Page 19 of Fractured Heart

“I’m so sorry!” I wail, taking a small step back.

I can’t fix this. I’ll never be able to pay for the water damage, let alone replace that expensive-looking rug. I don’t even think Father could afford to pay for the damage on his coach’s salary…not that he’d ever spend his hard-earned money on a mess like me. I’m legally an adult. I’ll probably end up in prison and I’ll definitely end up homeless.

“Roonie!” Tate takes a step forward.

“I didn’t mean to. I swear it was an accident!” I cry, scrambling away from him. The floor is slick and wet, and I lose my balance. I throw my arms out to regain purchase and my jeans and sweater slip from my fingers. They plop loudly onto the flooded floor while my feet continue to slip and slide.

“Watch out,” Tate cries, grabbing me before I can slam into the counter. Somehow, he manages to keep us both upright. He pulls me against his chest, hard, and I cry out as pain reverberates down my ribs and back.

Tate instantly loosens his grip, but that doesn’t lessen the pain. Then, the door across the hall bangs open and I feel like I might throw up.

“What did you do?” Charles shouts, splashing through the water to get to us.

I start to back away again, but Tate’s grip keeps me in place. When Charles reaches us—dressed in a pair of black boxer briefs hugging thick, muscular thighs—I have to force myself not to stare. I start to look up, but my eyes lock on his huge, muscular chest.

What kind of person does this make me? I just destroyed the apartment, and what am I doing? Ogling the beast’s perfectly sculpted pecs.

Charles takes in the flooded bathroom floor and then his gaze locks on mine. His huge, beastly beard makes it hard to tell just how angry he is…which must be very, very angry. Livid, even.

I brace myself for the shouting and accusations. It’s the least I deserve.

Tate tightens his arms around me, as if sensing my urge to escape, but Charles doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t so much as raise an eyebrow before spinning around and splashing his way back to his room.

“I’m so sorry,” I shout after him, but Charles keeps walking. He can’t stand the sight of me and after what I’ve done, and I can’t really blame him.

“Roonie.” Tate grabs my shoulders. “Look at me.”

“N-no.” I whimper. I try to push him away, and his grip tightens.

“Everything’s going to be okay.”

“How can you say that?” I cry. My entire body starts to tremble, and I struggle to catch my breath. “I ruined your bathroom and probably your entire living room. I might have ruined your apartment! Then, you’ll be homeless too…and…and…”

“Hey…hey!” Tate scoops me up into his arms.

“Let me go. Please!” I struggle to break free. I can’t let him toss me out without Mom’s necklace.

“Roonie, stop! I don’t want to drop you,” Tate warns, keeping his grip firm as he carries me into the living room.

The curtains are pulled back to reveal large floor-to-ceiling windows. The balcony doors are closed, keeping out the chilly night air, and the overwhelming scent of vanilla in. I take one look at the flooded floor, with the soggy white rug submerged in bubbles, and slam my eyes shut. I ruined everything!

Another sob escapes as Tate splashes to his destination. I wait for him to open the front door and toss me out. It’s the least I deserve after what I’ve done, and I have no right to ask to go back for Mom’s necklace.

Tate takes a few more steps and sets me down. My eyes fly open, expecting to see the door, but I’m surprised to find myself in front of the kitchen island. Tate faces me and I wait for him to start shouting.

For a second, I worry he might hit me, just like Father, then shake off the absurd thought. Not everyone is like that, especially not Tate. And if there’s a villain in this story, it’s definitely me.

Tate takes a step forward and I cringe instinctively. “I’m so sorry, Roonie,” he whispers, pulling me into a tight hug. His body feels warm and solid, but I don’t let myself enjoy being wrapped in his arms.

“I’m the one who flooded your apartment,” I cry, trying to pull away. Tate doesn’t let go.

“I should have turned off the water,” Tate whispers against my ear. “I shouldn’t have left you alone after what you’ve been through.”

“I was the one who wasn’t paying attention. It was all my fault, Tate.”

“No, it wasn’t. You’re injured and you took all those painkillers. And I had my headphones in, so I couldn’t hear anything.” Tate hugs me tighter. “I should never have left you alone like that. You could have drowned!”

“Drowned?” I shake my head against his chest. “Tate, I’m fine.”