Page 43 of Healing Hearts
I close my eyes for a moment, memories of our turbulent past flashing through my mind. When I open them, I see Vivian's hopeful expression, and I feel a pang of guilt, but beneath that, there's something else. Relief, because I know now, more than ever, that what we had is truly over.
"Vivian," I start, trying to find the right words. "I'm sorry, but—" I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I need tosay. "This isn't going to happen between us. I'm with someone else now."
Her face contorts, a mix of disbelief and anger. "What? Who? I haven’t seen you with anyone. Don’t lie to me, Trevor. I won’t stand for more of your lying."
I have no idea what she’s talking about. "I’m not lying to you, Vivian. I’m with someone who makes me happy," I explain, my voice soft but firm. "Someone who cares about me for who I am, not for my status as a trauma surgeon."
Vivian's eyes narrow, her jaw clenching. "You can't be serious. After everything we've been through?"
"I am serious," I insist, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders as I speak the truth. "What we had... it's in the past. I've moved on, and I think it's time you did too."
I see the change in her eyes before I register her movement. Her hand flies up, aiming to slap my face, but my reflexes kick in. I catch her wrist mid-air, holding it firmly but gently.
"Let go of me!" she hisses, trying to wrench her arm free.
"Vivian, stop," I say, releasing her wrist and taking a step back. "This isn't you."
Her face flushes with fury. "This is exactly who I am, Trevor! I'm the woman who loves you, who's willing to do anything to be with you. You need to get over this... this little hiccup you're having. We belong together!"
I shake my head, feeling a mixture of pity and frustration. "No, we don't. What we had wasn't healthy, Vivian. Can't you see that?"
She opens her mouth to argue, but I hold up a hand. "I'm sorry, but we’re over, Vivian. We have been for over two years. I hope you can respect that and move on. It's time for you to go home, go back to your life in New Orleans."
Her eyes widen, a mix of disbelief and angerflashing across her face. "You can't be serious. You're actually telling me to leave?"
"I am," I say, my voice firm but not unkind…which is more than she deserves after trying to slap me just a few moments ago. "There's nothing left for you here. This... chase you’re doing, it needs to end. You’re not going to win this, Vivian. You’re not going to win me."
I can see the tears welling up in her eyes, but I force myself to stand my ground. I've let this go on for too long already.
"But Trevor, I?—"
"No," I cut her off, shaking my head. "We're done, Vivian. Goodbye."
Without waiting for her response, I turn on my heel and start walking away. The sound of her frustrated scream echoes through the parking lot, but I don't look back. There’s nothing for me back there.
As I reach my car, I can't help but think about Brooke. Sweet, understanding Brooke. God, I wish I could swing by her house just to see her for a few minutes, but I look at my watch and see it’s well after midnight on a school night. I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate my stopping by and waking her up, but it doesn’t keep me from wanting to.
I slide into the driver's seat, my hands gripping the steering wheel. Behind me, I can hear Vivian's muffled sobs, but I force myself to start the engine. It's time to move forward, to embrace the future I want, the future I deserve – a future with Brooke.
Chapter 17
Brooke
The scent of hibiscus flowers mingles with fried food as I stand behind the library’s booth at the Hibiscus Festival, my smile plastered firmly in place. The annual festival has transformed the town square into a kaleidoscope of activity and color. Brightly colored banners flutter in the breeze, live music floats through the air, and the chatter of neighbors fills every corner. It should be the perfect day, yet I can’t shake the gnawing anxiety that’s been building all morning, thanks to my conversation the other day with Melissa. I still haven’t decided what to do, and its wreaking havoc on my brain.
Across the way, the local bookstore’s booth prominently displays a stack of books withSophie Quinnemblazoned across the covers.Mybooks.Mysecret. The sight sends a shiver down my spine as a teenager eagerly picks up a copy ofWhispers on the Windand squeals to her friend, “I’ve been waiting forever to read this one!”
I turn away quickly, clutching the edge of my table to ground myself. My heart races as I picture that same girl’s reaction if she knew the woman behind the booth—manning the library’s table with its stack of free bookmarks andbrochures—is Sophie Quinn herself. The idea of losing this anonymity, of exposing that part of myself to the world, makes my stomach churn even though I’m thrilled that people want to read my books. It’s a double-edge sword.
"Looking good, Brooke!" Charlie’s familiar voice jolts me from my thoughts. She’s balancing a tray of appetizers from her booth, a masterpiece of hibiscus-themed creations. "Try one of these hibiscus rolls. I promise they’re amazing!"
I force a smile and accept one. "Thanks, Charlie." The roll is every bit as delicious as expected from a world-class chef, but my stomach is too twisted to truly enjoy it.
“You want to try my hibiscus tea or my hibiscus jelly?” Charlie asks, already pouring me a small sample cup of tea.
“Sure.” I take the cup, not wanting to hurt her feelings. The tea smells delightful, but my rebellious stomach protests before I even take a sip.
Nearby, Kendall commands the festival volunteers like the competent whirlwind she always is, clipboard in hand and her signature sunglasses perched on her head. Her voice is calm but authoritative, cutting through the festival noise as she directs people to various tasks.
