Page 1 of Rejected Heart (The Westwoods #5)

LAYLA

This was all wrong.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I allowed that thought to move through me. How could it be wrong? It was perfect.

He was perfect.

But that knowledge couldn’t stop me from being overwhelmed by a sense of dread, fixating on the worst-case scenarios.

Despite the comfortable evening air, I was overheating. Sweat trickled down my spine, and my palms were clammy.

Every muscle in my body was tight, and if I didn’t figure out how to ingest more oxygen, I wasn’t sure I’d remain standing much longer.

Maybe that was the best option, though. No doubt that would be better than having to do something that was bound to break me, to break the both of us .

“Layla?”

My tingling hands balled into fists at my sides.

That smooth voice. Those brilliant blue eyes.

He was so confident. He’d always been that way with his booming laughter and easygoing manner and playful smile and relentless flirting. The list went on and on.

He was the best there was.

He deserved everything.

But I wasn’t the one who could give that to him. I was a mess.

His calloused hand reached for mine. Though there was comfort, familiarity, and tenderness in his touch, my panic rose. My breathing grew quick and shallow.

No.

No, this couldn’t be happening.

Not yet.

Not now.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Layla. Will you marry me?”

I had to be honest. I had to tell him the truth.

But those eyes were killing me. One look with those eyes, and I was putty in his hands. I’d gotten lost in those eyes more times than I could count.

Why was he doing this to me?

How could I not give him what he wanted?

Down on one knee, looking up at me like I was all that mattered, there shouldn’t have been any doubt for me.

And yet, there was.

He stroked his thumb lightly over my knuckles. I swallowed roughly, my throat painfully tight .

“I’m… I can’t,” I rasped, my voice strangled. “I can’t.”

He flinched. Like I’d smacked him across the face. Like he’d been sucker punched, his reaction was that apparent.

“What?” His voice was unsteady, and his gaze became unfocused.

Was it disbelief I saw, or worse, was it defeat?

“I can’t marry you.” I couldn’t bring myself to raise my voice beyond a strained whisper.

“Layla, I don’t understand.”

My heart couldn’t take this. I couldn’t listen to the sadness in his voice or see the humiliation in his expression. He never imagined my answer would be anything other than yes.

“Please don’t hate me.”

“I love you.”

Whatever he felt, it was fear at the forefront of it. His face had turned ashen as his shoulders lifted toward his ears with tension.

I couldn’t see him like this. The voice inside my head was screaming at me to get out of here. To go, go, go.

Tearing my hand from his hold, I sent him an apologetic look. “I can’t. I have to go.”

Without another word, without giving him a chance to respond, I took off running. I ran away from the man who was down on one knee, professing his love to me and promising to give me the world.

If that wasn’t proof enough that I didn’t deserve him, I didn’t know what would be.

I slowed my pace, looked back once, and saw him staring at me with such a horrified look. It would haunt me for the rest of my life.

Or so I thought.

I took off running again, needing to get away. And when I turned to look at him one last time, it was that vision that would stay with me forever.

The man I loved—Liam Westwood—with his head bowed in defeat.

I looked away, prepared to move in the opposite direction.

That’s when his face flashed before me. “Don’t destroy us, Layla. Don’t leave me.”

I shot up with a gasp, my eyes wide and searching. My chest was rising and falling rapidly. It was still so hard to breathe.

Liam.

God, Liam.

My heart ached just as much now as it did all those years ago. It had been eight years. Nearly eight years to the day, and I could still taste the pain of what I’d done to him. To us.

But how unbearable it was to relive it all again in my sleep.

In the beginning, that happened frequently.

I was constantly in turmoil over my decision, even if I knew it was the one that needed to be made.

As time went on, it got easier, and I didn’t wake every morning feeling like it was a monumental task to just inhale and exhale.

It didn’t take a genius to know why I’d just had the dream I did .

I was a woman who didn’t do well with surprises. That much had been made clear in my life. I preferred to be able to plan everything, and this situation had made it impossible. After receiving that terrifying phone call yesterday morning, I had no choice.

I had to come back.

I had to return to my hometown.

Being back in Landing without having the time to prepare for it meant that my mind was all scrambled.

