Patchworked Hearts {SAMPLE}

Chapter 17

She was stirred the next morning by a man's voice.

Is that Pat? She questioned herself blearily; it sounded like Pat's voice, but it was colored with fury, and she'd never heard him get so angry. Then again, she'd never really heard Pat mad at all, ever. He sometimes got jokingly upset, but really, truly angry? If it was his voice, then she was glad she'd never heard it before—he sounded as though he was about to use his navy training to murder someone.

Cracking open her eyes, Helen found herself in his bedroom, tucked beneath his striped comforter and curled on her side, facing an empty, rumpled spot on the bed that must've belonged to Pat.

In the back of her mind, she was rather disappointed that she hadn't woken up to his warmth.

Reaching up a hand and rubbing at her eyes sleepily, she huffed a sigh and then quieted, listening intently to Pat's muffled voice; he must've been in the kitchen, because Helen had to focus to make out his words.

"—her again," he was saying, each word dripping with venom. "If I had it my way, you'd be in jail for extortion or some other bullshit." There was a pause, and then he laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. "Like hell! I don't want you to seek her out or even look at her after this. Do you even realize what could've happened to her if she hadn't had her phone and called me?"

Another pause. "She could've died!" he sounded near hysterical with his rage. "Do you honestly not understand that? She would've frozen to death or been kidnapped, and I don't appreciate either possib—oh, give it a rest, Katrina!"

Katrina?

Why was Pat talking to Helen's cousin?

"Your tears are faker then your nose, and you and I both know it." Damn. Pat really was pissed; Helen was struggling to comprehend that the Pat lobbing insults over the phone was the same Pat that had been so patient and sweet with her the previous night.

Then again, you'd be pretty pissed if you were in his shoes.

And yeah, that was true.

Pulling herself from her thoughts, Helen pillowed her head with her hands and tuned back in to her boyfriend's words.

"No!" he was protesting vehemently. "I don't want you to go near Helen again, do you understand me? I'll slap you with a restraining order or anything else that will ensure you stay away from her." Silence for a moment, and then, "Then we won't have a problem. Goodbye, Katrina." She heard him blow out an exhausted sigh, followed by the sound of a chair creaking as he no doubt sank into it.

Helen didn't want to bother him when he was clearly stressed, but she also didn't feel like moving from her cocoon. So, licking her lips and clearing her throat, she called out, "Pat?"

The chair creaked again, but his footfalls were fast over the hardwood floor, and he swung the bedroom door open a beat later. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes were colored with shadows, but his smile was bright when he saw her swaddled in his blankets. "Good morning, sweetheart. How are you?"

Feeling a bit like a whiny child, Helen pulled one hand out from under her chin and raised it in the air, opening and closing her hand as though grabbing at him. Pat's smile softened, and he was quick to approach the bed and plop down in the spot he'd vacated earlier. He didn't lie down, but he did snatch her waving hand and bring it to his mouth, where he dusted loving kisses across her knuckles.

Watching him for several moments and then plucking up some courage, Helen asked softly, "Was that Katrina?"

Pat's expression shifted into one of disdain. "Yes." It was a rather brusque reply, and he clearly realized it as well, judging by his quick addition of, "I'm sorry, Helena; my mood isn't amazing right now."