I go through the motions, setting the table with four place settings and arranging the bowl of fruit in the center next to a glass pitcher filled with freshly squeezed orange juice.
When I reach for the platter of eggs and bacon, Heath places his hand on my shoulder to stop me.
“Don’t worry about this,” he says, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Will you tell Wes breakfast is ready? He’s out on the porch.”
He grabs the platter, taking it to the table, not waiting for my response.
I close my eyes, inhaling a deep breath, in and out, before slowly opening them again. But it doesn’t help. So I stare out the kitchen window, delaying this moment as long as I can. Then finally I collect myself and step out onto the porch.
He’s sitting in one of the rocking chairs, leaning forward with his elbows resting against his thighs, seemingly lost in thought as he looks out onto the pastures. The summer crew are doing a cattle rotation demonstration in the distance.
I don’t say anything at first. I don’t think I can. What could I even say that would make this easier?
My bare feet drift across the weathered planks of the porch, and I lean against the wooden column directly across from him.
His chest rises and falls for several breaths before his eyes finally slide to meet mine. His jaw tightens as he sits up, clenching his hands into fists.
“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” he asks, voice icy and bitter. I hardly recognize him like this. Ihateit.
I wince at the insinuation in his tone, tears already rimming my eyes. A lump swells in my throat as I shake my head, inhaling a stuttering breath before it breaks into a humorless laugh.
He stands up rigidly, staring at me for a long, loaded moment before brushing past. The faint scent of his shampoo trailsbehind him, flooding my senses, and whatever strength I had left unravels entirely.
Tears cascade down my cheeks in hot streams. It feels like I’m losing him all over again—like my heart is being ripped straight out of my chest, right in front of me.
His hand wavers on the door handle and he glances back. “Tell me,” he asks. “Did you think about me while you were with my brother?” His voice is layered with hurt and malice.
I choke on a sob, unable to breathe. His question lingers in the air like smoke, echoing down the dark corridors of my mind.
“Yes.”
The word is barely a whisper, but it hangs between us like a noose tightening around my throat.
His jaw tenses, and for a heartbeat, I think he might walk away without saying anything at all.
Then his expression flattens. All the fight drains out of him until all that’s left is a sad, defeated smile.
“Goddammit, Sadie…I would’ve given you everything,” he says, voice cracking on the last word as if it hurts to force it out.
The confession splinters through me, almost laughable in its cruelty.Everything?He couldn’t even give me the one thing I desperately needed—those three stupid fucking words.
He slips inside, the screen door closing behind him with a soft, inevitable finality, sealing off the last fragments of my already shattered heart.
I can’t breathe.
The air is gone.
The light is gone.
He is gone.
I’m left standing alone, disbelief and despair tangling inside me until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
The morning breeze cuts across my skin, but I barely feel it. I clutch my chest, wondering if my heart will ever beat the same way again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
SADIE
