The Hustle (Irreparable 4)

My family is gone. Each and every one of them taken from me because I thought I was smart enough to beat Eduardo at his own game.

“Aidan,” I hear Brady’s weak voice from the bedroom.

My legs refuse to cooperate as I try to stand and I stumble back to the ground.

“Aidan . . . Aidan . . . Wake up.” My eyes flutter open to Peyton standing above me. The dream felt so real, but as I glance around, I absorb the relief of knowing my family is safe. But for how long? I’ve started a war with a man who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt the people I care about, yet, I’m too stubborn to back down. “Are you okay?” she asks. “You were screaming so loud it woke me up.”

“I’m fine,” I mutter, straightening in the chair.

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Her mouth turns down as she leans against the desk. “Were you dreaming about him?”

I tilt my head in confusion as it dawns on me she’s referring to a son she thinks died. “Yes,” I answer. It’s not a complete lie.

“How old was he?”

“Are you hungry?” I ask, standing up.

“I could eat.” She smiles and makes her way to the door, allowing my changing the subject to smooth over easily.

“Good, there’s an Italian restaurant on the corner. I’ll order in.”

I reach for my broken cell phone and call the number programmed in my phone, ignoring Peyton’s penetrating gaze. She wants to push me to talk about Javier, but her shoulders fall and she leaves me alone in my office.

After I order dinner, I find Peyton in the kitchen, sipping a glass of red wine.

“I’m glad to see you’re comfortable,” I say, teasingly as I point to the bottle she opened.

“It’s an excellent Chianti. I figured it was a good choice for whatever you ordered.”

Her confidence has clearly returned as has the color in her cheeks.

“It is,” I say flatly, accepting the glass of wine she hands me.

“Come,” she says, guiding me to the couch by my hand. She plops down on the sofa and pats the spot next to her.

For a second or two, I stare at the spot as though she’s asked me to sit on a bed of hot coals. She pats it again and I sit, although aware of my discomfort. “I ordered ravioli di aragosta.” She makes a face. “Lobster ravioli.”

Her eyes stay on me as she sips her wine. She squirms as I empty my glass, maintaining her gaze.

“Tell me Aidan, who broke your heart?”

I nearly choke on the last swallow of wine. “That was rather blunt.”

She takes my empty glass and sets it on the coffee table, before holding my hands in hers. “I’m a rather blunt kinda girl, but I know a broken heart when I see one. You hold your pain in, and you think no one can see it, but I do. It’s larger than life. You need to get it all out, so you can move on.”

Her grip tightens, but I still manage to free my hands. “Perhaps I don’t want to move on.”

She shrugs. “You’re better off if you do. Trust me. I’ve had my heart broken twice.”

“That makes two of us,” I say bitterly. “But my situation is unique to say the least and I’d prefer not to discuss it. Let’s stick to subjects that friends talk about, shall we?”

“Fair enough.” She giggles, one glass of wine clearly having an effect on her. “Have you always lived in San Diego?”

“Yes, I grew up in Pacific Beach.” I rub my eyes, realizing I may not want to talk at all. Each moment shared brings us closer to a bitter, ugly end in which one of us suffers. Still I can’t fight her. “What made you move here?”

“I followed heartbreaker number two. He’s Navy. Dumped me before his first deployment and I haven’t heard from him since.”