Unbreak My Hart (The Notorious Harts 4)

‘I’m in your head because I’m in your heart.’

A harsh laugh. ‘You are unbelievable. How many times and in how many ways can I tell you that I don’t love you?’ She glares at me, her words like arrows darting through my bloodstream. ‘And, what’s more, I honestly think I hate you right now.’

I compress my lips, wanting to fight but also knowing maybe she’s right. I have been ignoring her this whole time, ignoring what she’s said because I’ve had faith in how I think we both feel.

‘You don’t mean anything to me. In a week’s time I won’t even remember your name.’ Her chin tilts defiantly and she holds my gaze for several seconds before stalking away from me. I watch her go, my gut twisting, and the worst of it is, I don’t doubt her words any more. When Avery decides to do something she’s unstoppable and right now she’s decided to erase me from her life.

She’s been trying to push me away from the beginning and, finally, I have to let her, even when that hurts like hell.

* * *

I have no idea if he passed my message along to the Harts. Maybe he did and they’re just really bad at taking no for an answer as well because, six weeks after I left Barrett’s hotel room, it’s become impossible to ignore them.

It started slowly. An email from Jagger, which I ignored. Then an email from Theo, and finally from Holden. A second email from Jagger mentioned Barrett and my heart almost froze in my chest.

Barrett’s explained that we need to take it slowly. We just want to meet you—to get to know you, little by little.

Barrett explaining anything about me fills me with a strange ache low in my chest.

Six weeks since I last saw him and I have barely stopped thinking about him. After two weeks I forced myself to accept that it’s more than sexual infatuation. If that were the case, I could go to a bar and hook up with some other guy, just like I used to. But I don’t want that. My body craves Barrett.

And it’s so much more. Tears fill my eyes when I think of the time we spent together. Every conversation is scored like lines in my heart. Worst of all is that last one.

I don’t love you. I will never love you. I’m not interested in you for that.

I will never forget the way his face moved in response to those words. The look in his eyes—hurt and sadness—and all because of me.

You don’t mean anything to me. In a week’s time I won’t even remember your name.

If only he knew that I have remembered his name and everything about him every single minute since that night. If only he knew? I shake my head because if he knew that it would mean—something terrifying. Something real.

I don’t fear closeness like you do.

Maybe he was right. Maybe that’s why I’ve been alone for so long—maybe this is less about independence and more about fear? Maybe the reason I have been point-blank refusing to have the Harts in my life is because I’m afraid that if I let them in we’ll grow close and then they’ll hurt me or leave me.

My stomach twists and my breath burns.

I’ve been through this time and time again over the last six weeks, until my brain feels like it’s mushy and my head about to explode. I suppose I’ve agreed to meet them to prove him wrong, in a way. To show him—and myself—that I’m not afraid of this.

But honestly, I am. I’m terrified. I stand outside the hotel—despite having a hotel and casino in San Francisco they’ve chosen a neutral location, perhaps out of deference to me. It’s thoughtful but it hasn’t ultimately helped my nerves.

I am freaking out.

At least in meeting them today I can get them off my back. They’re not going to let this go, so by coming here, letting them see me, ask me whatever they want to know, I can go away again and put them out of my mind.

I stare at the sign, knowing they’re waiting for me—I should have been inside fifteen minutes ago. But my knees are weak and all I want, in this moment, is Barrett. I wish he were here. I wish he were standing beside me, holding my hand, walking in with me. I would feel so much better if I were doing this with him.

The thought fires something in my belly. Frustration, because since when did I become dependent on anyone? Let alone him. I can do this.

I use that thought to propel me forward, inside the glass doors and across the foyer. A receptionist smiles up at me.

‘Good evening, ma’am. Can I help you?’

‘Thanks. I was told I’d need a key to access the elevators—I’m going to the penthouse.’

‘Yes. Do you have some ID, Miss Maxwell?’

I flash my driver’s licence and the receptionist studies it for a moment then smiles and hands me a key card. ‘Elevators are to the left.’