Free Heart Signs by Cari Quinn

playing around his lips.
    Somehow he knew Rory Fowler would either rock his world or chip off more pieces of it. There could be no middle ground.
    Not with her or with them.
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    T he day dragged for Rory , to the point that the lunch meet she’d had with Sam was the highlight. Work wasn’t any more boring than usual, but she had stuff waiting for her at home.
    Namely Sam’s letters.
    By eight p.m., her dinner of takeout vegetable beef stew and garlic bread sticks had been consumed and she’d already dug into her bottle of wine. Halfway through the second glass, she felt ready to tackle her reading assignment.
    He hadn’t insisted she read them. If she’d picked up his vibes correctly today, he wasn’t even sure he wanted her to. But she had to know. Beyond being simply curious, she cared. She probably wouldn’t become lifelong buddies with Sam—or anything else—but right now he was her friend. Maybe she could become a sounding board for him, something she thought he probably desperately needed.
    And yes, she was fascinated. She’d believed for so long that he and Dani lived a fantasy, turning a blind eye to anything that indicated otherwise. Even when the message had been contained in his words, she hadn’t wanted to see them as anything but the perfect couple. It had given her hope. If there were people out there who could fall so deeply in love, she could too. She could live that dream someday herself.
    Now she’d discovered the dream hadn’t existed, at least not her conception of it. She still hadn’t lost the hope. Or her insatiable curiosity when it came to Samson Miller.
    She opened the second letter from the bottom of the stack and began to read.

    D ear Dani ,
    Here I am again. Another sleepless night, another night where I reach for you and find the other side of the bed cold. I bought a full bed for the house I’m staying in but I don’t sleep in the middle. I still stay to the left side and always hope that sometime during the night you’ll appear where you’re supposed to be.
    I never expected to turn into “that” guy. Me, broken-hearted? Never. Only wusses broke down. Guys work through stuff. They get their hands dirty and fucking pound the shit out of their problems. That’s why I bought the punching bag. Catharsis through beating. Hell, it works for some people. But it hasn’t worked for me. I whaled on that damn bag today until my knuckles were bleeding, until my hands were so sore that even holding this pen right now hurts like a motherfucker. Nothing changed. You didn’t call me and ask me to come home. I didn’t stop looking in the mirror and seeing a fraud.

    R ory reached for her glass of wine and used the cool, fruity liquid to dissolve the lump in her throat. Reading Sam’s words rubbed her raw. She hurt for him, yes, but she also hurt for herself. The parallels between them were eerie.
    How many times had she written herself off as a fake? She enjoyed her life and she had fun, no doubt about it. That didn’t mean she didn’t cry herself to sleep sometimes. She wanted to have someone to love, someone who loved her back.
    She’d once had someone who cared. But she hadn’t been ready and she’d squandered that love, not realizing that maybe it was a finite thing and she’d already used up her quotient for a lifetime.
    Second chances were all well and good. Too bad not everyone got a crack at them.
    She hadn’t. The ex who’d broken up with her in college after she’d admitted she liked the captain of the football team had refused to speak to her again. Kyle hadn’t understood that she’d been too bowled over by the popular jock’s attention to realize she was being used. The night she’d spent with the campus stud had been the first time she’d felt truly sexy. Completely capable of making a man beg.
    After Mr. Big Man On Campus had swaggered back to his friends, she’d been the one begging. It hadn’t helped one iota. Kyle hadn’t wanted her anymore. What