He flinched. “Polly? She was here?”
“I can’t remember her name! Brown eyes. Tattoos down her arm like she rides a Harley and lives in the sticks. Isthatwhat you want?”
Polly was here. And she’d met Bronte. “What did you say to her?”
“She saw the ring, if that’s what you’re asking. Guess I did your dirty little breakup for you.”
She saw the ring. She saw thefucking ring. “Get out.”
“What?”
“Get the hell out, Bronte.Now!”
This time she flinched. “You can’t be serious…”
“Either you walk out on your own, or I’ll make you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
She gasped in a puff of air before swallowing. “Fine. But this isn’t over!” She grabbed her suitcase from beside the bed and stormed toward the door.
He hadn’t even heard the click of the door before he hit Polly’s number on his phone. She didn’t answer.
Shit.
He tried again.
Nothing.
He grabbed his keys and ran. He needed to find her. He needed her to know that he loved her. That she, and she alone, was all he wanted. Because the alternative was losing her. And there was no fucking way he was letting that happen.
15
Tears blurred the road in front of Polly, but she blinked them away.
Dammit, she didn’t want to cry. She wanted to be angry—angry at herself for breaking her own rules, angry that the first man she’d let in had hurt her, angry that she’d made herself vulnerable, only to have her heart stomped on.
A tear slipped down her cheek and she scrubbed it away.
The gray sky darkened above and raindrops hit her windshield. She didn’t know where she was going, just…away. Away from him and his house and the devastation that was pressing on her chest.
Stupid. She felt so incrediblystupid. Her entire life, her mother’s example had trained her,drilledinto her, that nothing good came from trusting a man. And even less came from falling for them.
Yet here she was, heart ripped from her chest because for a fleeting moment, she’d done everything she knew she shouldn’t.
She punched the wheel as if violence could fix this. Dull the pain or at least make it lessen. It didn’t.
Her phone vibrated from the middle console. She told herself not to look. She screamed it in her head. But she did anyway.
His name flashed across the screen. And even now, even after she’d just learned he had a damn fiancée, shestillwanted to hear his voice.
What was wrong with her? Was it genetic? As a Mack, was she just destined to love and then hurt?
She tightened her fingers around the wheel to stop from answering the call. When it finally stopped ringing, she wasn’t sure if she was happy or not. Did she want to hear his side? Did she want to know why he hadn’t told her he was engaged?
The phone rang again.
