Shattered Heart: The Donnellys, Book 3 (22 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

C
yn sat across from Angie in a booth at their favorite pizza place. Right when Cyn was ready to leave the office, Angie had strolled in, long legs wrapped in new skinny jeans, and a new pair of black patent leather Doc Martens on her feet. Her sister had inherited their father’s darker features, where Cyn was a mix of both of their parents. Tonight, Angie’s long, almost black hair, had been straightened to perfection, and skimmed her lower back. Her sister loved to alternate between long waves from hot-rollers or a curling iron, or pulling it straight with a flat iron. Either way it always looked beautiful.

Angie bit into her slice of Hawaiian pizza. “So, tell me how things are with Shane?” she mumbled around her mouthful of food.

“Fine, I guess. He redid my living room. It’s beautiful of course.” Cyn picked a piece of pineapple off her slice and tossed it into her mouth.

“I heard. Can’t wait to see it. Very sweet of him, Cyn.”

“Yeah. I know. Handy around the house,
and
the sex is mind-blowing.”

“Oooh, juicy, juicy. Tell me more.”

Cyn laughed. “No.”

“Brat. You know I’m not getting any right now.”

“Anyway…” Cyn sipped her soda. “Thanks for bringing that shit up last week.”

“It was an accident. You act like I did it on purpose.” Angie took another bite of her pizza.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you did.”

Her sister frowned. “Don’t be like that, Cyn.”

“Fine.” Silence stretched between them and Cyn busied herself by eating as her ever-present agitation vibrated her limbs. Her temper was getting the better of her more and more—like all of the freaking time now. With everyone. Except not so much with Angie, at least not until right then.
Shit!
Cyn flopped her pizza onto the plate and blew out a breath.

Why the hell couldn’t she get herself straight? Cyn could barely make it five minutes without something or someone pissing her off. Dealing with clients had turned into a nightmare too. By the time each day had finished tension had built so high within her, she thought she might explode. And then she usually would. Most times at Shane.

At first, she’d chalked up her moodiness to what had happened with Carlos. But for fuck’s sake, it’d been almost three weeks since “the night” and nothing had gotten better.
Fuck!
Cyn looked at her sister. “Well as a result, we had a big fight.”

“You and Shane?” Angie grabbed another slice.

“No, me and Santa Claus. Who do you think, Angie? God!”

“What? God nothing, Cyn. It was
just
a question. You should try answering instead of jumping down my throat and trampling my lungs.”

Cyn brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Fine. Yes. Shane and I had a big fight. Better?”

“Getting there.” Angie rolled her eyes and lifted her pizza. “Maybe that’s why he redid the living room for you. So what happened?”

Cyn rolled her eyes. “He wanted to know what you were talking about. He wouldn’t drop it.” She shrugged. “So I changed the subject.”

Angie bit into her pizza and again spoke with her mouth full. “To what?”

Cyn crossed her arms and sneered. “You have heinous table manners.” She handed her sister a napkin from the dispenser.

“Whatever.”

“I asked him when he was leaving.”

“No shit. That’s harsh, Cyn. What’d he say?”

“I don’t think it was harsh at all.” Cyn chuckled, wondering what Angie’s response would be next. “He said he’d leave after I’d had a session with a counselor.”

“Interesting.” Angie set her pizza down and wiped her mouth and hands with the napkin before taking a sip of soda.

Irritation flowed through Cyn’s veins like ice water. She expected Angie to say something, anything. Ask questions, or whatever. She’d deal. But she didn’t know how to perceive the whole bunch of nothing coming her way. Why the hell was her sister stalling? “
What
? Just say it!”

Angie leveled her gaze on Cyn, pulled her hair over one shoulder and leaned forward. “What I’ll say is, why don’t you lower your voice, hmm? We don’t really need the whole restaurant to hear your fit.” Angie sat back in a huff.

Cyn glanced around the small parlor. Her sister was right; the whole place didn’t need to be unwilling participants. “Fine. Sorry. But explain your ‘interesting’ comment.”

