Pieces of Us (Confessions of the Heart 3)

He felt it, too.

Joy.

He couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“Doesn’t matter if you’re a dragon. You’re still my best friend. We can fly away together.”

“But what if I’m mean?”

She sat up, pushing off him. He sat up, too.

“You’re not mean.”

“Mack!”

They both cringed when his daddy’s voice cracked through the heavens. Coming from the direction of his house.

His house that was so much different than Izzy Lane’s.

Hers was like a castle.

His mama called theirs a shack.

But it hadn’t felt so small until his daddy had gotten back, out of prison for doin’ something bad, but his mama wouldn’t never tell him what it was. The only thing he knew was now everything felt different. Wrong and ugly and black.

“Mack!” his father shouted again, and fear slithered down Mack’s spine.

Izzy bit down on her bottom lip and grabbed his hand. He realized it was shaking. That his whole body was shaking.

She weaved her fingers through his, and she whispered, “Don’t worry, my dragon. I’ll save you, too.”

Twelve

Mack

Harsh rays of light impaled my face. I squeezed my eyes against them, desperate to cling to sleep.

Oblivion.

That’s right where I wanted to stay.

Reality danced at the periphery of my mind. A haze of blurred and distorted memories taunting me from the sidelines.

Getting ready to jump into the ring of chaos at the center of my brain.

Lying on my chest, I pressed my face into my pillow, trying not to groan out loud at the pain that splintered through my body.

Head to fucking toe.

What the hell happened last night?

Felt like I’d been put through a meat grinder.

Skin raw. Body stiff and brutally sore.

But none of that came close to the torture I could feel eating at the deepest depths of me.

No chance I could keep it at bay.

Nothing I could do to stop that face from slamming into my consciousness.

A wrecking ball.

Demolishing the foundation I’d built.

That kid. That kid.

My reason. The sacrifice I’d had to make.

No longer did any of it make sense.

Groaning low, I rolled onto my side. I had to drag myself out of this bed and face the boatload of bullshit I’d gotten myself into last night.

Was gonna be lucky if I didn’t find my ass chained to a desk job for the next six months.

Then I froze.

Awareness gripped me everywhere. A million tiny needles prickling across my skin.

Pained pleasure.

I pushed onto my hands and tried not to fucking toss what was left in my stomach at the punch of agony coming from my mangled body.

I ignored it, instead swinging my gaze to the side, breath fucking hitching in my throat as everything came rushing back in vivid colors and dramatic scenes.

She’d come to me.

Had been waiting for me.

Had stayed.

My gaze fixed on the oversized lounge chair that was usually under the window that had been pulled up close to my bed.

Girl curled up on it. Fast asleep.

Locks of that hair a shiny river cascading around her shoulders, a mess of blondes and browns that glinted in the light and had me wishing I could reach out and touch it.

Fist my hands in it.

Use it to hold her close.

Her tiny body—way too thin, still too goddam perfect—was contorted where she’d clearly been trying to find a comfortable spot.

A throw that barely covered half of her was twisted around her torso.

So pretty that looking at her hurt like a bitch, too.

Regret hurtled at me.

I’d felt it before, but never quite like this.

Never where I’d thought that maybe . . . maybe I should have made a different decision. Always thinking I’d been doing her the best that I could do her.

Ruining her in a way that would set her free.

Because I’d always known I couldn’t keep her.

My dick didn’t get the memo, though, fucker hard as steel where it was pressed to my bed. I pushed up to sitting, readjusting myself, trying not to moan.

Pain and need.

Pain and need.

Story of my fucking life.

I started to stand so I could slip into the bathroom when she stirred.

Those hazel eyes blinked open, intensity building as she came to the realization that she was right there.

With me.

Probably the last place that she wanted to be.

She scrambled to sit up, discomfort and uncertainty coming off her in waves. Slamming me. Ricocheting back.

Two of us lost to that power that cinched down tight.

The connection that had only been ours.

I scratched at the back of my neck, cleared my throat, barely peeked over at her, afraid that I might scare her away. “Hey.”

She heaved out a sigh and gathered the throw against her chest, clutching it like protection. She was still wearing the same pants that had made me want to come in mine from yesterday, her blouse wrinkled, her tiny feet bare.

Her eyes were sleepy and her lips were pouty, shyness creeping across her pale skin.

Sexy as fuck.

“Hey,” she whispered back. “How are you feelin’?”