Page 3 of Fractured Hearts

“He drove over here for that?” she asks, folding her arms and watching me.

“I haven’t been answering his texts.” I say, watching as my mom searches my expression for a lie. It’s not a lie. I haven’t been answering anyone.

She nods, uncrossing her arms. “Best get to it then.”

I take the stairs two at a time, knowing she’s watching me and I look too eager. But I have to get out of here.

If Ezra can’t live out his dreams right now, I’ll do it for him. I’ll keep them safe for him until we find him. Just like I’ll keep his heart safe. I just hope he’s keeping mine safe. Wherever he is.

one

MAVERICK

6 MONTHS AGO

“Mav? Where are you?”

“In here, Jo,” I call from the kitchen. Jo moved in with me a few months ago after a fallout with Willa. I can’t say I hate it. I was lonely, even with my friends living next to me. Jo keeps me in check. She listens to me without judgement. It took me off guard how quickly she became my best friend, but I’m so glad she is. I’m not sure I would’ve been able to get through the last year without her.

My smile falters when I see her walk into the kitchen in skintight blue leggings and a white t-shirt. Jo is attractive. There’s no denying it. Her body is tight and muscular, but with curves in all the right places. Her hair is a golden blonde that brings out her blue eyes. She’s someone I would’ve picked up on tour, but I’m not doing that anymore. Not since we found out Ezra is alive somewhere.

“What’s that?” I ask, seeing something in her hand.

“Your dad’s journal,” she says, almost sheepishly. Jo is the least timid person I know. Willa is a close second. Both women would go toe to toe with a man three times their size and make him feel like an ant. So I know this is for my benefit.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” she asks, taking a seat on the counter next to where I’m buttering toast.

“Don’t dull your personality to make me comfortable.”

“It’s been a lot for you recently,” she says, cracking a smile when I glare at her for stealing my toast. She takes a big bite and smiles wider.

“I’m going to the therapist you found for me. I talk to you when things get to be too much.” I turn to face her, leaning my hip on the counter. “Don’t tiptoe around me.”

“Fine. I think we should read more of this today,” Jo says, handing me my dad’s journal. Harrison gave it back to me yesterday, and I haven’t wanted to open it.

The small book sits in my hand, unassuming and innocent looking. But my dad was anything but innocent. I’m afraid of what I’ll find in its pages.

“I’ll stay with you, and we can stop if you need to,” Jo says, reaching for my hand and squeezing. I know she means it. Jo has held me when I cried on more nights than I’m comfortable admitting.

“Fine,” I sigh. Jo just smiles and takes the plate of toast, hopping off the counter and going to the couch.

I take my spot next to her, our thighs touching so we can both see the journal, and open it to the first page.

Your mother’s name was Abigail, and she was beautiful . . .

two

JO

Maverick’s tears have long since dried as I run my fingers through his thick, dark hair. He’s asleep on my lap. Learning about the mother you’ll never get the chance to know from the perspective of the father you thought you knew was hard on him. It was hard to read, even for me. I cried right along with him. His pain was palpable.

James detailed a teenage romance that you see in movies. He really loved Abigail. They were happy together. They were both overjoyed at the unplanned pregnancy, mapping out their future as a family. Then all that was stolen from them by the person closest to them.

“Sorry,” Mav mumbles. I remove my hand so he can turn to face me. His heartbroken eyes find mine, and I run my knuckles softly down his cheek.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”