Damaged Hearts, Book 3

by Monica Murphy

  “What? No.” I cling to his arm, gazing up at him. He’s the tallest, handsomest guy in the restaurant, and I’m aware enough to know I’m so damn lucky to have him in my life. But I can’t have him going to his big brother and confronting him. It’ll make the entire situation an even bigger mess. “Let it go. Pretend I never told you.”

  “I want to, but I can’t, Jens. He’s up to something and I want him to know I’m on to his game,” Rhett explains through thin lips.

  “So what is his game then?”

  He takes a deep breath and glances around the place. It’s packed—the tables are full and there are people milling about everywhere. Definitely not the right time to talk about this. “I’ll tell you what I know later.”

  Curiosity makes me stand a little straighter. Hmm, so he knows more than he’s let on? Interesting. I always thought I was the secret keeper, but maybe Rhett is too.

  Maybe he has more secrets that I haven’t found out yet.

  We order our lunch, and Rhett pays because he’s a gentleman and I’m broke. I take both our soda cups and fill them while he waits at the counter for our sandwiches, and when I’m done, I go in search of a table. I’m about to sit at a small one near the front door when I hear an unfamiliar voice say, “Jenny Fanelli, is that you?”

  I whip my head around in horror to find a blast from my past standing directly in front of me, a wide smile on his face.

  Yes, his face. Some forgettable boy I went out with for a while, during our senior year. He was cute and drove a truck, and he happened to fuck me in the back of his truck whenever he got the chance. I let him, because he offered up a taste of freedom, you know? He’d tell me he had big dreams, playing baseball for the pros and a bunch of nonsense like that. I nodded along with his stories, wanting to believe him, but the practical, jaded side of me said no way was that ever going to happen.

  And clearly it didn’t. Mike Storm—yes, his name is perfect for a pro athlete, right?—is staring at me with bug eyes, like he can’t believe he found me.

  “Hey, Mike. Funny running into you here,” I say weakly.

  “Damn girl, you look great.” He yanks me into his arms and holds me close, his fingers almost but not quite resting on my butt. The jerk.

  I carefully pull myself out of his embrace, trying to keep my distance. “You look good too. What brings you here?”

  “Ah, my girlfriend’s family lives nearby. We’re here visiting for Thanksgiving, and I volunteered to grab sandwiches for lunch.” His gaze roves over me, lingering on my chest. “I almost forgot about you.”

  My smile feels more like a baring of teeth. The asshole always did have a way with words. “I’m that forgettable, huh?”

  “Nah, it’s just been so long. Once school was done, you disappeared completely, when I thought we had a good thing going.”

  Good thing for him. I found out near the end of senior year he suddenly had a girlfriend—and I’d been regulated to his side piece. I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore and that was the end of it.

  “I broke up with you,” I tell him. “Remember?”

  “Sure. But we made some good memories, Jenny.” His gaze becomes thoughtful, like he’s in full-on reminiscing mode. “Remember that time I stole my dad’s bottle of Grey Goose and we got drunk off our asses?”

  I do. And at the time, it had felt fun. An escape, which was what Mike always provided me. “Yeah.”

  “And then you got scared when we parked on Old Man Larson’s property and you ran out of my truck buck naked?” He starts to laugh. “I had to chase you down.”

  He chased me down all right. Caught me in his arms, pressed me into the grass, and we had sex right there. I hadn’t protested, though. No, I pretty much begged for it, because that last year of high school, I’d turned into a full-blown nympho. Always looking for someone to make me feel good about myself. Always wanting that escape from my bleak reality, even if it only lasted for a few minutes.

  Now when I think back on it, all I feel is shame.

  “Right. Listen—” I start, but Rhett magically appears with our tray of sandwiches, his expression thunderous when he catches sight of Mike.

  “Who’s your friend?” he asks tightly.

  Mike smiles at Rhett, completely oblivious. “Hey, nice to meet you. I’m Mike. Jenny’s ex.”

