Not My Heart to Break (Merciless World Book 3)

by W. Winters

  It’s silent, apart from the sound of the wind howling so loud and commanding outside that it rocks the car. I rub my hand down my face, trying to rid myself of the need to do something about what he did to her. How he lied to her and used her.

  “I want to go back in there and beat him to death,” I confess to Declan although I stare down at my shoes, the black leather impeccably polished and shined. They’re expensive as fuck, but they feel like nothing. I feel like I’m not worth a damn thing compared to that prick.

  Just the sight of him makes me feel like I’m nothing. Because it’s his baby. He has what I so desperately want. If he wanted, he could have a family with her.

  “I hate him too,” Declan finally answers me, his hand patting my back as I stay hunched over in the car. “You want to kill him… fuck him up? Whatever you want, I’m here for you.”

  I nod. Yes, that’s exactly what I want.

  “But think for a moment about what he was to her,” he implores me. “He doesn’t mean anything to her.”

  “He gets to be the father of her baby.” The second I speak the words, I hate them. I want to take them back and do everything I can to keep that reality from happening.

  He got his release, so as far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t get to have anything else. Anger is blinding me to reason.

  “Block him everywhere and erase it all.” I give the command to Declan and add, “She won’t be able to find him. Their only contact was through that dating app. He’s the only one she slept with that month, so she’ll know it was him when she looks at her schedule. Block him everywhere. Erase him from her life.”

  As Declan takes in a slow breath, his expression falls. He doesn’t agree with my decision. I can see it written on his face.

  “He can’t be in her life or I’ll kill him,” I say and wait for Declan to look back at me before I hold his stare. “I will kill him. I know I will.”

  Pulling his hand back, he scratches the side of his jaw like he’s thinking, right before telling me, “Don’t take her control away.”

  My head shakes as I release a huff of a breath. “I’ll do it myself then,” I say and the words sound spiteful as they come out.

  “Seth. Listen to me,” he says and his tone begs me. “She wants to do the right thing. She always wants to do the right thing.”

  “I know.” I can’t stress it enough. “I know who she is. I know what kind of person she is.” I’m pissed and I can’t not be pissed because all that’s left for me otherwise is the hurt.

  Declan keeps his voice low and calm as he says, “I’ll make it so she can message him and it’ll show as seen but he won’t ever see it.”

  With the ringing in my head it takes me a moment to absorb what he’s saying. She can message him, but he won’t see it. He’ll never know. He won’t be able to respond. It’s what he fucking deserves. “Can you do that?”

  Declan nods as a car drives by us and that’s when reality sneaks back in. It’s fucking cold and we’re having a therapy session on the side of the road in a parked car.

  “I can,” he tells me and I sit up straighter, clearing my throat and focusing on getting my shit together.

  “He’ll be out of the picture then,” I comment, feeling lighter and more relieved than I imagined I would. There’s still her heart to worry about, but one problem solved makes all of this feel like it could work. I can keep her and my baby.

  She’ll still love me. She won’t leave me.

  But then that leaves me with Marcus’s deal.

  “I’m getting my guys on it now,” Declan says although it’s a question more than anything.

  “Yeah,” I answer him and then clear my throat. “Yeah, thanks man.”

  I picture her staring at the screen and not getting a response and it fucking kills me because I know it will hurt her. “She’s going to be wrecked by it.”

  “She just wants to do the right thing,” Declan says, disagreeing with me. He doesn’t know how emotional she is, though. She’s strong and smart, but emotions rule her every thought and action. “She can do that. She can message him still.” Even though he’s talking to me, he’s texting. Sending out demands for all this bullshit.

  I’m barely hanging on, the anger’s got nowhere to go and all I am is fucking wrecked.

  My voice is tight and my words crack when I tell Declan, “I waited too long.”

  The truth hurts. It’s brutal and unforgiving. More than that though, it’s deserved.

