Free Heart Conditions (The Breakup Doctor Series Book 3) by Phoebe Fox

never left his apartment. When he realized that he’d spent an entire week without seeing another human face or speaking a single word out loud, he finally moved to Portland.”
    “Where he joined another band.” She was sorting out the facts to keep them straight in her mind.
    I nodded again. “Except he hated that too.”
    “So now he’s a band promoter.”
    “Well, he was. He got them signed to a label, and he got cut out of the deal.”
    “Too bad. So sad.”
    “Sash. He’s not bitter about it. He’s happy for them. You know, he’s not an awful person. You liked him once.”
    “That was before he broke your heart in the worst way anyone can. That’s unforgivable.”
    “Well, I have,” I said.
    She narrowed her eyes. “You have what ?”
    “Forgiven him,” I said simply.
    “When did that happen?” she yelped.
    I shrugged. “Sometime between him telling me why he left, and sitting and talking to him. Little by little…I don’t know. It was like a weight I didn’t know I was carrying lifted off me. I’ve been hating him for so long—even after I convinced myself I was over it—that it’s colored everything I’ve done since—and not in a good way.”
    “That’s not true,” Sasha protested. “Look at your Breakup Doctor stuff. You’re doing amazing things for people, helping them in ways you never would have before.”
    “Maybe. But I’ve been so angry, so determined never to let myself get hurt that way again, I haven’t really been open to anything new, have I? I mean…look at Ben.” I stopped, my throat closing up.
    Sasha held up a hand. “Oh, no. You will not beat yourself up over that. You were right to take some time to figure out what you wanted.”
    “I just wonder, if I’d been able to let go of everything with Michael sooner, would I have been ready for what Ben was offering? And now…it’s too late.”
    As if sensing my upset, Jake, who until now had been sitting quietly at Sasha’s feet like a huge, hairy white angel, pushed himself up and padded over to me, resting his head on my lap and gazing at me with his big liquid brown eyes. I stroked his head, a wave of tenderness for him crashing over me.
    “Is it?” I heard Sasha say, and looked over to see her eyeing us with an assessing expression.
    “Well.” I sighed. “He’s got Perfect Pamela.”
    “And you have his dog.”
    Jake broke into a grin as if to agree, but I didn’t have the heart to remind my best friend—or myself—that no matter how much I loved him, the Great Pyrenees was only a consolation prize.

      
    After Sasha left I cleaned up our glasses—she’d been so laser-focused on me she’d hardly touched her wine—and I realized I never got back around to asking what was bothering her. She’d gotten me completely distracted.
    I straightened, frowning. She’d accused me of deflecting…had she masterfully done it to me without my even noticing?
    What was Sasha avoiding telling me?

      
    With Michael in mind, I sat down later that night to write my weekly column for the Tropic Times .
    “Putting Down the Weight You Didn’t Know You Were Carrying”
      
    Somebody broke your heart.
    I don’t have to know you to know that’s true—if you’re alive and you interact with people, then chances are you’ve had your heart broken.
    No matter what kind of heartbreak you’ve suffered—romantic or otherwise—it’s the worst kind of wound. Unlike a physical wound, emotional ones don’t heal straightforwardly. They get ripped back open over and over. They fester. They refuse to heal, handicapping everything you do, every new connection you try to make. It’s not that you were hurt once and you fear being hurt the same way again—it’s that you were hurt once and you are still hurting in that same place, the gash in your heart as tender as if it were new, making you overcautious, overprotective…fearful.
    Faced with the choice between a broken leg and a broken heart, most of us who have