Page 58 of Mended Hearts

“Yeah, I did,” he agreed quickly, oozing that confidence every socialite knew him for. “But you look damn good in Bomber green.”

“How fortunate for me.”

“Fortunate foryou? Try for me. My eyes should pay you royalties.”

“Royalties? For what?” I laughed, brushing my hair back over my shoulder.

“For every time I’ll think of you when—” A thunderous clang sliced through whatever salacious declaration Ollie was in the middle of. My heart slammed against my ribs as glass shattered behind us.

I instinctively clutched his arm for balance as every head turned toward the source of the noise. A grimacing server stood frozen, a silver tray at her feet, drinks soaking into the plush carpet and shards of glass scattered like confetti.

Kaia and Alice were by her side in seconds, helping to mop up the spill and sweep away the debris with napkins and composure. Greyson arrived a breath later, tugging Alice gently away and waving in more staff to assist. I was fairly convinced the man would carry my sister everywhere if he had his way—her feet never permitted to touch the ground again.

But my pulse was a roar in my ears, the whoosh of blood sounding far too much like the lapping water from that night.

“You okay?” Ollie breathed, suddenly so close I could feel his words skate along my cheekbone.

Blinking, I nodded, trying to center myself as I scanned the room.

Then I saw her—Tillie. Statue-still. Wide-eyed. Staring at the floor like she was reliving something in real-time.

“Ollie,” I whispered, jerking my chin toward her.

Tillie didn’t talk about the car wreck. At least not with me. I knew Ollie had her in therapy once a week, but as we moved toward her, I wondered if it was enough.

“Hey, sweetie,” I murmured, placing myself between her and the room. “You okay?”

Those shrink-wrapped blue eyes—flecked with gold—lifted to mine. Her mouth parted, but no sound came. Then her little hand jerked out to grab mine, and I swore my heart cracked right down the middle.

“Sweet baby,” I whispered, lowering my head to kiss the top of hers. She melted into my chest, her little arms locking around my waist. I held onto her as she stiffly did the same, my gaze landing on Ollie, where his features were carved in concern.

Tillie’s little chest shifted at hummingbird speed, and I grimaced. Fuck, I knew that feeling.

“She’s okay,” I told him—told both of us—as I ran my hand over her back. Her tears soaked into my shirt, each drop a blade to the heart.

Ollie mouthed,Is she crying?When I nodded, he shifted to shield her from view, one steady hand rubbing slow circles down her spine. “Babygirl, you’re okay,” he murmured.

Tillie shook her head against me, her little fingers curling tighter in my sweater. “She’s okay,” I repeated, pressing my cheek to her curls. “I know it doesn’t always feel like it, but you are.”

“I… think I’m dying,” she squeaked.

“Look at me, punkin,” I said gently, but firmly. Her fists only gripped harder. “Tillie. Look at me.” When she finally lifted her gaze, tears streaming, I tugged my sleeve over my palm and used it to dab her cheeks. “Did the glass startle you?” A tiny nod. “Did it make you think about the accident?” Another nod. More tears.

Fuck. The stadium. The crowd. The sound. It was toomuch.Too soon. We’d been on our way home from one of Paxton’s games when it happened. The lapping of water, the crunch of glass…

“I’ve got you, okay? I’m right here. And your daddy’s right here, too. He’s not going anywhere, isn’t that right?”

“You got it, sweet pea,” Ollie added softly. “Anything you need.”

Another jerky nod.

“Okay,” I said. “Now let’s breathe together. Hand on my chest. Can you feel that?” She nodded again. “In for four, out for four, okay?” I waited until she gave the smallest dip of her chin.

But when I started the breath, her lip wobbled and she whimpered, “I can’t.”

“Youcan. Just focus on me. Just me. Ready?” She nodded. “In, two, three, four. Hold. Out, two, three, four.”

We did it together. Twice. Then again.

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