  “What?” he says then looks up and at me. His eyes on me beg me to look at him, but I don’t. I can’t. There’s a prick in the back of my eyes and I feel like a little bitch. Licking my lips, I take in a deep breath, expecting that to make it better, but it’s worse.

  “He’s what she had. A release is all she had.” I barely get the words out and I ignore Declan when he reaches out to comfort me.

  “I could have been there with her. I was so close for so long and I could have been with her.”

  “Hey, man, don’t—”

  “She’s dying and that’s what she had,” I say, cutting him off as tears cloud my vision. She’s dying.

  I can fix this problem named Jim Howard, though. I can get rid of the man who didn’t love her but has a rightful place in her life. I won’t allow that. I can’t.

  This baby is mine and so is she.

  But I can’t fix her heart. I can’t fix that; I’m so damn helpless.

  “I waited too long.”

  Marcus’s promise, his deal, whispers darkly in the back of my mind. He swears he can save her. He promised. He’s willing to make that deal.

  Declan’s still trying to console me when I say, “I have to tell you something.”

  Fate’s a bitch though, choosing this exact second to make his phone ring in his hand.

  Pulling me from the moment.

  “Get it,” I tell him and then stare at the window, pretending like everything isn’t still crumbling around me. “This can wait.”

  It can’t.

  None of it can wait.

  Marcus will want his answer soon. And time isn’t on Laura’s side.

  Laura

  “So good news and bad news,” I start to tell Bethany. The hot chocolate on the table smells divine and with how tired I am, I’m going to need another one in no more than thirty minutes after I suck this one down just to stay awake for this shift.

  In the last ten days, I’ve had every test done and every checkup imaginable. The days have blurred to the point where all I can see is Doctor Tabor’s face during the day and Seth’s at night.

  “Spill it.” With her coffee in hand she stares at me, waiting expectantly. She’d look very commanding and badass if it wasn’t for the puppy dogs on her pale blue scrubs.

  “So the good news,” I say and pull out the slippery paper with the black-and-white image on it. The one with my baby boy’s perfect little face as he sucks his little thumb.

  My insides turn to warm goo every time I look at him. “He’s perfect,” I tell her and the smile on my face is infectious.

  “And beautiful,” Bethany adds, taking the paper and staring at it.

  It’s quiet for a moment as we both pretend we’re not emotional wrecks still. We don’t talk about my heart and when I feel it racing, I just keep it a secret. I don’t want them to worry, but both Bethany and Seth tiptoe around me whenever I go quiet. It is what it is. A baby will really throw a wrench into being a hard-ass like I used to see myself. So instead of telling them that my heart feels like it wants out of my chest, I tell them I thought the baby was kicking. That always makes them smile. I would so much rather them smile and celebrate with me, than be scared … like I am. I’m so damn scared I can barely function.

  I have to tell someone though and Bethany is the someone who can handle this.

  “What’s the bad news?” Bethany asks, handing me back the photograph and opting to hold her coffee with both hands.

  “That copy’s yours,” I tell her and fo
rce a smile but it wavers. Clearing my throat and staring at the large clock to the right of the elevators, I tell her, “Because I won’t accept a donor organ or surgery until it’s safe for the baby, my placement has dropped on this list.” The air leaves my lungs and said heart does a quick race, pounding against my rib cage. It does it every time I think about it, but I’m quick to look down at the picture. “I accept it,” I tell both of them. Both Bethany and my little one. “I accept waiting to make sure this little one makes it out healthy.”

  There’s no response but I can feel her gaze on me. It’s too damn quiet this late at night. The ticking from the clock is all I get so I pick up the cup of cocoa to have a drink, only to find it already empty. I must’ve sucked it down without realizing. It makes a hollow sound when I set it down on the front desk.

  “I’ve thought a lot about it, Bethany. I choose the baby. Please don’t ask me not to.” I have to whisper the last statement. I know that’s what Seth would do. Seth would want the heart as soon as possible. He wouldn’t risk another day. But this baby isn’t ready and I don’t want to live if it’s at the expense of my child. I want to give this baby everything and I choose to start right now with these days, however many of them I can give him.

