Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
“True,” Gwen said, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I made quick work of removing my jacket, and then I traded her for the threadbare towels that either needed a bottle of fabric softener or a firepit STAT.
She pointed to the corner booth. “That one’s yours, right?”
A lump formed in my throat as I nodded.
“Go sit down. Do whatever it is that you do.” She offered me a tight smile. “You need a drink or anything? I’ve got some coffee in the back. It’s not a club sandwich, but it might help warm you up.”
I walked over to the booth and dragged the tips of my fingers across the top of the laminate table. The way my pulse spiked and dread pooled in my stomach comforted me immediately. “That’d be great,” I rasped, barely able to get the words out.
She eyed me curiously—a million questions poised on the tip of her tongue. To her credit, she asked none of them. And, as if I didn’t already owe her a massive debt of gratitude, for that alone, it grew.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, disappearing down the hallway.
While she was gone, I did my best to dry off, but it was like trying to drain the ocean with a spoon. Eventually I gave up and spread the towels out across the booth’s bench seat with hopes that I could at least avoid leaving a puddle.
And then, like Sisyphus, I took my position behind my boulder.
My body trembled as I slid into the booth. On contact, the flames of the past engulfed me. Frantic, I gasped for air, but my lungs no longer seemed to be able to process oxygen. That was okay. I didn’t deserve it anyway. A vise cranked down on my ribs, agony tearing through my soul in a way that made my bones feel like they were being shattered, one by one.
The weight of my failures crushed me.
The pain was so great the room spun, so I closed my eyes to keep the nausea at bay. It was the wrong move. So fucking wrong. Without my sight, I couldn’t anchor myself. The sound of gunfire assaulted me. I sucked in a sharp breath, wishing the bullets would finally hit me and release me from this perpetual hell once and for all.
And suddenly, like a ding as the elevator arrived at its floor, everything just…
Stopped.
“You still take your coffee black?” she called from the distance.
Gwen.
Gwen.
Dear God…Gwen.
My eyes popped open. The flames of my hell suddenly extinguished as though they had been doused by a sudden downpour.
How did she do that?
Why did she do that?
I looked at my watch. I still had thirty minutes to go. I hadn’t paid my dues yet.
I wasn’t done.
I wasn’t—
My traitorous heart slowed as I watched her round the corner holding two Styrofoam cups of steaming coffee.
Usually, my pain was a relentless force, clinging to me long after I’d left The Grille. But now, it was gone. Had she fucking stolen it?
I thought back to when I’d run into her a few weeks earlier. Sure, I’d been shocked to see her and gotten distracted. Running into a gorgeous woman did that to a man. But it wasn’t like this. Was it?
Shit, was it?
I swallowed hard, the most confusing mixture of anger and elation swirling inside me. I had a penitence to pay, but as a chill spread across my skin, it was a welcome—albeit undeserved—reprieve from the searing heat of the flames.
I tracked her every step as she approached the booth.
“Black?” she repeated.
“Yeah,” I rumbled, my voice filled with gravel.
She placed a cup on the table. I didn’t immediately reach for it, knowing my hands would still be shaking. Or would they? I glanced down at my lap.
Shit.
They were as still as a brain surgeon’s. Which was exactly who I was going to need to see after this mindfuck. A lobotomy had never sounded so good.
I drew in a deep breath, and fuck me sideways, it was slow, even, and steady.
It was wrong.
All fucking wrong.
I shot to my feet, a different kind of panic slamming into me. “I have to go.”
Her lips twisted to the side. “It’s not seven yet.”
That was exactly the problem. I needed to get home and figure out what the hell was going on. I couldn’t think with her so close. I couldn’t do anything with her there.
My anxiety skyrocketed as long purposeful strides carried me to the door. I had to get the fuck out of there. I fumbled with the lock, trying to get it open so I could make my escape. Dear God, I’d spent two weeks trying to get inside, and now, I couldn’t get out.
Gwen appeared at my side. “Hey, relax. Let me get it.”
It opened with the flip of her wrist, and I was like an Olympic sprinter in the blocks, ready to bolt. Her palm landed on my forearm, stopping me dead in my tracks. Jesus. My own fucking legs wouldn’t operate around her.