And though it might have been wise to take some time this morning to clear my head for what the next few weeks and months would hold for me and how I might survive them, I couldn’t do that.

I couldn’t think about any of it right now.

Because I had to go to the hospital.

My mom. My poor mother had wound up in a horrifying car accident yesterday, and I got the call just minutes after I’d arrived at work.

When I’d received the call, I hadn’t been given any idea as to how severe things were for her, but I’d been told that my mom had been rushed into emergency surgery.

So, I left work, ran back to my apartment to grab a handful of things I’d need, and set off on the hour and a half long drive from New York City back to Landing, Pennsylvania.

The uncertainty and fear I felt about the state of my mom, and what I’d find when I arrived, made the drive feel impossibly long, like it had taken four or five hours instead of less than two .

Fortunately, she was alive and had made it through the surgery, but she’d suffered massive injuries, the worst of which was a compound fracture of her femur.

I stayed with her for hours in the hospital yesterday, but she’d slept through most of it—the effects of still having the anesthesia in her body.

Last night, once visiting hours were over, I came back to her house to sleep.

Now, I needed to head back there to see her, to make sure she was doing okay, and to come up with a plan for the next few weeks and months. Because she wouldn’t be able to do it on her own. The doctors had made that much clear.

If nothing else, I’d be far too busy over the coming weeks. That alone helped to ease some of the racing thoughts I had about Liam and what an extended, unplanned stay in Landing could mean.

On that thought, I got out of bed and got myself ready.

And before I knew it, I was driving through the familiar streets of my hometown, trying not to get emotional and reminisce. It was never easy, not even in the times when I prepared in advance to come home for a visit with my mom.

I made it to the hospital, rode the elevator to the fifth floor, and felt my heart calm with each step I took toward my mother’s room.

Though I was heartbroken for what she was facing over the next few months, there was no question that being able to spend time with her—even if it was like this—meant the world to me.

When I stepped into her room, I was surprised to see her awake, the television on at a low volume. She rolled her head against the pillow and brought her eyes to mine. “Layla,” she said softly, a look of peace washing over her.

I smiled at her, feeling such relief she was alive. Crossing the room, I came to a stop beside her bed, placed my hand over hers, and leaned over to press a soft kiss to her cheek. “Hi, Mom. How are you feeling today?”

“It was a rough night, but they’ve given me some medication for the pain, so I’m doing alright now. How are you doing?”

I tipped my head to the side. “I’m not the one who had major surgery yesterday.”

There were still hints of drowsiness in her expression, her eyelids seeming heavy as a lazy smile spread across her face. “I know my daughter. Coming back here, especially on such quick notice, had to be so difficult.”

I pulled up a chair beside her bed and sat down. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now than here with you.”

“Thank you for coming. I know how hard it must have been.”

Shaking my head, I insisted, “Really, Mom. It’s okay. I’m happy to be here, thrilled to see you, and excited to spend some time with you. Of course, I wish the circumstances were different. Have you seen the doctor today?”

“Not yet. They said he should be in sometime this morning, though.”

I tipped my chin down with acknowledgement. “Okay. Good. I’d really like to talk to him about what he expects for your recovery. ”

Her expression grew solemn.

“What’s wrong?”

She waved her uninjured hand in the air dismissively. “It’s nothing. I just… I think it’s going to be a tough couple of months.”

Reaching for her hand again, I shared, “Well, I’ll be with you every step of the way, so you don’t have to worry about doing it alone.”

Her brows knit together. “But what about work? What are you going to do?”

I stroked my fingers over the back of her hand. “I called them yesterday after you were out of surgery. You were here, resting, and I told them I was going to need some time off to take care of you.”

“And they were okay with that? I feel awful.”

“Don’t.”

“But it’s your job. And you love the work you do.”

That wasn’t exactly the case.

Yes, I did enjoy my job. It wasn’t terrible.

And I’d seen growth over the years. But I wasn’t exactly where I’d hoped to be in my career.

Sure, I was in a position that I’d worked extremely hard to get to, hoping it would give me the experience for the job I’d ultimately have, but I still wasn’t quite sure what that job was, though.

For now, I was a box office manager on Broadway. I hadn’t gone to the city in hopes of making that my career, nor was it where I had expected I’d wind up.