  “What did the doctor say?” she asks.

  “She said it’s not wise.” As I speak, I mimic the way the doctor said it. As if I was supposed to answer with absolutely no emotion and only logic. “My heart does more work as the pregnancy progresses. She said that’s probably why my symptoms have been worse recently.”

  “That worries me,” she says and Bethany’s response is quiet, smothered with concern and I wish I could allay her fears, but she’s right. It’s a risk and a very real one at that.

  “We’re going to plan for a C-section roughly sixteen weeks from now, and the baby is already getting steroid shots for his lungs and other organs to develop. With the C-section there will be far less stress on my heart, so there’s that positive.”

  I try to keep my response upbeat, but Bethany doesn’t buy it.

  She’s silent and it takes me a long moment to bring myself to look at her, but she’s staring down at the slip of thermal recording paper from the ultrasound in my hand. She wipes away the tears in her eyes when she sees me looking at her.

  “Right. And then when he’s born, what happens as far as the surgery for your heart?”

  “Top of the list.”

  “Okay…” She seems hesitant although my answer was quick and confident. “And what happens in the meantime?”

  “Vitamins, medication and appointments … baby yoga and a less stressful schedule. Which means …” I pause to suck in a breath and then reluctantly let it out. “I’m trying to decide if I should take leave. I don’t have to be on bed rest, I specifically asked… but my doctor did recommend taking a leave of absence so I could eliminate as much stress as possible.”

  “You should,” she says and Bethany’s response is immediate and adamant. “Go home. Stay home.”

  “Part of me wants to … but the bigger part of me doesn’t. I want to be here where I’m needed … It’s not like Seth can just up and quit. You know how it is. So I’d just be home alone. Worrying constantly … I’d rather worry about everyone else in this place than think about myself for even a minute.”

  “Do you really want to be on your deathbed wishing you worked more?”

  I shrug, even though I know the answer to that. I’ve thought so much about it these past few days.

  If I’m on my deathbed, I know exactly what I’ll regret.

  Every milestone I didn’t have with Seth.

  I have this horrible feeling that we won’t make it to any more of them. It’s okay. I just want him to love me and he does. That is enough. It’s more than enough for now.

  With only that shrug from me, Bethany lets out an exasperated sigh.

  “Don’t you think Seth would want to be with you right now?” I pick at the sleeve of my scrubs where the fabric is worn as the heat kicks on and a visitor gives us a small wave as she signs in. If only they knew what we were talking about. I glance at the clipboard on the table, knowing I need to sort meds soon, rather than answer Bethany. “What did he say about all of this?”

  I rub my tired eyes with the sleeve of my old white scrubs. Mascara mars the pretty fabric. Sweetie, which is written all over the scrubs and mixed in with the pattern of peaches, is unrecognizable on my sleeve now.

  With my lack of a response, Bethany questions me again, her tone more confrontational. “What did Seth say?”

  Looking her dead in the eyes, I answer, “I’m not telling him.”

  Fuck, it hurts. My throat goes tight at the thought of keeping this from him. He told me he wants to know everything, but I can’t tell him this. I can’t do it.

  Her wide eyes swirl with disappointment.

  “He doesn’t need that stress. I want him to think everything is as good as it can be. And it is. I’m doing the best I can and I just want him to be happy with me.” I swallow my conviction. “I want him to be by my side but not running my life right now.”

  I’m prepared for Bethany to be the other half of the argument that I’ve had in the back of my mind every night as I lie down with him in bed.

  He holds me tight, his hand splayed across my belly.

  “He keeps calling him ‘our little prince.’” My eyes tear up and I have to close them, the watery vision of the silver doors to the elevator turning black and instead I see him. I see the love of my life holding me, talking about my son as if he’s his and everything is going to be okay. “I love that he is being the father figure and…” I have to pause when emotions tackle the words as they climb up my throat.

