Page 53 of Broken Vows

Pound, pound, pound.

I need Anna, my anchor and stabilizer, to come home. I need things to go back to normal. The longer she’s gone and the more time I spend around Lexie, the further I spiral. Reality feels warped, upside down, while I’m usually razor-sharp. Decisions that once came easily now drag. Sleep barely exists.

When I first decided to use Lexie as the wedding planner, it seemed perfect. After years of her haunting me, I thought being back in her life again, forcing myself to remember exactly why I don’t deserve her, would finally exorcise her for good. Instead, I’m ravenous. Nothing extinguishes the blaze. This all started to get her out of my head once and for all—to make sure she couldn’t interfere in my investigation and to clear the past so I could settle down and commit to marrying Anna with my whole being.

Pound, pound, pound.

Visions fill me, imagining her on her knees, that luscious mouth wrapped around me, her trailing tongue… I slam into the bag. The more brutal I land the punches, the harder I kick, the more strikes I hand out, the worse I feel. Worse. Hard and angry breaths expel; my muscles burn from the inside out. But no amount of lifting, running, or hitting the bag is lightening whatever the fuck is happening.

My body verges on breaking. I rest my dripping head against the bag as my lungs seize. What am I doing? Being around Lexie is like watching my heart edge itself outside of my body and dive into rush hour traffic. I want to run, because it’s going to fucking hurt when it gets slammed and crushed into the road.

I should take five, but I don’t want to. I hit again. And again. I’ll keep hitting until I can’t breathe, until I sweat her out of my system, until I’m done with this bullshit.

“Hey, Dr. Astor, hitting it hard today, huh?” Lou, one of my patients and the toughest sixty-year-old I’ve ever met, says as he taps the bag in front of him and starts swinging.

It takes his words to snap me out of it. I drop my arms. “What did I tell you about cardio for men like us?”

Lou grunts through his nose. “Bullshit,” he says, his faded navy tattoos stretching against his spotted skin as he hits. “Men like us. You look like you just stepped off one of those pretty boy magazines. I’ve got four teeth left and look like I have one foot in the ground.”

I chuckle, thankful for the reprieve. I bite the edge of the Velcro to loosen the gloves and tug them off. “Don’t forget to hydrate,” I say as I swing the towel around my neck and swipe it down my face.

“Coconut water or some shit, right?” Lou says. “Got it, Doc.”

I give him a quick slap on the back and rush to the shower.

When I’m done, I settle into the SUV.

“You doing all right, sir?” Michael says.

I know why he’s asking. Because I’m not doing fucking all right. I’m hitting the gym two, sometimes three times a day. I’m not sleeping. I’m restless, itchy, and angry. “Yeah, I’m good. Let’s go to my place.”

He nods, hands me a protein shake, and pulls into traffic.

This man needs a raise.

My phone rings. Anna. I exhale a hefty breath and push away all thoughts of Lexie. For now. “Hey, you.” I lean back into the seat and watch the city pass by. “Miss me yet?”

“Truthfully?”

“Nope.” I grin. “Lie to me and say yes. My heart can’t take it that you’ve left me in New York for an Italian retreat.”

“God, you’re the most dramatic person I know. And that’s saying a lot considering who raised me.”

I chuckle. “How’s Nonna?”

“Stubborn as hell. She has a perfectly good physical therapist but refuses to do anything unless I’m there, watching.” The sound of her slurping what’s most likely an iced coffee—even at this hour—sounds through the phone. “But she has some stiffness and today the skin around the incision was inflamed and red—”

I pinch my nose. “Jesus, Anna. You have to call her doctor. It’s probably infected—”

“You don’t think I’ve picked up a thing or two by now being in your almighty presence?” She laughs. “Done and done. They already prescribed antibiotics and tomorrow they’re going to check if they need to drain it. I don’t know how you doctors do it. I almost passed out just from listening to the instructions.”

“It’s like re-watching the same porn,” I say, slamming back the protein shake. “Eventually you get desensitized.”

Anna groans so loud I move the phone from my ear. “You did not just compare my grandmother’s infected wound to porn, right? Are you trying to kill my sex life for good?”

“Fair,” I say, grinning. “Bad analogy.”

I ask about her trip, how she’s managing her non-profit business remotely, and give her some updates on the wedding planning. I’m focusing as hard as I can, but talk of the wedding makes me think of Lexie again. It’s been almost two weeks without her and I can’t handle it. Watching her from the window isn’t enough.