Page 65 of Bombshell (Whiskey Dolls 1)

Everyone seemed to pull in a collective breath at the same time, sucking the oxygen from the room.

“He really said that?” Tali asked, her face going hard in that protective big sister way she tended to get when it came to me.

“Not in so many words, but that was the gist of it. He ended things because he said he couldn’t give me what I wanted, which, to him meant anything more than us justhaving a little fun.” I added finger quotes for good measure.

“That son of a bitch,” Layla clipped. “I have half a mind to go over and punch him right in the nads.”

I let out a sigh and leaned back against my couch. “Don’t do that,” I said softly. “It’s not his fault, really. I mean, he was up front about what we were before we even started.”

But even as I defended him, the words didn’t sit right, leaving a vile taste in my mouth. I knew it hadn’t all been in my head. How him touching me seemed almost compulsive, how I’d catch him looking at me with a warmth that stole my breath. I hadn’t made that up. The things he said and how he was with me, it was all there, clear as day.

He was just too big of a coward to grab hold of something that could make him happy. However, even thinking that, I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. I couldn’t stand the thought of my friends, of my sister, looking at him in a negative light. As badly as he’d hurt me—and it wasbad—he wasn’t a bad guy, and I wanted people to know that. God. What the hell was wrong with me?

“I’m so sorry.” Tali looped her arm around my shoulders and pulled me into her side. “I know it hurts now, but I promise, it’ll get better.”

My mask slipped then, and I lost hold of my tears. They came spilling out before I could stop them. “Are you sure?” I whispered brokenly, looking over at my big sister. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it will ever get better.”

Her eyes grew wide as she studied my expression. “You really did love him, didn’t you?”

I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that I’d never felt for another man what I felt for Pierce, that whenever he laughed or smiled, it made everything seem better. How, when he was inside me, I felt complete, like the one and only thing that had been missing from my life had finally snapped itself into place. I couldn’t say any of that, because voicing the truth would give it even more power than it already had, so I simply nodded.

Her face fell in a mask of sympathy. “Oh honey.”

“Why would anyone ever want to fall in love if it hurts this bad?” I asked on a sniffle. “I mean, thisreallysucks.”

“That’s it,” Alma spoke, spinning on her heel and heading toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Mac called after her.

“To the store to get somegoodwine while one of you calls and orders pizza. Tonight we drink, eat a million calories, and binge watchYellowstoneso we can pretend that men like Rip exist in real life.” She pointed her finger at me. “Then tomorrow, you’re going to pull yourself up, shower, and start living again. Got it?”

I nodded, feeling the corner of my lips tremble with a suppressed smile. Alma wasn’t the mama-bear type of our group. She was more the let’s-party-and-have-the-time-of-our-lives one, so seeing her like this was more than just a little heartwarming. “Yes ma’am.”

She nodded resolutely. “Good. And if you find yourself slipping again, youdo notslip into a black hole of 90’s grunge music and bad hygiene. You call your girls and we’ll come over and do this again and again, as long as it takes for you to feel better.”

Okay, so maybe—definitely—I was heartbroken, but I still had some incredible women at my back. Despite how I’d been feeling the past few days, I started to think that, maybe, with their help, I’d be okay.

Eventually.

28

Pierce

God, I was a fucking idiot.

It had been two weeks since I ended things with Marin, and that black cloud, those shadows that had followed me every single day before she came into my life, had returned, blocking out the light I’d had shining down on me the past several weeks.

I’d made a huge fucking mistake. But the worst part was, I couldn’t bring myself to do what I needed to do in order to make things right.

Having to see her almost every day, even for just the short blip of time it took her to get from my front door to her car, and not being able to touch her or hold her was a special kind of torment. The few times I’d gotten a glimpse at those tawny eyes what I saw in them felt like someone had punched a hole right through my chest. The light in them was gone, darkened by sadness, and it was all my fault. I’d done that to her. I’d snuffed out that light, and I hated myself for it.

That hate had put me in a foul mood that I’d been taking out on everyone around me. My assistant had gotten to the point where she turned and ran in the opposite direction whenever she saw me coming. Not that I blamed her. I’d been acting like a prick.

The intercom on my desk phone buzzed, pulling me from my self-inflicted misery. “Mr. Walton?”

That spike of irritation coursed through me once more as I hit the button. “Abigale, I told you, no interruptions.”

Christ, I was going to really need to pull out the stops come Christmas and get her something amazing, like a week-long cruise, or she was liable to quit on me.

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