Broken Love (Blinded Love Series Book 2)

by Stacey Marie Brown

  Seeing him tore apart every little wound I’d barely patched together. I soaked in every detail like a starving animal: the dark hair my nails had run through, the strong jaw and scruff my fingers had trailed over, the dimple my lips had kissed, the mouth I had declared as mine… .

  The picture disappeared from the monitor, the camera changing to a reporter from a sports channel standing with a smiling Hunter.

  My legs wobbled, my hand going to my chest, trying to keep my heart from falling out. The fans were going crazy around him, and his blue eyes shimmered with excitement and wonder as he waved to the crowd while the reporter tried to talk to him. He nodded, his mouth moving, a cheeky grin tugging at his dimple as he spoke. Happiness glowed from him. That joy cut me to the core. He was fine without me. Better. Winning and following his dreams.

  A figure moved in next to him, his grin tipping higher on one side as the raven-haired girl wrapped her arms around him, pulling his face down into a deep kiss. And I watched him kiss her back.

  A guttural noise shuddered from my chest. The last tiny remnants of my not-quite-mended heart tore into pieces.

  Veronica and Hunter broke apart. He chuckled, shaking his head, turning back to the reporter. Something in me shifted in that moment. Watching them obliterated me, but it also woke me up. I had been holding on to Hunter, no matter if it was my decision to walk away. In my heart I still had hope.

  He was not pining for me, broken-hearted, waiting for me to return home. He had moved on. And was doing well. Happy. Back on top.

  All because I wasn’t there.

  This was probably a blessing in disguise for him. All the links to his painful past were gone, letting him start fresh and grow.

  My lashes fluttered, and I swallowed over and over, trying to keep the tears from breaking through and flooding the floor.

  “Jayme?” A hand touched my elbow, Grant’s voice drifting over my shoulder. “I was looking for you.”

  Not trusting myself to talk, I took another shaky breath.

  “Hey, are you all right?” He leaned in, brushing the curtain of hair away from my face. I stared at the TV one more time. The interview had ended and now Hunter stood back, waving at the stands, but my attention was fixed on the hand that stayed pressed to his lower back, running over his ass a few times. Veronica lapped up the attention, her face filled with adoration and pride. Everything about her was fake, and I had no doubt her affection for him was more about the attention, but it didn’t matter… They were together again. I knew it in my bones.

  “Jaymerson?”

  Shutting my lids briefly, I inhaled deeply, then turned to Grant, whose eyebrows bunched up in concern.

  “Yeah.” I nodded, forcing a smile onto my face. “I’m good.”

  “You want another drink?” He pointed at the bar.

  “Yes.” I stepped to him, looking up into pale blue eyes. Nothing like the vibrant blue eyes I used to stare into. Grant was a few inches under six foot, but still taller than me, his blond hair and slight build were opposite of my typical type. Yet I suddenly didn’t care if my stomach didn’t twist with excitement or yearn for his kiss.

  The way he looked at me, wanted me, felt good. He was exactly what I needed to help me forget. I had been given a second chance to experience life, and I was tired of not living it.

  A skeptical grin hitched up the side of Grant’s mouth as my body pressed into his. His eyebrows lifted, moving even closer, not hesitating a moment at my change of heart.

  “And what would you like?”

  “For you to kiss me.” I had no qualms telling him. Whatever snapped inside of me obliterated fear. He could agree or turn me down and neither would bother me. Nothing could hurt me anymore.

  “Bloody hell, Jayme…” He breathed in, cupping my face. “I’ve been waiting since day one for you to say that.” He brought my face to his, his mouth taking mine. His kiss was nice, and I let myself fall into it, forgetting where I was or who I was.

  Chapter Nine

  Bundling into my winter jacket, I exited out the side door of the museum, stars already dancing in the crisp dark evening air. Twinkling lights and holiday decorations trimmed most of the buildings and piazzas, creating a fairy-tale atmosphere in the city. I had fallen head over heels in love with Florence.

