Page 1 of Heartsmashed
1
SAWYER
“HOLD ON, LET me make sure I understand this,” I said, leaning back in my chair in the studio that was basically my second home. “This—bleep—broke up with you because he didn’t want a relationship, but he’s blasting some new girl he took to Cabo all over his social media? Absolutely the—bleep—not.”
My producer, Leon, was quick with the bleeping tonight, and I should’ve felt ashamed he had to do it at all. Having a couple of drinks at dinner before the show wasn’t a smart choice, especially not with my mood lately, and it had made my lips a little looser than they should’ve been.
But one glance at the full, blinking call board told me the listeners were loving it.
“You know what pisses me off about these guys?” I continued. “They’re out here treating relationships like free trials, and then somehowwe’rethe ones surprised when they cancel before the billing cycle hits. It’s bull—bleep?—.”
Leon banged on the window, and though it was against my best interests, I looked up. The poor guy looked ready to blow, his skin somehow ten different shades of red and his veins popping at his temples. I considered myself lucky then that hewas stuck in the control room for the duration of the show and not close enough to strangle me.
But because apparently I had a death wish, I blew him a kiss and spun back to the microphone.
The caller was still laughing, obviously agreeing with my little rant. “So what should I do?” she said.
“Well, that depends. If you’re a better person than me, you take the high road. Block his page, pretend you wish him well, blah blah blah.”
“Uh, yeah, I don’t think I can do that.”
“That’s because it’s not fair he’s out there living it up while you’re at home drinking your feelings somewhere that’s not Cabo. You want him to feel as—bleep—as you do. I get it. Right now there’s no balance in the universe, and until there is, you’ll stay pissed off.” I cued up Blu Cantrell’s “Hit ’Em Up Style,” and as the intro began to play, I told the caller, “I can’t give specific advice on what to do next or legal will have my ass, but Icanplay you a song that always…inspires me.”
I ended the call and let the music take over, smirking as Leon banged his head against the glass repeatedly.
“Oh, come on, it’s not like I told her to slash his tires.”
“Only because I told you if you pulled that shit again, I’d be the one slashing yours.”
A slow grin curved my mouth and I shrugged, reaching for my tumbler of water. There wasn’t much that lit me up lately the way giving my producer hell did, and I had to find bright spots where I could.
Especially considering the rest of my life was a big pile of shit.
Seven weeks, five days, and eleven-ish hours ago, the man I’d thought was the love of my life had casually gotten up from my bed, got dressed for work, and then, just before he left, calmly announced he wouldn’t be coming back. Ever.
I’d thought it was a joke, since he stayed at my place more often than his own, but when I’d called him later to make a final decision on our couples Halloween costumes, his number was no longer in service.
HIS NUMBER. WAS NO LONGER. IN SERVICE.
And still, I thought it must’ve been a mistake and he’d forgotten to pay his phone bill. Or he’d gone on his lunch break to get the new iPhone and changed his number while he was at it and just hadn’t given me a heads-up. Excuse after excuse after excuse for him until I realized he was really never coming back, and I was just the stupid fool who hadn’t seen it coming.
It had all been downhill since then.
As the song began to fade, I pushed aside all thoughts of my ex and slid into the easy rhythm I’d known for years. “Welcome back to WZNY 105.7 FM. I’m Sawyer Montgomery, your host for the evening, and your love-is-a-lie cautionary tale. Gimme a call and I’ll tell you all the reasons your ex is a douchebag and even play you a song.”
The call board stayed lit up, and I tapped a button to bring the next one on. “You’re live with Sawyer—who broke your heart?”
“His name is Trey—bleep?—.”
“Sorry, hon, no last names.”
“Well, he deserves to be put on blast.”
I kicked my feet up on the desk and settled back in my chair. “Tell me all about it.”
“I should’ve known something was up when he started going to the gym twice a day. He’d never even bothered to take our dog for a walk before.”
“Ah, yes, the prep before the breakup. Who was he getting ripped for?”