  Rhett sends me a look, one that’s wondering at the nickname, I’m sure, before he resumes his attention on Mike. “Rhett. Jensen’s current.”

  Mike frowns, confusion written all over his face when his gaze meets mine. “Jensen? What the hell? You go and change your name or what?”

  “It was nice seeing you,” I tell Mike, my voice final, my eyes full of meaning. But is Mike getting it?

  I don’t think so.

  “Nice seeing you too,” he says confusedly, rubbing his forehead as if I hurt his brain. Maybe I did. He was never what I’d consider especially bright. “Best go get in line before it’s out the door.”

  Rhett doesn’t say a word after Mike leaves. Just plops the tray onto the table, hands me my sandwich, sets his in front of him, and starts eating.

  The silence lasts no longer than two minutes, but it feels like two hours. I stare at my sandwich, my appetite evaporating with every second that ticks by, and finally, I can’t freaking take it. I have to say something.

  “I went out with Mike in high school,” I tell Rhett, lifting my head to meet his gaze, but he’s not really looking at me.

  “That’s nice,” he says, his mouth full, his expression…void. Oh man, he looks pissed. Wait. Worse, he looks—indifferent. Like he doesn’t care about what just happened.

  And I want him to care. I want him to care a lot. I may have had a lot of sex with Mike back in the day, but none of it was near as meaningful as what Rhett and I share.

  How can I tell him that, though, without sounding like some sort of sex-crazed maniac?

  “We were never serious.”

  “What you’ve done in your past means nothing to me,” Rhett says, still eating his sandwich.

  And now I want to throw my sandwich at him. “Seriously? You don’t care that Mike and I were together?”

  Rhett shrugs, damn him. “You have a past, I have a past. It shouldn’t matter because we’re together now, right?”

  “Right,” I say weakly, dropping my gaze to my turkey sandwich on sourdough. Just the thought of trying to put that sandwich in my mouth makes me want to gag.

  “Or are we?” When I scrunch my brows in confusion, he explains, “Together.”

  My heart feels like it’s lodged in my throat. “I think we are,” I admit softly.

  “Good.”

  We’re silent for a moment, me absorbing what he said, about us being together, but then he says something else.

  “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you, though,” Rhett adds.

  A glimmer of hope shoots through me and I glance up once more to find Rhett staring at me. “How was he looking at me?”

  “Like he remembered the way you look naked.”

  Okay. He’s not as indifferent as I thought he was. “He did try to reminisce with me about old times.”

  “I bet he did,” Rhett muttered, shaking his head. “Look, you want to know what really bothers me? Not that you have old boyfriends, or that one of those old boyfriends just ran into you and acted like he wished he had X-ray vision. No, what really bothers me is that you have a past, you have a life, and you barely let me in it. You rarely talk about yourself, if ever.”

  I lean back in my chair, surprised at the emotion I hear in Rhett’s voice. “I’ve told you some stuff—” I start, but he cuts me off with a firm shake of his head.

  “You’ve barely told me anything, Jens. And why did he seem so surprised by your name anyway, huh? He called you Jenny. I don’t get it.”

  My stomach sinks as we stare at each other.

  How am I going to explain this?

  Tell him the truth.

  Standing up
straighter, I look him square in the eye. I know what I have to do.

  He deserves to know who I really am.

  Rhett

  I watch her closely, remembering what my roommate Chad said about her name, and how he thought it might be phony. That strippers have fake names all the time. Not that Jensen is a stripper, but…she worked at a strip club, so close enough.

  With a sigh she pushes away her still-uneaten sandwich, her gaze dropping to the table. “I changed my name.”

  I’m surprised, yet not, by her revelation. “Why?”

  “After my dad died, I wanted to escape. To, I don’t know, renew myself? I didn’t want to live with that old name, which I never really liked anyway.”

  “What’s your actual name?” I ask.

  “Jennifer,” she admits, her voice soft. A little laugh escapes her, but it doesn’t hold an ounce of humor. “I say the name and it means nothing to me. Weird, right?”