“I guess I’m wondering why haven’t you sought out some counseling?”

Cyn hadn’t expected that to come out of her sister’s mouth, and she jerked back as if Angie had tossed a cold drink in her face. “What do you mean, ‘why haven’t I sought out a counselor’?”

Angie pushed her plate away and folded her arms on the table. “Just what I said. I didn’t stutter, Cyn.”

“Fuck you, Angie.”

“Cynthia, what the hell? I’m not going to sit here and just put up with you talking to me like this. And Shane, well, if this is even a taste of what you’re serving up to him daily? That poor dude needs a fucking medal. And after how you treated him, he freaking went out and redid your living room for you? Yeah, maybe two medals plus sainthood.”

“Don’t talk about what you don’t know!” Cyn bolted to her feet, the chair legs screeching over the linoleum floor. “You can sit here all you want. I’m leaving.”

“Wait. This is crazy. Cyn, come on. Seriously?”

Cyn ignored her sister’s plea and stalked from the restaurant. She didn’t need this shit and wasn’t about to deal with it. She’d had about enough of dealing with everyone else too. Why didn’t the people in her life understand she was stressed. And tired. And really, just fucking done taking anyone’s bullshit. If they wouldn’t leave her alone, she’d be the one to walk away. As far as a counselor or therapist, or any of the above was concerned, her decision was final.

She was not and never would go see a goddamn therapist. She didn’t need therapy, what she needed was to be left alone.

Fatigue hit Cyn like a ton of bricks as she pulled into her garage. After getting into the house, she tossed her keys on the kitchen counter and made her way to her bedroom. The smell of fresh paint still lingered and she paused and glanced at the living room. Even with the new decor a chill ran down her spine. She hated that room now, didn’t want anything to do with it. It didn’t matter that Shane had tried to make it pretty for her again, she hadn’t stepped foot into it since that night. And she didn’t intend to.

Cyn crossed her arms and continued to her bedroom. She kicked off her shoes, slid off her jeans and climbed under the comforter. She was so tired—beyond exhausted—and she just wanted to sleep. Really fucking sleep, for as long as she could. And preferably without any nightmares plaguing her.

Cyn curled around one of the pillows; the one Shane used, and closed her eyes.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Sh
ane opened Cyn’s garage and made his way into the house. Angie had called him and filled him in on the disastrous dinner date she’d had with Cyn. Things were getting worse and Shane was running out of ideas and time. “Cyn?” he called out as he moved from the kitchen toward the living room.

She wasn’t in there, but Shane hadn’t expected her to be. The girl was still avoiding the room like the walls were smeared with the Bubonic plague, regardless of the fact that they were now coated with new paint. With a shake of his head, he made his way down the hall. “Cyn, where are ya?”

“
No! Nooooo!
”

“Cyn!” Shane ran down the short hall and barreled into her bedroom, but then skidded to a halt.
What the…
Cyn was beneath the covers, laying on her side, sleeping—her brow furrowed and face contorted with a stressed expression.

“
Get off me! No! Stop!
” She swung one arm out and screamed.

Dammit, she was having another nightmare. She’d had them nightly for the past three weeks. Most nights she didn’t wake up, but others, she’d wake, crying and holding on to him for dear life. In the mornings when he’d tried to talk to her about them, she refused to discuss it, claiming she didn’t remember having any bad dreams. It was more evidence that she really needed to get some help.

Shane climbed onto the bed and took one of her hands in his. “Cyn? Honey, wake up.” She frowned and rolled to her back and Shane smoothed his palm up her arm, shaking her a bit. “Cyn?”

“Hmm?” She threw her free arm over her face.

“Sweetheart, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

“What?” She peered at him from beneath her arm.

Shane lay down next to her, and pulled her arm away from her face. “You were dreaming.”

Cyn rolled toward him and yawned. “Was I talking in my sleep?”

