This Broken Heart

This Broken Heart Jordan Trygg Copyright © 2022 Jordan Trygg All rights reserved The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Don’t miss out! Want to be the first to hear about new releases and special offers? Follow Jordan Trygg on https://www.facebook.com/JordanTryggAuthor to get all the latest. Want free books? Go to https://tinyletter.com/jordantrygg to sign up for Jordan’s newsletter. We promise not to flood your inbox. Just a monthly newsletter and early (sometimes FREE) access to new books. Author’s Note Dear Reader, A quick heads up, this book is not intended for young readers. It contains extra steamy scenes.Our MMC and FMC are both dealing with recent loss. They say grief is just love with no place to go. For those who have loved and lost, this story is for you. This book is part of a series, but can absolutely be read as a stand-alone. Thank you for reading This Broken Heart. -JT This Broken Heart By Jordan Trygg 1. Erin I’ve officially reached a new low. Quite literally. I’ve been telling everyone I’m totally, completely, one hundred percent over Matt. I even started to convince myself. And yet, here I am, squatting behind an orange stand in the grocery store. Not my finest moment, but when I saw Matt come, I panicked. He’s with his new girlfriend. It’s been six months. He’s allowed to find someone new. I just wish she wasn’t so skinny. And beautiful. She’s dressed to kill in a cozy little sweater dress and me? I decided to wear my Betty White t-shirt and sweats today. Who dresses up to run errands, anyway? “Erin?” This stealthy bastard snuck up 2. Josh Trace is making sounds of distress, doing his best to wiggle away. You’d think I was torturing the poor boy. I’m just trying to brush his teeth. But for a four-year-old? Yeah. Straight torture. It doesn’t help that I have Maven hanging on my legs, demanding to be picked up. I lean down, sweeping her up in one arm, toothbrush in the other, and deposit her on the counter. She immediately snags the toothpaste and pops it in her mouth. “No, not for eating, Mavey.” I gently tug the tube away, but she starts wailing, anyway. She’s two and has very clear ideas of what she wants in this world. Someday, she’ll