Page 3 of Hearts on the Line

“The PR position with the Monarchs is perfect for you. It’s a steady income with benefits, and you’d be back on the East Coast.” I try to interject, but she speaks over me. “Wasn’t that the whole point of giving up traveling around for stories nobody reads?”

Again, her support is clearly unwavering. My mother is about as maternal as, well… I’m not sure. Plenty of females eat their mates. There must be a female species that eats its children? My brother’s hamster did once.

It always feels like my mother and I can’t talk without chasing one another’s words. She’s used to everyone jumping when she snaps her fingers. But since I was born, she has loved to share how I’ve been the exception. Usually over canapes and a glass of sauvignon blanc in her hand, and that irritating laugh.

Remember? Constant disappointment.

“Canceling will cause too many problems. It’s easier to go through with it and settle things quietly afterward. Maybe cooler heads will prevail before anyone does something they regret.”

I’m going to be thirty this October. Jason and I were going to Bali for our honeymoon in a few weeks. We were renovating a brownstone in Manhattan.

“And if I tell you I can’t?” I hate the way my voice wobbles a little at the end. I swallow the panic in my throat and grab my phone again. Shit, twenty minutes until I’m expected to walk down that aisle.

“It’ll be the biggest mistake of your life.”

Maybe, but I can think of a few that I regret more.

I grab my purse and my sunglasses off the table. I root around, tossing out old receipts and that cookie dough protein bar I swore I would eat this time. It’ll likely face the same fate as the last one, which was a fixture for six months before I tossed it.

“I can’t, Mom.”

“Sloane?” I push past her, then through the others in the hallway. “Sloane!”

Instrumental pop songs filter through the tennis club as I weave through the guests in search of the parking lot. I hear whispers and feel the heat bite my cheeks until I burst outside and wave for the valet to bring my car around. I didn’t want a limo—too cliché.

I’m furious it’s a perfect July night, and until recently, I dreamed of being married by the ocean, certain I had found what I had been traveling the world over to find. Certain he would be my safe landing.

Jason Winthrope wasn’t it. Maybe he never was.

My dad’s 1970s Charger pulls up to the curb in front of me in a low, powerful roar. It’s the only thing I have left of his. It still faintly smells like cigarettes and his favorite pine-scented air freshener. I throw on my sunglasses and give my own wedding the quietest middle finger I can manage.

I throw the car into drive and head north toward the last place I felt like myself.

Toward somewhere I can finally breathe again.

I hope.

Chapter 2

Ethan

My little sister tosses her fork down. It clatters against my grandmother’s china plate—a worn shamrock pattern she insists on bringing out for family dinners.

“Fine, I’ll tell you, but don’t hate me,” she whispers harshly.

Annie Murphy has never been the most subtle out of the four of us, though she has the advantage of being the baby sister to three older boys.

My grandmother sits beside me at my parents’ house, chatting with the rest of her friends about the latest drama at the senior center.

“I won’t hate you,” I growl back. Judging by her eye roll, I may in a few minutes.

She picks up her fork, takes a bite of pickled red pepper, then sighs. “I got a call this afternoon. The other candidate passed because of the stipend or something. I got the fellowship!”

“That’s great.” I take a stab at my steak. “Why would I hate you?”

She shimmies like a terrified Chihuahua, practically springing from her spot next to me, and clutches her hands together. “I start next week.”

I freeze.