“Mhmm.” He smoothed her hair back from her face. “Do you remember any of it?”

She shook her head. “No.” She scooted closer. “What time is it?”

“Almost nine thirty.” He rubbed her back. “How was dinner with Angie?”

“Ugh, don’t ask.” She rolled away.

Shane frowned. He wasn’t going to tell Cyn that Angie had called him. Instead he hoped Cyn might tell him what happened so maybe he could broach the subject of a therapist again…but he knew with that would come an argument between them. He didn’t want that either. “Too late.”

She rose from the bed and pulled on her jeans. “Angie is a pain in my ass. And frankly, I’m tired of dealing with her shit.”

“Wow.” He sat up. “That sounds pretty harsh, babe.”

“Whatever. I don’t even care anymore.” She walked out of the room.

Shane got to his feet and followed. With each step he took, he braced himself for the fight that he desperately wanted to avoid. The best way to do that was to just drop the subject, but for fuck’s sake, he couldn’t. When he reached the kitchen he leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. “You should care, Cyn. She’s your sister. She loves you.”

“Yeah, well.” She pulled a mug from the cabinet. “I’m making tea. Do you want some?”

“Sure.” He moved to her and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. “Can I say something to you and maybe you just listen and not get mad?”

She let out a sigh and rested her head back against his shoulder. “I’ll listen, but I can’t promise I won’t get mad.”

Shane closed his eyes and pressed his nose to the side of her hair. Should he push the subject again? God, this was beyond hard, and scary and fucking nerve-wracking. Screw it. In the span of two seconds, Shane decided to drop the subject of counseling…for now, in favor of talking with her about her sister and maybe about staying—as in moving back to L.A. and also about the situation with his mother.

“Well, spit it out?” Cyn stepped out of his embrace and went back to preparing their tea.

A lump rose in his throat and Shane forced himself to swallow past it. “Yeah. All right.” Unsure of where to start, he stepped beside her and leaned a hip against the counter and just went with the only thing that came to mind. “Do you fight with Angie a lot?”

“No. I fight with Mary. But lately, Angie has been on my nerves.”

“Okay, so maybe you should call her and talk about it?”

She filled the kettle with water. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But…”

“But what, Shane? Jesus, will you get to your point already.” She dropped the kettle, with a bit too much force, on the burner, then lit the flame.

Shane ran his palm over his jaw and did his damnedest to not take her agitated tone personally. “I guess I just hate to see you and Angie not getting along.”

“How about you not worry about it, okay?”

“You said you’d listen and not get mad.”

“No—” she stepped around him to the refrigerator, “—I said I would listen but that I couldn’t promise to not get mad. Regardless, I’m not mad.”

“You sound mad.” He frowned. “You look mad too.”

She set the carton of half and half on the counter, again with a bit too much force, especially for his liking. Shane cringed and braced himself for another lashing via her words. Cyn glared at him. “I am
not
fucking mad, but if you don’t get to your point, I’m definitely going to be.”

“Cyn, look. I hate to see you fighting with your sister and I hate coming home to find you having yet another nightmare. I’m just worried about you, that’s all. Why is that such a bad thing?”

“Home?” She let out a cold sounding laugh and brushed her hair away from her eyes. “This isn’t your home, Shane.”

Ouch! That was a direct hit, and definitely stung. Shane closed his eyes and blew out a breath. “Yeah, about that.”

“Yeah, about that is right. How about we discuss that, hmm?” The teakettle started to whistle. Cyn shut off the burner and poured the water into the waiting mugs. “You decide you’re finally heading back to Texas?”

Shane cupped her elbow in his palm. “Come on now. I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Who’s fighting? We’re just discussing.” She jerked her arm away and slid his mug toward him.

Shane picked up the tea she’d prepared for him and watched her as she made her way to the table and took a seat. Again he drew in a deep breath in preparation for whatever might come out of Cyn’s mouth, then let his words fly. “I’ve been thinking about moving back here.”

