Heart-On: Turf Wars #2 by Bella Jewel (top 20 books to read TXT) 📗

be on our own, which is really kind of him. I make a mental note to thank him later. Riggs comes over and looks down at me, then he hands me a letter. “He asked me to give you this. You don’t have to take it, Ramona, but I wouldn’t be doin’ the right thing if I didn’t give it to you.”

I reach out and, with a shaky hand, I take the letter.

I tuck it into my pants. I’m not ready to see what he has to say right now.

“Did you know Callan was your father?”

Callan.

I haven’t heard that name in so long.

“Of course I knew he was my father, I just didn’t know that you knew him and I was going to have to see him for the first time in well over ten years.”

“Been that long, huh? Sorry to hear it. Explains why he was barking at anyone that came near him. Man was fuckin’ gutted.”

He was?

Over me?

“Yeah, he should join the club,” I murmur softly.

“Thanks for bringing the note,” Eve says to Riggs, smiling up at him.

Everyone falls into chatter, but all I can feel is the note in my pants. It’s as if it’s burning a hole into my skin, urging me to read it. I thought I could wait, but I can’t take my mind off it.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I say, standing and leaving the deck.

I walk into the bathroom, lock the door, and pull the note out. I stare down at my name scribbled on the front and my heart races. I take a deep breath and open it.

Ramona,

Today was a shock for both of us. I have been looking for you for some time now. If I had known how close you were, I would have tried harder.

Your mother told me you never wanted to speak to me and refused to give me your number.

Not an excuse.

I left for reasons I would much rather explain in person, but you have to know there wasn’t a single moment I wasn’t thinking about you, baby girl. I wrote to you every week, starting to think you never got those letters.

Your mother remarried and refused me contact.

I could have fought harder.

Should have fought harder.

I’m here to fight now.

You’re hurt. I’ll take it, but if I don’t see you again, don’t have you in my life, I don’t think I’ll ever rest easy again.

If you want to talk to me, give me a call. Here is my number.

I let you down, but one thing never changed.

Still love you, princess.

So fucking much.

I’m crying again, heavy tears that I have kept built up inside for so long. They’ve been hanging on the edge when it comes to him, always being fought back but now I can’t fight them any longer.

I make a loud sobbing sound, and I don’t hear the door open.

I don’t hear the footsteps.

But I do feel the arms that go around me, pulling me into a chest that is oh, so familiar.

Adan.

I know by the smell.

By the strength.

He hangs onto me as I cry, letter crunched into my hand, and I let him.

Mostly because I don’t think I can even stay upright without him.

“It’s okay,” he says gruffly. “Goin’ to be just fine.”

I sob, sniffle and pull back, looking up at him. He’s sitting on the floor with me, somehow, we got down here. I don’t recall how.

“I thought he chose not to see me again, but I’m starting to see that isn’t the case. I’ve carried that pain around for so long ...”

“Give him the chance to take it away for you. Let him explain himself.”

I nod, slowly, and for a moment, for a beautiful and terrifying moment, our eyes meet and lock, and I feel something that I’ve never felt before. Not even when I thought I was in love. It’s a terrifying sensation that washes over my body and makes me feel like my entire body is being flooded with warmth, as if the very world itself has stopped spinning.

I turn away.

Then I stand.

I don’t know why I don’t just lean in and kiss him, perhaps it’s because he has made it very clear how he feels about me. He’s being a friend right now, and I’ve forgotten myself. I need to wake up and smell the roses. Adan isn’t the kind of man for me and not for a single second has he ever made out like he would be.

He’s a manwhore and he’s good at it.

I rush out of the bathroom—I have nothing to say that won’t make the situation any less awkward than it already is.

Adan and me ... that’ll never be.

Not ever.

I need to remind myself of who the hell I am and bring her back out.

I’m falling.

I’m meant to be climbing.

9

“Three days,” Adan growls. “Three fuckin’ days you’ve been sauntering around, wearin’ next to nothing, sucking on lollipops and tryin’ to make me get a hard-on. Hasn’t worked. Can we give up this stupid fuckin’ game now?”

“Yeesh,” I say, crossing my legs as I sit on the counter in a short skirt. “I’m not sure what your problem is, I could be a grumpy old biddy who yells at you all day. At least you’ve got something good to look at.”

“That’s your opinion, not mine.”

Oh.

He’s being harsh again.

He’s been like this since I walked out of the bathroom three days ago, and since then I have stuffed my ugly little emotions back down and risen to the queen that I am. I was letting myself slip; I promised myself that would never happen again, and I’m here to make sure it won’t.

Adan doesn’t seem to agree and glares at me constantly. That is if he’s not barking orders at me or being a downright pain in the ass.

“Where’s Hera? You clearly need some relief.”

“Sick of fuckin’ women,” he growls. “If you’d stop playin’ this little game we could have a