Page 24 of Of Heather and Thistle
Good. Let it sting.
“Enjoy your gold star.” She turned her back before he could answer.
“Heather—!”
She didn’t stop for him…
Didn’t look back.
She did not break…
…not here.
…not in front of him.
So she walked out.
The cold night air burned her lungs, but she barely felt it. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her breath coming fast, uneven. She kept moving, kept pushing forward, until the first tear slid down her cheek. Then another.
She wiped at them furiously, swallowing hard, but it was too late; the dam had cracked. She didn’t know where she was going. She just knew she couldn’t stop. Not until she found somewhere safe to fall apart.
Not yet.
Chapter 6
Heather swiped her cheeks with trembling fingers as she walked briskly down the busy street. The cold air bit at her skin, but she barely noticed because her mind was a swirling mess of anger, humiliation, and heartbreak. She just needed to get home and crawl into bed. She’d figure out how to be strong again tomorrow.
Up ahead, a faint neon sign buzzed above a small 24-hour café, its warm glow spilling onto the icy sidewalk. She slowed as a cab idled near the curb in front of it, its driver scrolling through a phone. Heather didn’t hesitate. She raised her arm, waving the cab down as she approached. The driver glanced up at her movement, meeting her eyes and nodding, so Heather climbed into the back seat, closing the door behind her with a heavy thud.
“Where to?” the driver asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.
Heather gave him her apartment address, her voice quiet and unsteady. She leaned back against the seat, clutching herbag to her chest as she stared out the window. The streetlights blurred into yellow and white streaks; her tears clouded her vision again.
She let out a shaky breath as the cab pulled away from the curb. The night’s chaos clung to her like a second skin, but now, at least, she was moving away from it. By the time the cab reached her apartment, the raw ache in her chest had dulled into a heavy, hollow weight. She paid the driver, mumbled a thank you, and stepped out into the night. Her apartment building loomed ahead, and she walked toward it with slow, deliberate steps, barely walking into her apartment before her phone buzzed.
Ivy.
Her stomach twisted as she stared at the screen. Her hands were still shaking. Her breath was still unsteady. She almost let it go to voicemail. Almost. Instead, she swiped to answer, putting it on speaker but saying nothing.
Ivy’s voice came through, bright and expectant, completely oblivious to the storm she was about to walk into. “Okay, spill! Whereareyou? I thought you were coming back here! You’re totally ghosting me, aren’t you? Ugh! —that means it wasgood… Wait, was itreallygood?!” Ivy giggled. “Do I need to get the ice cream ready, or should we be blocking his number?!”
Heather stayed silent and then Ivy’s laugh faltered. “…Heather?”
Heather finally spoke, her voice like ice:“You tell me.”
There was a beat of silence, then Ivy let out a nervous chuckle: “Uh… what?”
Heather’s grip tightened on the phone. “You said you’d never spoken to him, Ivy.”
The words dropped like a stone.
Another pause.
Then, Ivy let out aforced laugh, breezy and dismissive: “Wait, what? …Who?”
Heather’s jaw clenched. “Sam.”
Dead silence.
