Vanished Hearts Read Online Jenna Rose

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Novella Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
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It takes him a moment, but he turns around to face me, and I can see the pain in his eyes, but I also see confusion.

“Are you saying you want to compare what I went through to what you went through?” he asks.

For some reason, his question sparks an ignition of anger inside me. A hot flame rises up inside me, and I feel my face go red and the tips of my fingers go all tingly.

“Are you saying I can’t?” I bite back. “Do you really want to belittle what I went through when you vanished, Jameson? Because I would love to hear that.”

“I was kidnapped, Iris!” he roars. “And kept in a cell in a warehouse in Albania! Tortured for months until I was finally released, only to discover my parents had been murdered!”

The pain that emerges across his face strikes me deep in the chest like I’ve been hit by a poison-tipped arrow. I even reach a hand up and press it over my heart as though that might do something to heal the deep hurt I’m feeling—hurt I’ve fought so hard to bury over these last few years.

“I lost my father, Jameson!” I cry back, feeling the tears burst unexpectedly from my eyes. “He may be alive, but he might as well be dead! I’ll never see him again, and he felt it was fine to just abandon me! He chose to abandon me! His own daughter! And then you left me!”

“I didn’t leave you, Iris–”

“But I thought you did!” I cry, leaning against the wall as I feel my strength starting to leave me. I’m trembling now, losing control of my emotions. “I thought you had gone just like him. The only other guy in my life I ever cared about had abandoned me, and that’s why I ended up with Chad, that absolute loser of a guy who I’d probably have ended up with if he hadn’t come on to me so strong.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.” Jameson shakes his head. He’s smiling slightly, which I know should make me feel good about myself, but right now it just doesn’t.

“You don’t know that,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.

“Yes I do.”

“Shut up, Jameson!” The words force themselves angrily from my lips just out of the blue without warning. “I thought you had left me too, do you understand? And then my mom started going downhill, and I had to take care of her, and it was like she left me too! I was all alone! I was too young to deal with all that by myself! And don’t tell me I had Eliza to help me out either, okay? Because Eliza could only do so much. Eliza wasn’t my father. Eliza wasn’t you…”

My words echo through the foyer and hang in the air before my legs give out from under me and I slump to the floor and bury my face in my hands.

Fuck it. If I’m going to cry, I’m going to cry. No point in fighting it now.

I can feel the last three years of pain flowing out of me as I sob, the tears pouring into my palms while I gasp for breath. I don’t even know if I should have said what I just said to him—if any of it was justified—but it was the only thing I could think of to say. It was how I feel and something I’ve never been fully able to express before.

Of course Jameson is right; his parents are dead and that’s absolutely horrible. But is my pain not valid too? I didn’t mean what I said, and he should know that. What happened to the days when we would go through things together? When he would be there for me when I needed him? Never in my life has he turned his back on me.

Suddenly, I feel a warmth beside me.

I raise my head to look, but I’m already being swept into his arms. He lifts me like I’m as light as a feather. Without even thinking, I throw my arms around his neck and bury my face in his chest.

His scent fills my nose, and I feel instantly at home and protected again. He may not have said anything yet, but this is a start. At least he isn’t letting me sit there sobbing by myself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice like sweet honey as it penetrates my ear. “You’re right, of course. I shouldn’t have behaved how I behaved back there. I guess we all have our sore spots, don’t we?”

He sets me down on the couch and takes a seat beside me. He reaches into a drawer on the coffee table and pulls out some tissues, which he hands to me so I can dry my eyes.

“Yes.” I nod. “I didn’t realize how sore mine was until you came back.”


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