  “I guess.” I hesitate, not sure what to say next, or how to approach this. I decide to just go for it. “You know, you’ve never even told me your last name.”

  Her eyes go wide. “I haven’t?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “You’re just Jensen. Or Jens.”

  “Oh. Well. My last name is—Fanelli.” She’s staring at the table again. “Though I’m considering changing that too.”

  “Why?” That single word holds so much emotion, even I’m aware of it. I see the way she recoils from me, her eyes wide and full of mistrust. I need to correct myself before she thinks I’m being—her words—too judgey. “It’s just your name is your—identity, right? That’s who you are. That you can want to change it blows my mind.”

  “It wasn’t an easy decision,” she admits through tight lips. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. My last name brings me nothing but awful memories. I just want to—move on from the past, you know?”

  No. I don’t know. Why would she want to move on? I know her life wasn’t the best, but to change her name seems so drastic…

  Does she want to forget her father? I know from what little she’s told me that their relationship wasn’t the best, but he was her father. And now he’s gone. She needs to hold onto something, right? It’s like she’s…

  Heartless.

  “But your father died. Don’t you want some sort of connection to him, especially now that he’s gone?” I ask incredulously.

  She rises to her feet so quickly, she knocks her chair into the woman sitting behind her, who turns and glares at the both of us. We ignore her, though. I’m too focused on a now very angry Jensen, her hands clinched at her sides, her eyes full of fire.

  “Why are you making such a big deal about this?” she asks, her voice shrill. “I thought of all people and what you’ve gone through, you’d understand.”

  Guilt swamps me, but I push it aside. “I’m trying to understand,” I say calmly.

  Jensen stares at me for a long moment before grabbing her purse and heading straight out of the sandwich shop.

  Guess that was the wrong thing to say.

  “Jesus,” I mutter, annoyed that I can’t finish my lunch. Annoyed that everything seems to blow up into a dramatic argument between us.

  I’ve been thinking all along that I want to help her, that I want to fix whatever’s wrong with her. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she’s not worth the trouble.

  It’s hard for me to believe I’m thinking like this. But I’m frustrated. And tired. So very tired of all the game-playing. My family doesn’t make it easy either. They’re just as bad—hell, they’re worse—than Jensen is. And it doesn’t help that I’m keeping secrets too. It’s fucking exhausting.

  I find her standing just outside the restaurant, her arms wrapped around her middle, her face pale. She almost looks green, like she’s going to throw up at any second. “I don’t want to fight with you,” I start out, but she cuts me off.

  “I’m sorry.” She chokes the words out before she throws herself at me, her arms wrapped tight around my neck as she clings to me. “I’m so, so sorry, Rhett. Please forget what I just said. Forget how I acted. I was wrong.”

  I have no choice but to wrap my arms around her in return, holding her tight as she cries—actually cries—against my chest. I run my hand over her hair, down her back, trying to soothe her, curious as to why she’s reacting so strongly. There’s something she’s not telling me, and I don’t know what it is, but if I had to bet on it, I’d guess it has to do with her past.

  I wish for once she’d open up and let whatever’s bothering her pour out.

  “I know I’ve said this to you before, but you can tell me anything,” I say against her hair, tightening my hold on her when she shudders. “Whatever it is you’re holding on to, we can share the burden together.”

  Damn, I sound corny, but I want her to know I mean it. I’ll help her with whatever’s bothering her. I wish I knew exactly what it was. Does it have to do with my uncle? I don’t know what to do about him either. That entire situation bothers me, and I hate the tiny bit of doubt that still lingers. I wish she would just come out and tell me, once and for all. I’d guess it would be a relief for all of us.

  But she hides those secrets of hers tightly. Throws up that steel wall whenever I try to get too close. It’s frustrating.

  The entire situation is frustrating the hell out of me.

  “I want to tell you,” she whispers, so soft I almost can’t hear her. “But I’m scared if I do, you’ll hate me forever.”

  “I would never hate you,” I say firmly when she lifts her head to study me.

