Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Not going up to him after spending weeks alone with him in Albuquerque looks suspicious to anyone paying any level of attention.
I realize this when Misty approaches with a small, sad smile on her face.
To make matters worse, she turns to stand beside me, facing Aro as well.
“When I showed up at the clubhouse many, many years ago with a baby Shadow didn’t know about, I thought that was the hardest thing I could ever do. It took all the strength I could manage, but I had to do it for Griffin. Our son deserved better, and at the time, I couldn’t provide anything for him.” She takes a deep breath. “I wish I could tell you that he welcomed both of us with open arms, but it’s hard for a man to go from living a wild, single life to being a daddy in the blink of an eye.”
I nod, my eyes still locked across the room on the man I had no business getting involved with if only to avoid this situation I’m standing in right now.
“He was upset and bitter. Untrusting to say the least. It wasn’t hearts and rainbows.”
I watch as she diverts her eyes to her husband.
“Sometimes the road to true love is more like a rocky climb up the side of an unstable mountain during an earthquake and landslide. It wasn’t how I would choose to travel that path, but we all ended up exactly where we were supposed to be.”
I can understand the sentiment. People who fight for what they have will always be proud of the journey, but sometimes people fight and fail. They aren’t as quick to share their struggles.
“Aro and I aren’t you and Shadow,” I say, quick to remind her that not everyone gets or even wants that kind of happily ever after. “We aren’t meant to be together.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m not saying I’m happy about it,” I confess. “But it takes two people fighting for the same outcome to be successful.”
I don’t stick around to wait for her response. I don’t need to hear that it’ll work out when I know differently. False hope can be more hurtful than not caring at all.
As a psychologist, I have the skills to get through this, and some part of me deep inside knows that I will. It’s the struggle to let it go that pushes me outside to my bike.
Staying inside, watching him laugh and joke like things are exactly the same as they were before Costa Rica, is impossible for me.
Others don’t see the pain in his eyes. They don’t know the lengths he went to, the pain he put his body through, to get where he is today. I know it continued after I left because Aro isn’t a man that does anything in halves, except where I’m concerned, I guess.
He put the brakes on us without blinking an eye, and maybe that’s true to his character as well. My feelings for him aren’t a reflection of his, and I have to come to terms with that.
I’m sliding my helmet over my head as Boomer walks out of the garage. The man doesn’t say a word as he climbs on his bike as well. I do my best not to be irritated, happy to have company while being annoyed he assumed I would be okay with him tagging along.
The good thing about riding a bike is that I’m not a captive audience like I would be in a regular vehicle. I can enjoy the wind in my hair without having to be subject to conversation.
I want to talk to someone. The need to get everything off my chest is heavy in my soul, but it’s also impossible.
I can’t pour my heart out to someone that may need to come to me and do the same because of my profession. Psychologists are human, but people are inherently judgmental. Why talk to someone about the things bothering you when they can’t get their own lives in order? It doesn’t work that way.
Boomer and I ride in a staggered pattern, him a little behind me and to the left. I know he’s giving me the space I need but also letting me know I’m not alone in whatever I’m thinking about. The thing with Boomer is that he doesn’t talk much unless he needs to clarify something someone else is saying. He isn’t the type of man to see or hear something and not speak up. He doesn’t keep information or corrections to himself to spare someone’s feelings. He also isn’t an asshole about it, approaching it more on the did you know side than being confrontational.
I can sense some of those words coming when we reach a bluff overlooking Lake Farmington. Dominic and his wife live out here somewhere, but I’ve never been to their home. They come to the clubhouse, leaving their personal space private, and it makes me long for a spot like that of my own.