Page 72 of His Wounded Heart

Mom hovering.

My bowl of oatmeal goes flying across the yard, smashing against one of the tall oak trees. I pick up my mug of coffee and let that fly too. How can I possibly be happy when my sister is rotting in the ground?

“Fuck!” I yell out into the dawn.

“Bring her back!” I yell into the sky.

“Take me!” I shout louder.

I grab the rickety railing off its moorings and swing it in circles until I release it into the air. It goes farther than the oatmeal.

I pull at the other railing, satisfied when it’s harder to pull off, happy that a nail gouges my palm as I release that one into the air too.

I look around frantically for something else to throw, but I can’t find anything. I need to destroy something. I need to hurt something. Anything to make my pain go away.

You don’t deserve to have the pain go away, Clark.

I fall to my knees. The voice in my head is right. I don’t deserve it. I deserve my pain. When she needed me the most, I failed her. I failed my baby sister. The little girl who used to follow me around and call me Simon Says. I failed her.

I gasp for breath.

I pound the earth with my fists. Hoping for more pain. Anything that will vanquish this brutal ache inside. An ache I created.

Chapter Eighteen

I wake up with a hangover. Dragging my sorry ass out of bed and looking at the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the coffee table does not make me feel proud. I pick up the bottle and pour the remaining half down the kitchen sink.

Ugh.

Should have poured it down the toilet and flushed; now I’ll be smelling the booze til tomorrow. I find the ibuprofen and take out three and grab a bottle of water out of the fridge. I suck down all the water with the pills. Even though my head still aches, I run the coffee grinder. Have to have coffee, and what the fuck? I deserve the pain after staying drunk all day yesterday.

I’m halfway through my second cup of coffee when my watch alarm goes off. It takes a moment for my synapsis to snap, and I remember that Trenda and I are supposed to meet for lunch after she meets with a client. I better drink a fuck-ton more water.

I get to the restaurant in Pigeon Forge before her and wait outside. I’m still feeling the effects of the booze and the Lizzie dream. Part of me had really wanted to cancel, the other part wanted to see Trenda again. The deciding factor was the two hours I’d spent with Trenda on her couch, exploring second base. So often in my world we give out medals for bravery, making that knee-jerk reaction to save your buddies, not caring if you’re going to die. But Trenda has a different kind of bravery. She’s emotionally brave. Something I’m beginning to think I’m not. I want to be with someone like that today. Besides spending time with a beautiful woman who sets me on fire, I also want to learn some things from her.

I watch her SUV pull up, happy when she takes a spot close to the main entrance of the restaurant. She gets out of the vehicle gracefully. This is the first time I see her dressed up, and the woman rocks it. Wearing a skirt, hair up in a messy bun, red lipstick, and the only thing I have a problem with are the high-heeled boots.

“You should have waited inside,” she says as she walks up to me.

“You should have worn safer boots in the slush,” I counter.

She grins up at me. “Trust me, I would never wear a spike heel. These are two-inch heels that are really stable. I can barely handle those spindly heels on a rug, let alone in snow.” She grabs my shoulder and lifts one leg to show me the bottom of her boot. She starts to lose her balance and I grab her around the waist.

“Color me convinced.” I chuckle. “No more acrobatics for you today.”

She laughs. “That’s probably for the best.”

As soon as the hostess leads us to our table, I help her out of her coat and I get to check out her pencil skirt and white cotton top. Yep, she looks good in business chic.

“Hand me that,” she motions to the coat. “I’ll put it next to me, with my purse.”

A server comes by and hands us the menus and glasses of water. Trenda sets hers aside.

“Do you know what you’re going to get?” I ask.

She nods. “I love their hot turkey sandwich. It comes with mashed potatoes. I’ll only be able to eat half, but then I can make a salad and share it with Bella tonight.”

“If you know the menu so well, is there anything else you would recommend?” I ask.