  “If I choose this baby over me and he knows… I’m afraid he won’t feel the same way. The baby won’t be his little prince anymore if something happens to me.”

  The warm tears come and go now. I’m so used to them I don’t fight them.

  “Laura.” Bethany’s pained voice forces me to open my eyes and all I can see is her leaning closer to me, holding me as she shushes me and tells me it’s going to be all right.

  It’s what we do. We say it’ll be all right even when we don’t know it will.

  I love Seth and he loves me. But if I die and this baby lives, I want him to love the baby like he does now. To hold this baby the way he holds me at night.

  I don’t want to risk him blaming the baby.

  “You know my mom left… she blamed me. My mom and dad split because of me. It’s what people said anyway.”

  “Your mom was a bitch and you are not. She was selfish.” Bethany knows all about it. We’ve shared our stories with each other on drunken Wine Down Wednesdays. My mother and her father… what a pair they would have made.

  “I might never get a heart but if this baby has Seth, all of him with how hard and fiercely he loves… it’ll be okay. And you, of course. His godmother.” I deliberately pull away and change the topic as quickly as I can.

  “His godmother?” Bethany plays along, ignoring the worry, sticking with the “it’s going to be okay” strategy. I want to pretend too. We can all pretend together.

  “Yes, if you would be his godmother, I would be so happy.”

  “Of course.” Her nod is furious and her voice sounds ecstatic although the worry still dances in her gaze that’s glued to mine.

  “Well that’s settled then,” I say and nod, trying to forget the last bit of our conversation, one of the many worries that keeps me up at night.

  With a hand on my belly, on top of a very clear but small bump, I rub my thumb in soothing circles.

  My baby will be all right.

  I’ll get a heart.

  Seth will love both of us forever.

  We’re going to be a family.

  Even as I list the positives to counter every doubt I have, I know it’s too good to be true.

  “Hey,” Bethany says and whispers my name, “I know life hasn’t been the bes
t to you, but you do deserve your happily ever after.”

  My hand trembles a bit as I reach for the cup of cocoa, only to find it empty—again. A huff of sarcasm leaves me as I smack it down on the tabletop.

  I struggle to respond, not knowing how to tell her one of the greatest truths in life: not everyone gets a happily ever after. It’s not about what people deserve. Sometimes fate just takes what she wants and there’s no rhyme or reason to it.

  Seth

  “Your stomach bothering you?” I question Laura at the sound of her fork scraping against the porcelain. “You’ve barely eaten.”

  The dining room is something I’ve barely ever used since moving in here. Tonight’s the first night we’ve used it together. That’ll change when the baby comes. A lot of things are going to change.

  She leans forward, an elbow resting on the walnut table and glances down at the Chinese food on her plate. It’s her favorite, and she still hasn’t eaten. She barely eats; she barely sleeps.

  With bags under her eyes, she gives me the smallest of smiles. “I think if I eat it, I may in fact throw up.”

  “What about the lemons?” I offer, changing the subject and shoving the last wonton into my mouth. She has supplements to help her retain whatever nutrients and fats she can eat because she hasn’t gained enough weight. I don’t think it’s the pregnancy at all. It’s the stress. I’m guilty as fuck when it comes to that.

  “Oh my God, if I smell another lemon.” She breathes out the statement in one long line. “Maybe it works for some women but not me. I’m just not hungry. It’s not like I’m nauseated. I’m just not hungry and if I try to eat, that’s when my stomach gets upset. There’s no morning sickness… I just can’t eat.”

  “What about something else? Anything else?” I offer.

  “Let’s just lie down on the sofa and relax?” she questions and I’m already standing, the feet of the chair scraping against the hardwood floor making the only noise in the room. “Maybe I’ll grab a bowl of ice cream after. A bowl late at night has been wonderful.”