Page 85 of Shattered Hearts
Wait. Where is he? I scramble out from beneath the covers and scan for signs of life in his giant apartment. No water running in his bathroom, no soft footfalls around the corner in the den. Maybe he’s already gone to work.
I check my phone to see if he left a note, but there’s nothing. The only thing glaring across my screen is the time. It’s eight seventeen, and I have to be at work at nine.
“Shit.” I’m going to be so late.
I launch out of Finn’s bed, freezing in the surprise of unexpected soreness.
God…my waist, my hips, my thighs. I feel like Finn rotated my, well, everything.
“I need a walker.” Weathering the discomfort of achy muscles as best I can, I hobble toward Finn’s bathroom, flipping on lights and glancing around.
In the bathroom’s glow, I discover I’m in worse shape than I think. My hair is a nuclear disaster. Around my neck and collarbone, I have a nice collection of hickeys and bite marks.Please let me have enough makeup to cover them. Please, please, please.
I yank my toothbrush out of my toiletries bag, pausing when I peek at all of Finn’s manly things gathered around the sink. Yesterday, after we had sex in his shower, we stood right here and did our mourning routines, side by side. Together. Like a couple. Like Mr. and Mrs. Finn Gallagher.
When I glance back at myself in the mirror, tears are gathering in my eyes.
What was I expecting? To wake up in his arms? A lump forms in my throat. I swallow hard, but it doesn’t go down.
What’s the matter with me? I grab my phone and toggle to our text messages, but when I view them, I lose my courage. Allof his texts are one word each. That’s not weird. He and I spoke more to each other yesterday than ever. Who knew Finn could be anything other than laconic?
But when I see those messages, I don’t see Finn, the guy who fucked the life out of me yesterday. I see a guy who’s interest in me comes down to one word remarks. Out of nowhere, my father’s face appears in my mind.
Cold seeps into my bones, like everything I’ve felt and experienced in the last forty-eight hours is shutting down, disappearing, and fading to black.
Why am I acting like a jilted girlfriend? We enjoyed a sex marathon yesterday, slept together last night, and now he’s gone.
Finn’s heir to this mafia. So what if yesterday was magical? He can’t just lounge aroundall morning when he has work to do.
Still, after the connection we had, why didn’t he send me a text? Or leave a quick note? Wake me up and kiss me goodbye? Anything to convey that yesterday meant something to him too.
It’s because you’re nothing to him.You’re just a traitor. You’re not part of his world. He can sleep with you and throw you away. No matter what, you’ll be gone soon. So what’s the difference if he gives into his desire?
None of the hurtful words my brain generates are wrong. Of course I’m nothing to Finn. If I count up all the days we’ve actually spoken to each other, it’s less than seven. We haven’t even spent the equivalent of one week in each other’s company. He knows Harper better than I do these days, and they barely know each other at all.
I got carried away. Big time.
Finn stopped my ex from killing me, and I threw myself at him like he was my knight in shining armor. For all I know, he’s just following standard procedure. Let Thomas Brennan’sdaughter die while he and I are on a mission? Can’t let that happen. A police officer would have done the same thing, but I wouldn’t have leapt into his arms.
Yes, he told me to move in with him, but that’s because he wrecked my apartment—although Troy contributed too—and like my father, Finn wants to keep tabs on me. My staying at the estate makes that easier for everyone.
As for the diner and what came next…a day so full of passion, I’ll have masturbation fodder for at least the next decade… I don’t know what it was, but I do know what it’s not.
This isn’t real life. None of this will ever happen again.
That was obvious from the start, but from the moment we sat down together at King Street, I clearly started to lose my head.
I might have actually started to believe there’s something between us.
Why am I so gullible? After all the horrible things I’ve seen, after all the terrible men I grew up around, I should know better than to think Finn’s any different.
Sleeping with a woman is no punishment for men in the Gallagher Mafia. It’s not a chore. It’s not complicated. Or meaningful. Whoring is how these assholes pass the time when they’re not maiming or making money for the clan.
And I…let myself be a whore for Finn.
Yesterday, I fucked him like I was terminally ill and his cock was the cure.
Lust made a fool out of me. And I only have myself to blame.