Page 65 of Blame it on the Bet
God, I hate sounding so weak, but I’m really at a loss and this woman has never been anything but brutally honest with me since the first time we laid eyes upon one another.
She sighs deeply.
“Trust your gut, Bryan.”
“I can’t,” I spit out before she even finishes the sentence. “I can’t. I did that before and…”
“And you got hurt. You trusted someone you had every right to trust, and you got hurt worse than you ever dreamed possible. Your heart was so broken that it took years to come close to healing. And now you’ve got it locked up so tight that no one will ever get near enough to break it again.”
“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, that’s it. Exactly. But how…”
“How do you let someone in?”
I don’t reply. I’m too desperate to hear the answer to this colossal cluster of a conundrum that I’ve made for myself.
“You have to dismantle the wall,” she says softly. “You have to roll the dice that the person you’re allowing to access your heart is someone who truly cares for you. Someone who won’t hurt you.”
“No…I…”
“Bryan, listen to me. You’ll get hurt again at some point in your life. We all do. That’s the price of living. But what’s the point of living if you don’t at least try? You’re not a child anymore. You’re a grown man. A strong, confident man with a strong, confident heart. And you will survive whatever life throws at you. If you let life in, Bryan. Do you think you can do that?”
I have no damn idea.
Chapter Twenty-Five
HENNESSY
“So, what’s the latest with you and Truitt?” Jameson asks as she flits around her big, white country kitchen making us some tea.
“Are we not saying his name now?”
My sister nods in the direction of Jackson, who’s playing with his toy cars on the kitchen floor.
“No, we’re not. Because every time his name comes up, that one yells you-know-what.”
“What is it with this kid and the curse words?” I marvel. “I’ve never seen a child with such an aptitude for profanity.” “I know, right?” she mutters, pouring boiling water into mugs and setting them on the island. “Some kids start reading before they’re two. Others can play the piano, or hit a golf ball. Not mine. He’ll probably have mastered every obscene word in several languages by the time he gets to preschool.”
“Ah, well, they like for kids to be bilingual,” I tease and am rewarded with the smack of a tea towel on my arm.
Once she sits down, we make up our respective cups, and I reach for an especially delectable looking piece of shortbread she’s plated and set out for us.
“All right, already,” she coaxes. “You still haven’t told me what happened after you guys left yesterday afternoon.”
I shrug as I nibble.
“Well, let’s see…I offered him something to eat at the apartment, since we were still hungry after the great potato massacre in your dining room. So I had Donovan bring up a shepherd’s pie and salad. We cracked open a bottle of wine. It was really…nice.”
“Hmmm, sounds nice.”
“It was nice,” I agree. “I can’t even remember the last time I thought about strangling him.”
“That is progress,” Jameson agrees, picking up her own cookie and starting to chew.
“Of course, there was the kiss. That made things a little… weird,” I mention casually.
In a rare moment of lost-decorum, my very classy sister proceeds to spray crumbs from her mouth all over the island. And me.
“What? Kiss? Tell, tell, tell!” Jameson shrieks, making Jackson look up curiously from where he’s rolling his big red plastic car on the carpet. She slams a hand over her mouth but can’t contain the shocked laughter behind it.
