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Like my donuts, when I consume too much, they make me want to vomit.
Fuck him.
I didn’t need him before, and I don’t need him now. I survived this long.
Caleb didn’t break me. I’m merely cracked, and cracks can be filled.
I take a steadying breath, hold it, and exhale.
“Breathe in the pain, allow yourself to feel it, and then let it go,” I whisper the words my mother used to tell me. Although, she always said it while running around the house with sage to kill the negative energy after Papa got drunk and heavy-handed. “Breathe in the pain, allow yourself to feel it, and then let it go,” I repeat, not wanting to focus on my father.
I throw my head back and instantly regret it.
When did that tree get there?
“Ouch.” I groan, rubbing the back of my head.
“Are you okay?” a low, gravelly voice comes from the bench next to mine.
I’ve been caught.
I turn slowly, massaging my fingers over the growing bump on the back of my scalp. I’m too drained to be embarrassed.
His eyes narrow, pinned on me as I stare back. Brows furrowed, his hands clasp together to rest on muscular thighs as he leans over and scrutinizes me with a frown before pursing his lips.
“I’m good.” I nod through another wave of pain.
He sits back. “You sure?”
“I’m sure. Thanks.”
“It’s just…” he trails off, his eyes narrowing again, but amusement dances on his lips.
Fuck you, stranger.
I’ve had enough of men.
“What?” I snap. “Why are looking at me like that?”
He runs a hand through his dark hair, and I glimpse at his muscular bicep.
Damn it, Claire.
I pull my eyes back to his, and that cocky smile tells me he noticed.
Whatever.
“Well?” I prompt, hoping he will stop staring so I can return to my wallowing.
“You’ve been looking at that ocean like it can solve world hunger, you’re crying, you’ve got sugar all over your lips, and you just took a hard bang to the head.”
I’m crying?
I wipe a hand across my cheek.
And what do you know?
I’m crying.