  “Don’t say that too quickly. After you hear what I have to say, your entire opinion of me will change. I can guarantee it.”

  Her words are freaking me out. And I’m tired of her almost—teasing me like this, only to reveal something that isn’t a huge deal.

  My phone rings from my jeans’ pocket, but I ignore it. “Let’s get out of here. We can talk when we get back to my place.”

  I’m not going to let her keep dodging my questions. She’s going to come clean, and that means I’ll need to as well.

  My phone rings again just as I’m about to climb into my car, and I pull it out of my pocket to check who it is. My heart trips over itself when I see the name flashing across my screen.

  Uncle Craig.

  His timing is impeccable.

  Jensen is already in my car, so I decide to answer. “Hey, how are you?” I ask warily.

  “I’m good. Wondering about you. Looks like you’ve been looking for me, what with all the texts and voicemails you left,” he says jovially.

  “Yeah, you’re a hard guy to get a hold of.”

  “Always on the move.” He chuckles. “What’s up, buddy?”

  He’s always so chummy, always there for us. The uncle we could always count on if Dad couldn’t help us. It’s still hard for me to grasp the concept that he was the one who tried to rape Jensen.

  My problem? I don’t want to believe it.

  “I was wondering if we could…talk soon,” I tell him. “Maybe before Thanksgiving?”

  “Rhett, tomorrow is Thanksgiving.”

  Damn it. “Right.” There is no way I can bring Jensen to my dad’s house if Craig is there. One look at him sitting at the family dinner table, and she’ll feel like I set her up. “Maybe we could talk tomorrow then. At Dad’s house.”

  Terrible idea. I don’t want to go there. But I need to talk to him.

  I need to find out the truth.

  “Ah, son. Turns out I can’t make it to your dad’s house. Got other plans.”

  Relief floods me at his words and it takes everything I have to sound disappointed. “Seriously? With who?”

  “Something else came up at the last minute. Opportunity to get out of town and do something fun for once during the holiday,” he says.

  “Does this have to do with the woman that you brought to Addie’s party?”

  “Oh, another woman. One who owns a vacation ho
use in Lake Tahoe.” He sounds terribly pleased with himself.

  We make idle conversation for another minute and then I end the call, frustrated that I can’t figure out a way to talk to him. I slip inside the car to find Jensen scrolling through her phone, her head whipping up when I slam the door shut. “Everything okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I tell her, my gaze straight ahead. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

  Jensen

  I don’t know who Rhett talked to on the phone before he got back into the car, but whoever it must’ve been convinced him to give up on the “let’s plan a magical escape for Thanksgiving” idea. Instead, he reconfirmed that we’re going to his parents’ house for sure. I didn’t protest, though I probably should’ve. But I’m starting to realize that when I suggest to him that we should break up, or that I don’t want to see him anymore, he flat out doesn’t listen.

  Well. That’s not quite true. He’s definitely listening, but he doesn’t like what he hears. What’s closer to the truth is that he doesn’t believe me. And why should he? I say that sort of stuff, and then reach out to him whenever I need help, which is more often than not. Plus, he knows I’m a liar.

  When it comes to my feelings for Rhett, it’s not that I’m lying. More like I’m in denial. I don’t want to admit to him or myself how much I care about him. Because I do care for him.

  I glance over at him to watch him drive. He’s gripping the steering wheel loosely, his dark eyes narrowed in concentration, his lips slightly pursed. His window is cracked, the cool air ruffling his thick hair, and I sigh at how handsome he is.

  God. My feelings for Rhett are so overwhelming and confusing, sometimes they’re…

  Terrifying.

  “Do we need to bring anything for tomorrow?” I ask just to make conversation. Sitting quietly and dreaming what my future could be like with Rhett in it is pointless, right? Let’s focus on the here and now.

  “No, Diane has everything covered. She caters the entire meal, remember? It’ll probably be the fanciest Thanksgiving meal you’ve ever had,” he says with a chuckle.