Pieces of Us (Confessions of the Heart 3)

So confused that I couldn’t see, the world spinning around me, going faster and faster. I pointed at her house. “What’s wrong with him?” It was a haggard demand.

Izzy gasped and reared back, and those hazel eyes flashed with disgust. “You just saw your son for the first time, and the only thing you can think to ask is what is wrong with him?” Incredulity blazed from her, her pain as thick as mine.

It was mixing together, pouring out to become this boiling vat of animosity that roiled in the middle of us.

I scrubbed both hands over my face, so goddamned frustrated, so goddamned mad. Red flickered at the edges of my sight, that old hatred rising up fast.

Hatred at myself.

Hatred at my father.

Hatred of Izzy for keeping this from me.

“Well, excuse the hell out of me, Izzy, for not having the right words when I find out I have a kid that I didn’t know about.” I slammed the tips of my fingers into my chest over my heart. “That I have a kid who obviously is disabled, and I didn’t have a fucking chance to be there for him.”

Anguish came bursting out of her mouth, and her head swiveled from side-to-side in huge rolls of disbelief. “Are you seriously goin’ to stand there and act as if this was my fault?” She took a step toward me, her face pinching up. “Are you seriously going to stand there and make accusations?”

She took another, and the air was getting thinner, and the only thing I was breathing was Izzy Lane.

“You ruined me, Maxon. You broke my heart. You betrayed me.” The words were harsh. Livid. Bullets impaling me, one after another.

“And then when I needed you most . . .” Her chin quivered. Tears streamed free. “When I begged you to call me, you didn’t. Tell me, whose fault that is?”

Guilt screamed. Too much. Clotting in my chest. Expanding until I was suffocating. “Mine.”

Mine.

It was the only thing I could manage, and I could feel myself cracking. Coming unhinged. Before I lost it, I turned and fled.

“Don’t you dare run from this, Maxon Chambers.” Izzy’s voice pierced me from behind.

And I wondered if she’d expected anything else.

* * *

Elbows propped on the table, I had my face buried in my hands, thinking this was a bad fucking idea, too. But since I didn’t have any good ones, at least I could get tanked while doing it.

Second Mirena had seen me, she’d hauled my stumbling ass over to a secluded, darkened booth at the very back of Monty’s where I was hidden in the hazy shadows.

Great place to get lost in a rage. In hatred and disgust.

What the fuck had I thought going over there? That I’d apologize really quick, sweep her into my arms, and we’d live out our lives?

A happily ever after?

Sunshine and fucking rainbows?

Sunshine, my ass, and my ever after was never destined to be the happy kind.

I should have known. That’s what I got for hoping for a change. For something more when I’d always known I couldn’t have it.

I groaned, then jolted when I felt the movement across the booth from me. Warily, I opened my eyes, not in the mood for any bullshit.

Jace and Ian slid into the opposite side, worry written all over their expressions.

Annoyed, I frowned, taking another sloppy swig of my whiskey. “What the hell are you two doing here?”

Might have been slurring.

Who knew.

Tapping his fingertips on the table, Jace angled his head. “Mirena called my number on one of my business cards. Said Ian and I needed to get down here. Something about our brother getting ready to have a meltdown. I’m pretty sure she was just worried you were going to tear apart the place.”

Asshole tried to slide in a joke. Would have smiled, too, if his comment didn’t have me wanting to rip off his face.

Ian itched in this seat. “Mack, man . . . what’s going on? You look like shit.” He glanced at the tumbler clutched in my hand, brow twisting in surprise. “And are you drinking whiskey? Shit. It really is bad.”

Humorless laughter came rolling out. “Oh, it’s bad, all right.”

“What’s going on?” he pressed.

“This have something to do with Izzy?” Jace asked, leaning forward. No doubt, he was probably shouting over the band playing on the stage, but his words were getting lost in the din, people shouting and the crowd noisy.

I rested the side of my head on my palm, and it only spun faster, my stomach sick.

So sick.

“Izzy’s a mom,” I somehow managed.

Jace shifted in discomfort. “Mack—”

I shook my head to cut him off. “Two kids. Oldest one is mine.”

Oldest one is mine.

I gasped out a choked sound. Couldn’t breathe. Might’ve been dyin’.

“Shit, Mack, dude . . . what the fuck? Are you sure?” Ian stumbled around the question, and Jace was pushing out a strained breath, running his hand through his hair.