Pieces of Us (Confessions of the Heart, #3)(2)

Soggy cries were still coming from his kids, though somehow the volume had decreased by a decibel, the guy no doubt managing to soothe them.

“Uh . . . that asshole got disbarred and then went and got married and inherited a brood of kids. He’s been unmanned.” His words left him on a self-deprecating chuckle.

“And you need me to rescue you? Whisk you away to safety?”

Or more likely, hit up Monty’s, our favorite bar in Charleston. Of course, now that he’d moved back to Broadshire Rim, those nights spent bellied up to the bar came fewer and farther in between.

More laughter, softer this time as the hiccupped cries of his children faded. “Nah, man, wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

There was nothing but tenderness in his voice.

Couldn’t help the way gratitude stretched across my chest.

Ian used to spend his nights living the fast life.

Now he was living the good life.

That was the thing though . . .

Sometimes it was the hardest fall that cracked the mold and opened us up to something greater than we ever imagined. And Ian had slipped, shattered, and broken at Grace’s feet.

She had been exactly what he’d needed, what he’d had no clue he’d been looking for. She was the one who’d been there to make sure when he’d healed, he healed with a whole heart.

It was one of the things I’d wanted most in this life—to see Ian and his older brother Jace find joy outside the unfair brutality that had been our childhood.

It’d been so fucked up, it was a damned wonder that any one of us were still standing today.

Maybe it was the fact I was thinking about us in high school, or maybe it was the simple fact my ass was in Broadshire Rim on a diaper run, but the second I even cracked my mind open to that time, a flood of memories came rushing up through the fissures.

It was a wave of that old bullshit I never allowed myself to agonize or fret or fucking brood over.

What was done was done.

I’d made my own choices. Followed the path that was set.

Even if it wasn’t the one I’d wanted to take, I was committed to it. Knew it was what I was meant for. Proof of that was the badge in my pocket and the gun strapped to my side.

I shook off that bullshit and pasted on a smile. “Hold tight, brother. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

Ending the call, I shoved my phone into my front pocket and went for my wallet.

There was only one woman ahead of me who was unloading a few things she had from a small, hand-held basket.

I wasn’t really paying all that much attention, but there was something about her that had me doing a double take.

Gaze getting tossed from my wallet to the shape in front of me.

My heart rate kicked, a smack of uneasiness slamming into my senses.

But that was the thing about the past. It liked to haunt you. Just like it’d been doing not twenty seconds before. That’s what happened when you let the shit you couldn’t control get to you. When you let the past remind you of what you’d lost and what you’d never fucking have.

She loaded her things onto the conveyor belt, a couple boxes of cereal, apples, oranges, and bananas. She seemed to waver before she tossed a lipstick onto the pile, like she wasn’t quite sure if she should buy it or not.

Maybe it was the price or the color or the necessity. Or maybe she was just throwing off the vibe that she was questioning everything.

Just. Like. Me.

Because my mouth felt sticky, and my head felt light. That crazed feeling of being willing to do anything to protect a girl welled so fast I felt it like the surge of a storm.

With her back to me, I took her in from head to toe, trying to slough the familiarity from my bones. To remind myself that it just wasn’t possible.

Still, my eyes were held, taking her in.

Lush locks tumbled in loose waves down her back. This crazy, wild mix of blondes and browns that shimmered like bronze beneath the light.

She was short, but wearing black high heels, a black skirt, and a white blouse. Dressed up, but somehow, she still appeared a little disheveled.

Like maybe she was wearing an extra layer of anxiety.

Too thin and too frail and too vulnerable.

A spike of energy pulsed at my veins, and a goddamned stone ridged itself in my throat.

I tried to swallow it down. Exactly like I was trying to do with the moment’s idiocy. There was no chance . . . no way— She shifted to the side, and her profile came into view, and my heart that was beating double time completely stalled out, faltering at the sight in front of me.

My skin went clammy at the same second I was belted with a punch of lust.

Overwhelming.

The same fucking way it’d always been.

And there I was, out of control as I raced down that freeway, a collision coming into a quick, sharp view.

Izzy Lane was standing three feet away.

The girl had been a hazard for me. I’d never once been able to look at her without getting greedy. Wanting to take it all.

The most striking, unforgettable girl a man could ever hope or dread to stumble upon.

Sexy as fuck.

The kind of sexy that had gotten under my skin and wedged itself deep. Kind that had kept me awake at night, dreaming of things I couldn’t have.

I’d learned that the hard way.

Still, I just stood there gaping while every cell in my body screamed, stretching that way, like it was remembering its home.