He’d given it his best effort, but he wasn’t the same guy who had left. The shit that happened changed him. One night he’d shown up with flowers and chocolates only to find his house vacant. Divorce papers laid out on the counter.
The last time he’d reenlisted, Angela had told him she was done if he went through with it, but he hadn’t believed her. Hadn’t believed she’d actually leave. And she hadn’t. Not right away, anyway. But she’d never forgiven him, either. And that shit ate through their marriage.
He’d taken the flowers to his mother. The chocolates to Babushka. Bought himself a bottle of Jim Beam and tracked down his wife. Her mind was made up. Time to move on. He had downed the whiskey and signed the papers. Pretended to feel nothing. But inside? Inside he’d been shredded. A pile of mush stomped down with no hope for the future.
And, yeah, that’s when his family had started making decisions for him. He’d let them. They told him to be a florist? He agreed. They moved him back into the family home? He let them. He appreciated not having to think about shit. When they encouraged him to move into the apartment above the flower shop, he’d embraced that too.
But, fuck it all, he was ready to start making his own choices. Now he was ready to handle his own life. With gratitude for all they’d done, but with an eye for the future.
“When I convince her I’m all in, you will apologize.” He stared at his mother. “And then you’ll welcome her to the family, because she’s going to be part of it.”
The chains he’d wrapped around himself started to break free. He looked to Babushka. She nodded.
“She’s going to be part of it, even if we don’t work out. Even if she decides she wants someone else.” Now he was really on a roll. It’d have to be her who left, because there was no way he could choose to be away from her. “Because she loves Babushka. And Babushka loves her.”
He mother didn’t meet his stare.
“And I love her,” he continued over the lump in his throat.
And it’d taken him too long to realize that bit.
His mother’s expression softened. “Jason, if she means that much to you, then—”
“Then you’ll accept her. You’ll accept her, or you’ll lose me, too.” He didn’t need her acknowledgment. He knew she’d heard.
He had to get back to Heather. Back to her shop. He bolted to the ER entrance. Since he’d taken the ambulance with Babushka, he started to request a car on his phone app.
“I got you.” Roman stepped beside him, jingling his keys. “And I’m sorry I fucked this up.”
“You didn’t fuck it up.” Jase had done that all on his own.
Now he had to fix it. Stop running and letting life happen to him, and start taking it back. They piled into Roman’s rental and Jase dialed Heather’s number. The line went straight to voice mail, which was bullshit because she never turned off her phone. She’d leave it in her purse or around her apartment or in her office—but he never went straight to voice mail.
He’d hurt her and that was unacceptable.
Roman dropped him at her store. Jase shoved the front door open. She wasn’t up front.
“Where’s Heather?” he asked Candy.
Candy glanced up from ringing up a customer. “I thought she was with you?”
Fuck it. No.
He bolted through the kitchen, taking the stairs two at a time to her apartment. He knocked on her door.
She didn’t answer.
There was no tactical breathing now. He needed to find her. Needed to make this right.
He pounded harder.
Nothing.
28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
She’d broken it off. Heather refused to cry.