  I walked briskly toward the Piazza della Repubblica, where happy hour called my name after a long day. My feet and back ached, and my hip was throbbing from running around. I was looking forward to a glass of wine and relaxing.

  “Jayme!” A hand waved me over to a bistro table in the cozy restaurant.

  “Colleen. Hey!” I grinned, hugging her before falling in the chair across from her. “You already order?”

  “Of course.” She winked with a cunning grin. This was our ritual on Thursday evenings. Even though she was thirty-two, we got along well and had become really good friends the past six months.

  “How is the Accademia Gallery?” she inquired. “Is Caterina still running you ragged?”

  Pulling off my coat, I huffed. “She is ruthless.”

  “But you love it.” Colleen winked.

  A smile split my lips. “I do.”

  “I am so glad I submitted your name,” Colleen replied, smiling as the waiter came to our table, where he set down the bottle of wine and antipasto platter we always shared, which consisted of various local olives, cheeses, meats, and breads. My mouth watered seeing the delicious food. “And from what I heard, no matter how much Caterina grumbles, they love you there. I keep hearing them sing your praises.”

  Pride ballooned in my chest.

  The application for the internship had been brutal. Only eight out of hundreds of applications were chosen each year for the program, so when Colleen called me at the end of August telling me of my acceptance, I almost fainted.

  My bags had been packed, my family set for my return to the States. Everything changed in that moment. I thought my parents would fight it, but my father was coming to terms with the truth that I wasn’t going into medicine or physical therapy. When I added this was an internship people would die for, they had not argued.

  The internship was supposed to be three days a week, plus every other weekend, because most of us still were also going to school. But I took fewer classes and worked at the museum almost every day. What I learned there could never be taught in a classroom. And because I was so dedicated, I was chosen a lot to help with special projects very few got to even get near. The week before, Angelo, one of the conservators, asked me to assist him on restoring a Lorenzo Bartolini sculpture. I won’t deny there were some tears, possibly some squealing and deep breathing when I entered the restoration room. To be allowed so close to history, helping preserve it for future generations, made my heart thump with the thrill. The piece felt alive, like it held centuries of stories. A few times, I swear I could feel Bartolini guiding me, appreciating our dedication to keeping his passion and name alive.

  Angelo was a sweet little Italian man who had been there for forty years and was a fountain of information who enjoyed sharing his knowledge. Thirteen hours passed, and I had hardly noticed, so happy to absorb everything I could from him.

  With our glasses filled, Colleen and I saluted and sipped the delicious wine.

  “Your family still coming for Christmas?” Colleen placed some bruschetta the waiter set on the table on her plate, licking her fingers.

  “Yeah.” I nodded, serving myself from the shared plates. “In two weeks. Excited to see them… especially Reece. Every time she Facetimes me, I swear she’s grown another inch. Miss that squirt so much.”

  Mom, Dad, Reece, and both sets of grandparents were coming. Grandma Nessa suggested it, bought tickets for my parents and sister as a surprise, and begrudgingly added Grandma Penny when my mom mentioned her. The only thing that would have made it perfect was having Stevie come too, but her mother wouldn’t let her go anywhere but home. She was back at school acting like the same old Stevie, claiming to be happy wi
th her one-night stands, a job at a record store, and friends in New York, but I felt something lacking. Like she was playing the part of “Stevie.”

  Neither one of us even hinted about Hunter or Chris, and we steered clear of all topics that might lead to them. It was better that way. The night in the bar four months ago when I saw Hunter on TV had been a turning point for me. I didn’t deny I would always love Hunter and wished him well. It took a lot of time to even see past the pain, but I got through it. I was truly happy with myself and in love with my life. Italy had changed me.

  Once I’d gotten over the worst of my heartbreak, I went a little crazy at first, living it up every moment of the summer with Sammie. We traveled most weekends to places like Amsterdam, London, Paris, and Barcelona, taking advantage of the cheap weekend deals and youth hostels filled with kids our age. I would never apologize for what I did or who I had been with. It was how I dealt with all the pain I had been holding on to since the car accident, and I let it go.

