Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

“I’m thirty-four, Jess.” I interrupted her pacing. She stopped to stare down at me, her eyes bright with hurt for me. My own eyes filled with tears. “How do I start over?”

“Oh, Bailey.” She sat next to me on her couch, and wrapped her arm around me. Louis laid his chin on her knee and stared at me in what looked like doggy sympathy. “You’ll find someone else. You just need to let your heart mend.”

But that wasn’t what I was afraid of. And I had to wonder if the anger I’d felt in Tom’s apartment was only for him and Erin, or if a big part of it was directed at myself.

“I knew, Jess,” I whispered, letting my tears fall, knowing she was the one person who wouldn’t judge me for what I was about to confess. “I’ve known for a while.”

“That Tom was cheating?”

“No, not that.” I shook my head. “I knew . . . I knew he wasn’t the one.” I stared up at her, her face a blur through my tears. “I thought he was a safe bet. I chose him because I thought he was a safe bet. And it turns out he wasn’t even that.”

Jess was quiet awhile, holding me as I cried.

And then, “I don’t think I understand.”

Wiping at my tears, I pulled away and let out a shuddering sigh. “I should be heartbroken. Grief-stricken. Right?”

She nodded.

“But I’m not. I’m hurt. My pride is hurt considering I’m currently wearing red silk lingerie and a raincoat.” I gave her a wry, sad smile that she returned. “And I’m mortified. Humiliated even. But heartbroken . . . no. I’m—” I sucked in a breath, like I’d just been skewered in the stomach.

“You’re what?”

“Relieved,” I admitted. “Terrified but relieved. Oh, God.” I rested my head in my hands, looking down at the stilettos pinching my feet.

I slipped them off. “Ten years. God, ten years I’ve wasted on a man I knew I would never be madly in love with. I just wanted . . . I wanted a man who made me feel safe and Tom gave me that when we met. I was happy just to feel safe with him, to know that he would give me the things I wanted: marriage and kids. When my parents moved away, leaving me the last remaining Hartwell in town, I’d missed them so much that I’d felt this overwhelming need to start my own family. Tom knew about it. He knew how much kids, family, meant to me. I thought he loved me enough to eventually get around to making me happy. But he couldn’t give me that, and I’d held on, giving him my best years, and the piece of shit cheated on me.

“How do I start over at thirty-four?” I could feel the panic rising, my breath hitching as I struggled to draw in air.

Jess grabbed my hands. “Deep breaths, Bailey.” She inhaled and exhaled, gesturing at me to mimic her.

I nearly broke her fingers I squeezed them so hard as I forced through my panic to mimic her, concentrating on my breathing.

After a while I felt muscles I didn’t even know had tensed relax.

Slumping against her couch, I let more tears fall. “I’m scared.”

Tears glistened in Jess’s eyes. “I know. I’ve been there. But starting over can be done, no matter what age you are.” She reached for my hand. “You have me, and you have Cooper and everybody. This town loves you, Bailey. We’ll get you through this.”

“What if I end up alone?”

“Not possible.” She frowned at me. “You’re not considering taking that asshole back just so you won’t be alone?”

“No,” I bit out. “You know, he pushed me away last night. I tried to make love to him and he pushed me away. Of course he was cheating on me! What an idiot I was for not seeing it.” I laughed humorlessly. “I was so convinced he knew we couldn’t do better than each other that it never crossed my mind he’d cheat.”

“What do you mean ‘knew we couldn’t do better than each other’?” Jess crossed her arms over her chest.

I tensed again. I didn’t want to admit to Jess my theory of how Tom and I made sense because of our mutual averageness. “I just mean . . . we were equals, you know.”

Her eyes narrowed, like she didn’t believe me. “For your information every single one of your friends thinks you deserve better than Tom Sutton and the fact that he cheated on you makes him Asshole of the Year. No,

scratch that: Ultimate Asshole of the Year.”

Swallowing back a smile I nodded. “Definitely Ultimate Asshole of the Year.”

Jess harrumphed.

“Jess.”