Beckett gaped at me and then laughed. Not a pleasant sound. It jarred my bones and hurt my heart.

“Of course.” He continued to rub at that spot on his chest. That horrible spot.

“I need to get back in and make sure the Webbers haven’t started using their body parts to make art.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the fifty-dollar bill he had handed me earlier.

“I won’t take your money. You don’t need to pay for anything.” Beckett stared at me. Confused. Angry. Hurt.

I knew what he saw on my face.

Fear.

“I came to your workshop. I’m paying.”

I wasn’t in the mood to argue about it. I didn’t feel like engaging in witty banter either. So I pocketed the money again and shrugged.

“You can come another time and make something. Get your money’s worth.”

“Are you telling me to leave?” Beckett asked, his face dark.

“No! I’m just…I was just saying—”

I didn’t know what I was saying.

All I knew was that I was scared.

Of so many things.

So I did what I did best. Curl into a ball and pretend like the world around me didn’t exist.

“I get it. I really do,” he said quietly, with obvious disappointment and a whole lot of hurt.

No, he didn’t get it. Not one little bit.

“I’ll see you in group,” he said.

“Sure.” One word. So loaded. So heavy.

“Bye, Corin,” Beckett said, his eyes seeking me out. I knew he wanted me to say something.

Anything.

But I couldn’t.

Silence was all I could give him.

Chapter 13

Corin

I had told myself I wouldn’t go back to the Mended Hearts support group.

I had planned to avoid Beckett.

I spent the weekend since the disastrous pottery class convincing myself that distance was the best for both of us. That a relationship between us would never work.

I had my issues. Mountains of them.

He had his. And they were possibly life ending.

Memories of my father as he had been after losing my mother played like a movie on an endless loop in my mind.

I remember hearing him sob at night, long after I was supposed to be asleep.

His grief was a tangible thing that strangled him. Weakened him. Destroyed him.

Until I lost him too.

The possibility of facing that kind of anguish again left me paralyzed.

I wasn’t sure how to get around any of it. No matter how much I wanted to.

Because for the first time in my life, I felt something good. Something real.

Something that was all mine.

And that kiss had shown me that I could have everything I had ever wanted. With Beckett.

Connection. Foundation.

Love.

I played the kiss over and over again in my head. The feel of his lips. The way he had said my name like I was the air he breathed. My heart sped up at the memory that I couldn’t shake.

Beckett Kingsley had found his way under my skin, and I didn’t see a way to dig him out. Not without inflicting some serious damage.

Nope. The best thing was to cut all ties. To pretend that everything that had transpired between Beckett and me didn’t matter. It was all surface stuff. Nothing substantial.

And if I were Pinocchio, my nose would have grown a good ten feet.

It was becoming extremely difficult to lie to myself where Beckett was concerned.

So of course I found myself at the Methodist church on Tuesday evening.

I hadn’t seen or spoken to Beckett in days. I ignored his calls. I purposefully didn’t read his texts.

I was behaving like a stone-cold bitch.

My sister would be proud.

I stayed in bed all day Saturday and most of Sunday, only getting up when my own smell threatened to make me ill. I was plagued with fevered nightmares that wouldn’t go away, strengthening my resolve to cut Beckett from my life before things went too deep.

But on Tuesday I knew I had to see him.

I couldn’t stay away.

I was tired of being alone, stricken with anxiety. Incapacitated with fear and doubts.

Meeting and getting to know Beckett had shown me how much I was missing. How much better life could be.

Because I had already jumped into the deep end and I definitely couldn’t swim.

But I knew that I really wanted to learn.

“You look…nice,” Adam said, looking up as I walked into the store that morning.

I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic. Sure I had been wallowing in bed for the better part of three days, but I had made a point to shower and had even shaved. That had to count for something, right?

“Uh, thanks?” I posed the statement more as a question, though I gave Adam a smile.

I walked back to the office and sat down at my desk, turning the computer on. I pulled out my phone and turned it on, not surprised to see a text from Beckett.

I didn’t read it, knowing I’d see him later. I had made the only decision I could make. Anything that needed saying would be said face-to-face. Not over the phone.

“Do you have a moment? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” Adam appeared in the doorway, standing with his hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes not quite meeting mine. He had a strange note in his voice but I wasn’t really in the mood for whatever he had to say. It was most likely to tell me that the plumbing was backed up or that he was wondering if I had noticed the giant zit in the middle of my forehead—which I had, no need to bring it up.

“Not really. I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on.”

Adam was quiet for a long time. I chanced a glance and was surprised to see that he looked…hurt?

Did Adam Johnson even get hurt feelings? I thought his heart was coated in Teflon.

“You’re wearing makeup. That’s weird. Are you going to see that heart guy?” he probed before I could recant my bitchy comment. Adam never probed. What was up with him? I was feeling almost violated.

“Uh. I have support group tonight if that’s what you’re asking,” I answered, clicking the Excel icon on my desktop and opening the spreadsheets I had been working on last week.

“Are you two dating?”

I scrolled through the meaningless numbers, feeling uncomfortable. Now was not the time for him to play interested friend. I wasn’t in the mood to talk about Beckett.

“Did the Goldstein party come in on Saturday?” I asked, changing the subject.

Adam didn’t respond. He continued to stand there. He normally didn’t notice much. Today he was entirely too observant.

“How are you feeling?” Adam asked, not answering my question.

“What do you want me to say? That I feel like shit? Because you’ve never seemed very bothered by my health before. Is Mercury in retrograde or something?” I snipped.

“Just because I don’t ask you every three seconds how you’re feeling doesn’t mean I don’t care. I know you like to play the suffering martyr all alone in her tower. But that stuff is completely in your head. Just so you know,” Adam stated rather heatedly.

“What in the world crawled up your ass?” I frowned at him.

“I know you sit around thinking no one cares about you. No one listens. Well, I listen. I just wish you would return the favor once in a while. You’re not the only one with stuff that needs unloading,” he huffed.

“Whoa, Adam, what’s going on—”

“Forget it. Hope you feel better.” Then he walked out of the room.

And I was left very, very confused.

And feeling like a big jerk.

—