Pieces of Us (Confessions of the Heart 3)

When I shifted, the same four guys I’d pulled over yesterday stepped out to box me in against the fence.

A spike of adrenaline jumped into my system, but my brain was fuzzy and soaked, and I fumbled around to get my phone out of my back pocket.

Dizziness addled my brain, and I shook my head, trying to prep myself to go up against nothing good. Wasn’t exactly at 100% after I’d drank double my weight in whiskey and was at four to one.

The prick who’d been driving cracked a grin.

“Well, look who’s here, big, bad cop. You been drinking?” he taunted.

Managed to at least get dispatch on the phone, even though I didn’t have time to respond before they were encroaching.

“Fucker . . . you’re gonna get what’s comin’ to you.”

One guy rushed me, and I threw a punch, my fist cracking against his nose. I threw a left at a second, barely clipping him on the chin.

From out of nowhere, I took a blow to the jaw. It gave one of the pricks time to jump on my back, and an arm cinched around my throat just as another guy kicked me in the gut.

Air busted from my lungs, leaving me gasping. A torrent of fists and feet came at me from every direction.

Blow after blow landed on my back and my head. On my face and my ribs.

And fuck. It hurt. It hurt like a motherfucker.

Pain splintered against the battering that sent darkness clouding my sight. Everything dimming.

I tried to remain upright. To stand under the attack. Throwing elbows and kicking and trying to break free. Landed a few meager hits. But this wasn’t gonna be a winning fight.

Someone got me at the temple, and I dropped to my knees like some kind of pathetic offering.

And I knew, with every part of me, that I deserved it.

Ten

Izzy

In the dimly lit kitchen, I fought to get the wrapper off a teabag. Apparently, wrangling it was some kind of enormous feat.

Finally, I managed it, and I dipped the bag into the cup of steaming hot water, praying it might bring me some sort of relief.

My hands were still shaking all these hours later.

Shaking and shaking.

Almost as hard as my heart that rattled in my ribcage, this bleeding organ that heaved and throbbed, firing off erratic pulses of regret and anger and torment that tremored through my entire being.

The house was stilled and sleeping, darkness oppressive were it cloaked the bank of windows at the far end of the kitchen. Branches clawed and screeched at the eaves, like a physical haunting of what had transpired this afternoon.

How many times had I imagined what Maxon’s reaction might be to learning about Benjamin?

The worry and the fear and this overwhelming sense of protection that would well at the thought of my boy suffering the cruelty of that sort of rejection?

My fingers trembled as I brought the cup to my mouth.

In all those nights I’d lain awake, plagued by the unknown, I’d never thought it’d go down quite like that.

Anger and resentment bleeding from us both.

“Izzy Mae.” The voice hit me from out of nowhere, and a high-pitched screech streaked up my throat, just about as quickly as I flew around. One of my hands darted out to the counter to keep myself steady while the other tried to keep the steaming-hot cup from sloshing everywhere.

“Mama. What in the world are you doin’ sneaking up on me like that? That’s not safe. Don’t you know you have a whole butcher block of knives sitting on the counter? I could have thought you were an intruder.”

She chuckled a little. “Getting away from yourself there, don’t you think?”

“Maybe.”

Okay. A whole lot.

But I was on edge.

A very, very sharp edge.

She waded deeper into the lapping darkness, her face coming in to view. Affection marred with a frown of worry. It was the same expression she’d been wearing all day. She blew out a sigh. “I couldn’t sleep. I knew I’d find you down here wearing a hole in the floors. Call it Mama’s intuition.”

Blowing out a sigh, I ran a hand through my hair and wished I had something more constructive to do with them. Someplace to divert the agitation.

This energy that made me want to run a half marathon.

Or maybe just crawl the walls.

“Yeah, I guess I couldn’t sleep, either.”

Her frown deepened, and she came closer, rounding one side of the island. “I’m so sorry.”

My brow twisted up. “What are you sorry for, Mama?”

Sadness left her on an undulating wave. “For letting the boys get out from under me. Mostly for forcing you into this before you were ready. I shouldn’t have done that. I just . . . wanted resolution. For you. For Benjamin. For Mack, too.”

“None of this is your fault.”

It was no one’s fault but Maxon’s and mine.