  “Are you going to introduce them to Luca?” Colleen winked, taking another pull of her wine.

  “No.” I rolled my eyes, chuckling. “You know it’s not that serious between us.”

  “Uh-huh.” She smirked, her lips stained from the red wine.

  Luca was a curator at the museum, and we had been casually seeing each other for a few weeks now. He was tall, dark, and sexy as hell, especially when he whispered Italian into my ear. I loved his dark mop of hair and deep chocolate eyes. He was even hotter when he wore his glasses and talked about art like it was his other lover. The Italians I had met were all about love, but I didn’t think Caterina or any of the staff would appreciate what we had done in some of the restoration rooms in the back. We tried to act like nothing was going on, but everyone knew.

  Of course, one of the other interns had made a remark that screwing him was why I got special treatment. No, it was because I worked my ass off.

  “Cristian and I want you and your non-boyfriend to come over for dinner one night. I think I finally mastered his mother’s carbonara sauce.”

  “Dinner? Like a double date?”

  “You’ve been ‘seeing’ him for weeks.” She coughed, emphasizing that word. “Come on, you two are pretty much a couple.”

  That word tightened a lasso around my neck. What I wanted was the opposite of a relationship. I didn’t want a boyfriend. I wanted fun. My heart was not open to anything past that.

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen.” I stirred in my seat. “Let’s see where we are in a month.”

  “Fine.” She nodded, finishing her glass. “I need to get home soon. I’ve been married for three years, but my mother-in-law is suddenly on a quest to teach me to cook. Like if she doesn’t, her baby boy will starve.” She flicked her eyes in annoyance. “You heading home?”

  “No, I promised to meet Sammie for a drink.” Like me, Sammie didn’t go home after the summer was over. She managed another semester abroad, loving this place too much to leave. We stayed roommates, but I hardly saw her. I barely saw anyone except the people at the museum.

  I wiped my mouth, setting my napkin on the plate, knowing Colleen had already covered the bill. She knew how broke students were and said this was her weekly treat where we could catch up.

  “Always good seeing you.” Colleen and I hugged before I headed back out into the night, gliding contentedly through the city. I loved everything was so walkable and everyone was outside, not hiding in their homes watching TV like most did back home. Kids, grandparents, lovers, friends, everyone was always enjoying this beautiful city and talking to each other.

  The loud American bar jangled against my nerves. I had no desire to go in, but Sammie was a big football fan, and this was one of the only places she could watch her team play. As I predicted, she already sat at the bar, a beer in one hand, her eyes locked on the action happening on the screen.

  “Hey, girl.” I slipped into the stool next to her.

  “Oh my god, Jayme!” She hugged me, her arms strangling my throat. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in months.”

  “I don’t even know what year it is any more.” I laughed, sitting back in my chair.

  “Seriously, you work too hard.”

  “Yeah, but I love it.” I motioned to the bartender. He smiled, pouring me a cider without even asking and slid it in front of me with a nod. Yeah, we had come here a lot in the summer.

  “My stepmom called,” Sammie huffed. “She says my father and she want me to come home for the holidays. I don’t want to go… I’m not ready.”

  “There’s no way they’ll let you stay one more semester?”

  “Yeah, right.” Her shoulders drooped. “They had a hissy fit I stayed this time. The thought of going back to a house with my horrid stepbrothers who live to torture me, and my stepmom who pretends she cares but only ridicules me about losing weight or dressing better is horrifying.”

  I knew enough from our talks that her father was nice but passive; he let the stepmom rule the house. He’d probably be okay with her staying, but if the stepmonster said no, then Sammie was going back home.

  “I’m sorry.” I squeezed her hand. “I don’t want you to go either.”

  Sammie’s eyes glistened with tears, but she shook them away, taking a swig of her beer and returning her attention to the game. “Just this game, then we can go. I know you don’t watch football.”

