Page 108 of Savage Heart

“Are you listening?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say, starting to cry again.

She groans and then crosses her arms, watching as I stand up and wash my face.

“It is Lincoln’s, isn’t it?”

I stare at her in shock. “Yes.”

“That boy is dead—how do you expect to take care of a baby?”

“Mom!”

She shrugs. “You should sleep with the Harrington boy and say it’s his. Should’ve gone after him to begin with. He’s the one you always wanted . . . He was just out of your league.” She laughs. “But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t sleep with you.” She points at me. “Then you and a baby would be set for life.”

“I would never do that,” I tell her.

“Well, don’t expect me to help you take care of another mouth,” she says.

I go back to my room, shutting the door as I sob.

How is Lincoln dead? What is this nightmare I’m living?

And Maverick—God, Maverick. My best friend, or so I thought. He won’t even look at me. I’ve tried to talk to him, but he won’t return my calls. At the hospital that night, he turned his back on me like I’m poison.

Thank you, Iris. Please, promise me you won’t ever tell anyone the truth. It’s best this way. Those are the last words Lincoln said to me before the ambulance came.

I shouldn’t have let him drive repeats in my head nonstop.

That afternoon, for the first time in weeks, the nausea eases up. My stomach growls, and I actually crave something—Nonna’s spaghetti.

Nonna Bella always slips a cannoli and tiramisu in for me because she knows I love her desserts. She adores Maverick and Lincoln, so there’s also an extra helping of lasagna for Maverick. Extra meatballs for Lincoln. She’d listen to his football games on the radio at the restaurant on the nights she had to work.

I pull on a hoodie and drive into town. I haven’t been in a car since Otis took me home from the hospital, but I need this. A little normalcy.

Nonna’s behind the counter, her dark hair pulled back and her apron dusted with flour. She looks up, and her usually warm eyes go cold, lips thinning into a flat line.

“Iris,” she says, spitting out my name.

“Hi, Nonna,” I manage, voice small. I thought she adored me too, but if she did, those feelings are long gone now. “Can I get spaghetti to go? Please?”

She nods curtly, then turns to the kitchen.

I stand there, fighting tears, the pain twisting in my chest. I’m the villain who took him away.

Nonna comes back out and hands me the bag.

“That’ll be eight dollars,” she mutters, not meeting my eyes.

I pay and mumble my thanks, turning to leave before the sobs break free.

That’s when I spot Brandon at a corner table. Our eyes lock for a second, and something flashes across his face—sorrow and . . . regret, maybe? He must’ve seen the exchange with Nonna, because he stands, chair scraping loud against the floor.

“Iris,” he says, voice low as he approaches. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I clutch the bag tighter.

He shifts, and his eyes fall to the floor. “I can’t stand this anymore.” He finally meets my gaze. “We need to tell everyone what really happened.”