Page 169 of Breakaway Hearts

She doesn’t say anything, which may be related to her eyes going all watery, but she nods and lets me take her in my arms.

“I’ve got you, Babe. Whatever you need,” I promise.

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Madison

Fucking pissed

There’s a note on the pillow from Owen when I wake up, saying he’s out for a run with the guys, which is insane with the snow, how early it is, and how late we went to bed.

Still, I go downstairs and put the coffee on, then start making breakfast, listening to Willow Hayes on my phone and singing along to her Bad Bitch anthem like I don’t have a care in the world. Which is far from the truth, but I do feel lighter than I have in a while. And it’s nice to pretend.

I turn the heat down when the doorbell rings, wiping my hands on a dish towel. Cooking is not my strong suit, but I’m doing my best to thank the guys for last night.

“All five of you forgot your keys?” I ask when I open the front door, remembering to twist the handle up.

Instead of the guys, though, I’m faced with a man in a black sports jacket, holding a manila envelope, and I deeply regret opening the door without checking first. I don’t live here, and they’re not home, which I definitely don’t want this man to find out.

“Owen’s in the shower,” I lie quickly. “He should be out in a minute, but⁠—”

“Madison Finch?” he cuts me off.

“How did you…who told you I’d be here?” Jason is the only one who knows. Unless something happened to the guys on their run?

“You are Madison Finch?” he confirms without answering.

“Yes, but I⁠—”

“You’ve been served.” He hands me the envelope, takes a picture of me holding it, then leaves before my brain catches up.

“Who was that?” Owen jogs up the stairs and opts to give me a kiss on the cheek instead of a sweaty hug.

“I have no idea,” I tell him.

“Is that for us?” Mike asks, but both he and Dave look nervous.

I shake my head and slowly open it, finding a cease-and-desist letter.

“What is it?” Owen asks.

“Trevor is suing me for defamation.” I try to take deep breaths, anticipating the panic attack, but I just feel exhausted and numb. Until I see the letterhead.

“Is that….”

“They’re using Pruitt & Dobbs as their law firm,” I agree. I don’t want to cry. I really don’t want this to bother me so much, when it’s nothing compared to what I’d been expecting. But it’s a betrayal and it hurts.

“Fucking assholes,” is a shared sentiment as Colt and Owen come to peer over my shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Owen asks me, full of concern.

Obviously, I’m not. I want to crawl under the covers and never get out of bed, but that doesn’t feel like an option, so I take a deep breath and try to think of actual next steps, but there are no good solutions.

I could take it down, like the letter asks. I could apologize. Say I was wrong, that I made it all up, and I’m sure it would all go away.

But I can’t. And I’m not. Sorry or wrong. Trevor did everything I accused him of, and I am not going to apologize for making it harder for him to do it again.

“I’m fucking pissed,” I announce. It feels infinitely better than the broken I was gearing up to be.