarrassing now, just wait until he can understand me. I have thirteen years to make up for, and I’m going to make every minute count.

The nurse hands me a box of tissues, and I take several. “We have him scheduled for speech therapy three times a week for at least the next six months, but he did great with the mapping. We do recommend spending fifteen to thirty minutes in a quiet environment at home to work on sound related activities. I’ll give you a list of those before you leave. He’ll want to start wearing the processor a couple hours a day and work up to wearing it from the time he wakes up to the time he goes to bed. Make sure he remembers to take it off for water activities, including showering.”

“No showering with the expensive processor. Got it.” I wipe my nose and dry up my tears, then toss the very wet tissue in the trash.

“And any rough physical activity, especially if he’s wearing something constricting around his head like in football.”

I nod, and she gives me a few more instructions before handing over a stack of papers. Colin takes off the processors as requested and puts them in a case, one that goes straight in my purse for me to take home. Or rather, June’s apartment.

For now.

I’ve got a job interview first thing tomorrow morning and a few places to check out afterward.

As soon as we walk out of the doctor’s office, Colin snags his phone, his fingers flying over the screen as he responds to text after text.

“What are you doing? Who are you texting?” My questions are rapid fire, my hands lagging behind as I sign to Colin, but he’s not paying me a single bit of attention.

He’s glued to the screen and doesn’t put it away until we’re walking in the parking garage. I try to get his attention, but it’s too late; he takes off toward the car, leaving me struggling to catch up.

And when I see the reason why, my entire body freezes. My heart thumps at an accelerated rate, and my throat clogs. I can’t move, and I sure as hell can’t breathe.

What the heck are they doing here?

Brantley, Maverick, and Wyatt are leaning against my car all casual, like they don’t have a care in the world, like they didn’t rip my heart out and toss it in the trash. They look great because of course they do.

Wyatt is sporting a few day old scruff that looks fantastic. His jacket and tie are missing, and the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled to his elbows. No surprise, Brantley is clean shaven and wearing the hell out of his three-piece charcoal suit. Maverick is somewhere in between. He’s not wearing a jacket but still has his pink and blue striped tie tight around his neck.

They look like the start of every one of my fantasies. If I wasn’t pissed, I’d be salivating right now. But I am so I’m not.

Colin runs over and gives each of them a huge hug, one that I had to steal from him earlier. Traitor. But it’s not his fault; he doesn’t know what happened.

He and the twins sign back and forth in silent conversation and I hang several feet away, reluctantly meeting Maverick’sgaze. It slices me right open. His amber eyes are full of regret, and I don’t know what to do with that. He probably doesn’t want to be here.

Seeing him—all of them really—is bad enough that the instant he takes a step toward me, I snap into action, practically racing to the driver’s seat. I can’t do this today. Ever really.

It’s been weeks, and the hurt is still as strong as it was the day they discarded me.

“Kinsley, wait.” Maverick pushes away from the hood to try to stop me, but Brantley is right there, swooping in to grab my arm.

Before he can make contact with me, I whirl around him and open my car door, separating us. It’s not much, but better than nothing.

“Don’t touch me.” My voice cracks on the last word, and I clear my throat, swallowing down the whirl of emotions trying to climb their way out. “I don’t have anything to say to any of you. You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Kinsley.” The tortured way Wyatt says my name almost has me changing my mind, but then I remind myself what these guys are capable of.

They tore me down, they didn’t trust me, they didn’t even have the decency to ask me a few simple questions. So, I square my shoulders and look at them, one by one. “I’m moving on with my life; I suggest the three of you do the same. Goodbye.”

Ignoring the hurt flashing across their faces and getting in the car is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

I take a deep breath, grip the steering wheel, and close my eyes for a moment. When I open them, Colin is back to texting on his phone and the guys have vanished.

Good.

Just what I wanted.

So, why does it feel like I made a mistake?

FIFTY-EIGHT

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