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He clenched the paper tightly. He’d written his heart on this damn paper. No way was he going to let the evening breeze whisk it away.
It held everything he needed to say.
Sorry, obviously. Forgive me, definitely.
I love you.
He swallowed, read the words, mentally practiced saying them to Lucy.
I love you, Lucy. I’ve always loved you. Please give me another chance.
His eyes stung a little as he realized what a long shot it was.
The library door opened, and Reece’s head came up at the sound of a familiar voice, his chest tightening when he saw her.
She was waving goodbye to another girl, laughing at whatever the girl called back.
Reece stared, willing Lucy to look his way. She didn’t.
Instead she turned and talked to the skinny red-haired guy beside her.
Reece checked his watch, and waited for them to finish coordinating homework, or whatever the hell they were doing.
After a few minutes, his impatience turned to panic. The kid was standing way too close, and Lucy’s smile was way too friendly.
No. No!
Reece resisted the urge to howl as he watched the guy bend down to Lucy.
Kissed her. Another guy was kissing his girl.
Reece swallowed the lump in his throat, reminding himself it was only fair. She’d seen Abby kissing him. He hadn’t told her otherwise.
It was good that she’d moved on. Good that she was happy.
The stinging of his eyes was turning to a full-on burn, and he cleared his throat quickly as he turned away, crumpling the piece of paper in his fist.
There was a garbage can next to Reece’s car.
He tossed the letter in it. Right along with his heart.
Chapter 42
Lucy
“Okay, tell me again how it went down with Reece. Word for word. In excruciating detail.”
I pull the cork from the half-empty chardonnay bottle with my teeth since one hand’s holding my cellphone, the other’s buried in the box of Wheat Thins that is my dinner.
“I love that idea, Brandi, I do,” I tell my sister. “The only part I’m not clear on is, if I tell you all of that before I throw myself on top of a kitchen knife or after. I’m not sure which would hurt less.”
My sister doesn’t even pause, bloodthirsty wench. “How can you move past it if you won’t even talk about it? It’s been what, a week?”
Nine days.
My new job? Fabulous. New apartment? Starting to feel like home.
My heart? In shards.
