Bitter Sweet Heart (Lies, Hearts & Truths #2)(68)

So I send one more message, to alleviate as much guilt as I can for her.

Maverick: You don’t need to placate me. I know there’s more at stake for you. I’d rather you say nothing at all than give me lip service. I think I’ve already proven I can be patient.





My finger hovers over the button for almost a minute before I press send.

Twenty seconds later, my phone rings. I blow out a breath, nerves making my throat feel tight. I wonder if this is how any of the girls I’ve ever dumped have felt. And if it is, I owe a lot of apologies.

I answer on the third ring. “Hey.”

“Don’t let me off the hook like that,” Clover says. “I knew what I was signing on for when I opened the door and let you into my house and my . . . life.”

“You set boundaries, and I kept trying to push them over.”

“And I let you.” She sighs. “I’m trying to sort out my feelings. And my motivation. I just need some time.”

“I get it. Try not to overthink things too much.” I flip the paper crane I keep on my dash between my fingers.

“That’s not my strong suit, but I’ll do my best. Enjoy your time with your family.”

“You too.”

I end the call feeling worse instead of better, which is something I’m not used to. This isn’t like my usual casual flings, where I can put my feelings in a box and leave them there. With Clover, I finally got what I’d been wanting since I walked into her classroom. Or even before that, when I left the crane at her place in Pearl Lake. Only now that I’ve had a taste of what it could be like, I want more. I feel the physical distance in more than just the states that separate us. I don’t know how to define the emotion, but the usual warmth I feel when I think about Clover has been replaced with a tightness in my chest that I don’t know how to alleviate.

I grab my bag from the back seat, half-hoping everyone is in bed already, but I can see the glow of the TV from the living room as I make my way up the front steps of the wraparound porch.

I stand there, breath leaving me in cold bursts, psyching myself up to deal with whoever is awake and shoving down the worry that over the next two weeks, Clover is going to decide the risks outweigh the orgasms.

There’s nothing I can do about it.

Considering how much of a mess my head is already, I should probably cut and run—tell her it’s not a good idea to keep doing this. For her sake. But I don’t want to.

I open the door and step inside the front foyer. Lavender and River’s shoes sit on the mat next to the door, and I toe mine off too, putting them beside River’s and hanging my coat in the closet. I set my bag at the foot of the stairs.

I’d avoid everyone, but that will raise red flags, so instead, I grab a beer from the fridge and a bag of chips from the pantry—my mom has stocked up on all our favorites—and cross through to the living room.

My sister and mom are curled up on the couch, watching a Marvel movie, a bowl of popcorn on the cushion between them. A glass of white wine—probably a Riesling, if I had to guess, since that’s my mom’s favorite—sits on the side table beside her. Lavender has some kind of cooler. She’s not legal to drink yet, but my dad is Canadian, and the drinking age in Canada is nineteen in most provinces, so that’s always been Lavender’s defense. Besides, she likes the sugary drinks you’d have to consume in mass quantities to even get a buzz, and she usually limits herself to one or two.

“Hey! My favorite second-born son is finally home. I was starting to worry about you. I’d thought you’d be here for dinner.” Mom throws off the blanket and opens her arms.

I set the beer and bag of chips on the side table beside my dad’s lounger and fold my mom into a hug.

“Sorry, my shift at the gym ran a little longer than anticipated, and I had a few things I needed to take care of at the house before I left.”

“It’s okay. You’re here now. Did you eat dinner? Can I heat something up for you? Lavender made shepherd’s pie. I can make a plate for you.”

“I’m good. I grabbed dinner in Chicago. Where’s Dad?”

“He was snoring, so we sent him to bed,” Lavender says. She tosses a piece of popcorn in the air and tries to catch it with her mouth, except she misses and it rolls to the floor.

“He had an early morning and a busy day,” Mom adds. Her gaze moves over my face, and her hands rest on my biceps. “You look tired, honey. Lots of late-night studying?”

I nod. “Yeah. I’ll catch up over the break.”

She hmms and picks a piece of lint off my shirt. “Some of the boys are planning to go to the arena early tomorrow morning, so be prepared for a knock on your door first thing. And then your dad and I are taking off for a couple of days with the rest of the old people.”

“Another one of those last-minute vacay deals Dad couldn’t resist organizing?” They do this almost every year—disappear for a couple of days with their friends right before the family descends for the holidays.

“Mmm . . . You know what he’s like. We’ll only be gone for two nights. Then the grandparents will arrive. I’ll leave all the details for you.”

“Okay. Sounds good.” At least it gives me a couple of days to shake the funk I’m in. Hopefully.