Page 77 of Heartless Boss
That’s why I beat the shit out of Ryan and made sure he paid for what he did to you. And you were right; I did it because I felt guilty for not protecting you. It was my job to protect you as the man who loves you, and I let you down. You were mine before I realized you were.
Yes, when my past started to fuck with me, I chose Jack Daniel’s over you. But now, I choose us.
I broke my alcohol addiction, but you’re the only addiction I can’t break no matter how hard I try—because I’m addicted to your beautiful soul.
Love, Gunner
I hug the sheet of paper to my chest and cry like a newborn baby. Izzy wraps her arms around my shoulders while my tears wet her black, long-sleeved shirt.
“It’s okay. You deserve better.”
“No, I’m not crying because he broke my heart.”
“Then why are you crying?” she asks, stroking my hair like I’m her girlfriend. Izzy has always touched me like I’m more her lover than her friend. It doesn’t bother me. She’s just a touchy person.
“Because he glued my heart back together.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Gunner
Two weeks later ...
Istand by a streetlamp across the street from Gia’s bakery. She talks to a customer as she wraps up a cake in a box, then uses two hands to give it to him. Her smile is bright as a full moon on a pitch black night. She’s alluring, enchanting, tantalizing.
She never looked this happy when she was working for me.
Baking is her purpose in life.
Since I got back from rehab, I come here and watch her for an hour or two, trying to find the words to ask her to take me back. Plus, my sponsor, Amy, has told me I need to settle into a routine. I’ve been working my ass off at my bank. I still go see Hannah, and I’m finally taking my sessions with her seriously. So seriously I started to take a low dosage of my antidepressant. I still have nightmares of my dad blowing his brains out, and I do hallucinate smells, but I’m working extra hard on my issues. I just have to take it one day at a time. Cora moved back in the day after I was released from rehab. And now I’m a full-time dad to her. I told my family about my PTSD, and what happened that night with my dad. My ma cried and did her own therapy by getting out that damn sage stick. They were very supportive of it.
This is it. I need to get my ass in gear if I want to get the girl I love.
As I cross the street, my heart beats so fucking hard I fear it’s about to burst. I place my hand on the glass door, and I breathe in my nose and out my mouth. The bell above the door dings as I walk in, and immediately, I use my hand to wipe snowflakes from my Burberry coat. I hate the fucking snow. If I could, I’d move to a more tropical area, like Florida or Hawaii.
“Welcome to Sandi’s, ho—” She stops mid-sentence and drinks in the sight of me. “Gunner.” She says it like she doesn’t believe I’m standing in front of her. She dyed her hair bubblegum pink and is wearing a purple, long-sleeved shirt with the company logo. She’s so beautiful, the kind of beautiful you stop to admire. She belongs in the summer rain dancing with headphones over her ears with fat water drops hitting her forehead and beautiful hair. My pulse hammers in my neck and adrenaline rushes through my veins. My dick’s hard and it hurts against my zipper and I button up the bottom of my coat to cover up my erection.
I miss the fuck out of her. So much it hurts.
I stroll to the counter, trying to play it cool.
“Love the hair,” I say, “it suits you, Rainbow.” Apple orchard lingers in my nostrils. Gia smells of love and home.
“Did you know that the hairstylist had to bleach it to get it this color? It was your mom’s idea. She took me to her hair salon before we went out to eat two days ago.” Her cheeks turn red, and she bites her bottom lip.
I knew Gia has been having lunch with my ma since I went to rehab because the minute I see my ma she gushes about her like a proud parent and asks me when we are getting back together.
Ma loves Gia like her own daughter.
“I got your letters from rehab, they were sweet.” Gia looks down at the white tiles and back at me. “Did you really mean what you said?”
I nod, then her eyes grow glassy before she smiles.
“Ask her out for coffee already,” the woman sticking cupcakes into the oven says. “I’m sick of her moping and checking her phone every five minutes to see if you called or texted.”
She must be Paris, the one I spoke to on the phone about buying the store for Gia.
“You could have reached out to me. I would have never ignored you.” I lean against the white counter.