Cyn jerked her eyes back to Shane as she set her mug down on the table, hard, the hot tea sloshing over the sides. Some of it hit her fingertips but she ignored the burn from the liquid. “Why in the hell would you do that?”

“Because…” He furrowed his brow and he tilted his head to the side. “Because I want to be with you, Cyn.”

“Be with me, huh?” She grabbed a napkin from the holder and wiped up the spill. This was not happening. He’d lost his mind. That was the only acceptable explanation she could come up with. “What the hell makes you think I want that?”

Shane stared at her, a hurt and confused expression in his eyes, and Cyn blocked it out—and blocked the slight sting of guilt that crept up the back of her neck. It didn’t matter. She was not doing this with him.

What the fuck did he think, he was going to just move back to Los Angeles and what? Move in with her?

No. No way. This was so not happening. He had to go. Like now.

“I know you want it, Cyn. Don’t shovel any bullshit my way.” He shook his head. “I know you have feelings for me. Same as I have for you.”

Cyn gritted her teeth and glared at him. Yup, he’d lost his ever-loving-motherfucking mind. She moved from the table and dumped out her tea in the sink. “Whatever feelings you
think
I have for you make no difference. Whether I actually have feelings for you or not makes no difference either. You can’t stay.”

“Why’s that?” He set his mug on the counter as if nothing was wrong and that just fueled her anger more. How the hell was he so calm?

Cyn braced her hands on the counter. “I don’t want you to stay.”

“Bullshit.”

“To hell with your bullshit. I don’t want this. I never said I wanted this.” She crossed her arms. “I don’t want a relationship. And if you recall, I’ve been trying to get you to leave for the past two damn weeks. But you don’t seem to listen to me, do you? Tell me, Shane, how does that make you any different from Carlos? He never listened to me either.”

“Okay now,
that
was fucked up, Cyn.
Really
fucked up.” He straightened from his lean against the counter and pointed his finger at her. “Don’t you
ever
compare me to that fucking piece of shit again.” His tone was stone hard, and so were his eyes.

Apparently she’d hit a nerve, and although she hesitated a moment, knowing she was way out of line, Cyn blew right on past the warning in his eyes and pressed on. “What the fuck ever. Doesn’t matter, not like you’re gonna listen anyway.”

“I know you want this, Cyn. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.”

“I like fucking you. That’s it. There isn’t any more,” she lied and bile burned the back of her throat. Once again, Cyn pushed it down, blocking out the regret she knew in her gut she’d feel later. “Pretty much done with that too. In fact, the only thing I want from you now is for you to get your shit and get gone.”

Shane reeled back as if she’d stabbed him. And Cyn guessed maybe she had. Flaying open his heart with her words was just as damaging as if she’d literally used a knife on him.

He stared at her, and the mere few feet separating them felt more like a million miles. He blinked a couple of times before shaking his head. “All right, Cyn. You want me gone? I’m gone.”

An ache bloomed in Cyn’s chest and her stomach folded in on itself. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and leveled her gaze on him. “Yes. I want you gone.”

“Think about what you’re saying to me. If I walk out that door, there’s no coming back.”

Cyn folded her arms over her middle in an effort to hold herself together. At that moment her insides felt like they were on her outsides, and she was literally raw and coming undone. Her heart screamed for her to stop, to tell him she was wrong and that she wanted him to stay, but her mind…her mind screamed louder. “I want you gone, Shane.”

Shane nodded once, turned away and walked out of her kitchen.

Oh God!
Cyn doubled over, squeezed her eyes closed and let out a silent scream.
What am I doing? Oh Jesus, fuck fuck fuck!
She fell to her knees and covered her mouth with her palm as sobs wracked her body. She couldn’t stop. Why couldn’t she stop—the anger, the verbal tirades, all of it—she was losing her mind. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she sucked back the sound of each cry, keeping herself quiet.

Her body shook and she rocked back and forth, cradling herself on the floor of her kitchen, begging God to make it all go away.

To make her go away.