  It was ironic that football had once been a world I revolved around, not able to escape it for a moment. Sammie had no idea I knew everything about the game or I’d spent hours of my life cheering for it, watching it, and talking about it. Now I wanted nothing to do with it. It only reminded me of that old life. The old Jayme.

  “No worries.” I sat back, glancing over the other screens, my gaze halting on the one in the corner.

  Oh. God. No. Not again.

  AMA Supercross Championship filled the TVs, bikes racing around the track behind the logo. I thought I was free and clear of him. But like a snake, this reminder of Hunter sprang out at me, piercing the air in my lungs.

  “Can you turn it up?” a guy yelled over at the bartender, leaning on the bar next to me. “It’s the final tonight.”

  The bartender shrugged, inching up the volume enough for us to hear it.

  “Local boy. He’s fucking amazing.” The young American college guy nudged my arm, flicking his head to the display. “The guy in first, The Haze, is from a couple towns over from mine.”

  I couldn’t respond, swallowing the lump expanding in my throat. I had been proud of myself, thinking I was cured of Hunter Harris, only to find out what every other addict learns: you are never cured of a craving. You just learn to live with it.

  “Always been a fan of supercross, but having one of your own on top makes it better,” he continued, grinning, like he thought he impressed me with his knowledge.

  Buddy, little do you know.

  “The guy is a newbie but is now outranking the reigning world champion. Talk about an underdog story.” He leaned on his elbows, his attention on the TV. “I’m Trevor, by the way.” He held out his hand.

  “Jayme,” I replied politely and centered my attention on the event as the commentator began to speak onscreen.

  “The last race of the season is next. Everything has come down to this final run,” the ESPN commentator said dramatically, the guys’ statistics and pictures filling up the display. “Hunter ‘The Haze’ Harris and Jeremy ‘Razor’ Thompson are neck and neck… Their scores are so close that a simple mistake could be enough to rip the championship title away from one of them.” The camera snapped back to the commentator. “The rumor is these two have butted heads on and off the course the last couple of months. The tension between them has risen, coincidently, since Hunter started showing he could take this title away from last year’s champion. Whether it’s true or not has made for some exciting races, and I doubt this last one will disappoint.”

  The camera cut away from the reporter, scanni
ng the riders prepping behind the gate, then zoomed in on the VIP area where friends and family watched. It zeroed in on a woman holding a toddler with child-size earphones over his head, bright blue eyes, dark hair, and a grin dimpling his left cheek.

  Oh my god. Cody no longer looked like a baby as I remembered him but a tiny version of his father.

  “Aww, and look who’s here to support his daddy. This little guy has become a permanent fixture on the tour lately. And the crowd has fallen in love with him,” the commentator said. The camera zoomed in on the pair. In tight jeans and a T-shirt, Krista’s blonde hair flowed down her arms. She waved at the camera as she peered at Cody, encouraging him to wave with her. She had always been pretty, but now she looked beautiful, confident, happy… like she belonged there.

  “Hunter’s girlfriend, Krista, and his son, Cody, have become crowd favorites since they’ve come on tour with Hunter. Such a little character.” The reporter’s voice talked over the footage on them. “You can tell that little boy loves watching his daddy ride.”

  The pieces of my heart I’d thought healed now burned into ash, my head aching as tears built inside. They’d joined him on tour? Was she really his girlfriend, or did they assume in the same way they did that Cody was his child? Shit. If you didn’t know Hunter had a twin, Colton, there was no way you wouldn’t think Hunter was the father. Cody was a spitting image of him.

  “Actually, if my sources are right, I heard she might soon be his fiancée,” the pundit said, his statement freezing me in place, a desert drying out my throat. “They make an adorable family, and I know that little boy is excited to be here. Like we all are.”

  Fiancée? No, please say I heard wrong.

  Air. I needed air… But I couldn’t move. My thoughts and body were no longer connected. The clock hit zero in Joyce’s hands, and she stepped off the track as the gates dropped. The bikes rushed onto the course, like the bulls in Spain, barreling toward the first turn.