Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“Did uh …” Nerves hijack my voice. “Did you have a nice walk?” I turn. He’s closer than ten feet—more like six.
“Yes.” He slips his hands into the back pockets of his jeans as if to let me know he has no intention of trying to touch me.
I hate that too.
I hate so much about my life right now because it doesn’t feel like my life. I’m not myself. And I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same again.
“Thank you for inviting them. And you’re right, Wylder and Ryn were exactly what I needed.”
Jackson’s mask begins to slip. I know he’s been trying so hard to be everything I need, never giving a glimpse of his needs until now. He looks lost and lonely—a palpable longing.
“Here you go,” Slade says, carrying Wylder down the stairs and giving him a big smooch before setting him free to run to Jackson.
“Night,” I say to Slade.
He gives me a tiny nod before disappearing back up the stairs.
“I set out an extra blanket and pillow,” I say to Jackson while nodding to the sofa.
He lifts Wylder onto his shoulders. “It’s probably not necessary. He’ll sleep on my chest and act as a heated blanket. I’ll be sweating by morning.”
I nod. “Okay. Well, good night.” I’m forced to get closer to Jackson to slide past him to my bedroom.
He could give me more space, but he doesn’t. Instead, he eyes my every move. That longing gets more palpable until I feel his touch without actually touching him. And my pulse responds, sending nerves firing out of control. It feels like anxiety, but not the kind that makes me want to hide in my closet.
“Good night,” he says while I bravely navigate our close proximity. “I love you.”
The returned sentiment gets stuck in my throat, but it’s screaming in my head. I love him too.
“Go get on the sofa. I have to brush my teeth,” I hear Jackson talking to Wylder as I reach my bedroom door.
But Wylder’s feet slap the wood floor behind me instead of getting on the sofa.
I turn. He runs past me and climbs onto my bed.
“Wylder,” Jackson calls, yawning while sauntering toward my room.
“He’s fine until you brush your teeth,” I quickly say to stop Jackson from getting closer.
He abruptly stops, and I give him a sheepish grin.
“Okay. I’ll be quick,” he says.
I watch Wylder play on my bed. He hides beneath my sheet, and I can’t help but grin. It feels good to smile like this. Steven used to love playing hide and seek. When he stayed with me, I’d build him massive forts under my piano. We’d pack the space with pillows, blankets, snacks, and flashlights.
Stepping into my closet, I change into my lounge pants and tank top. When I emerge, Jack’s waiting, standing at my door, but he’s not looking at Wylder jumping up and down. He’s looking at me.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I say, feeling a little flushed.
He leans his shoulder against the door. “Like what?”
“Like …” I drop my gaze. “Intimately.”
“I don’t know how else to look at you.”
I nervously rub my arm. “I feel like you’re silently asking for something I can’t give you. I feel like you need intimacy.”
“Frankie, I don’t have to touch you to be intimate. Because I remember what it felt like to hold you in my arms, to kiss you … to be intimate with you. So, every look is intimate. It’s personal. It’s me … loving you from near or far.”
I love this man with every part of what makes me a woman. Maybe I need him to take off his kid gloves, the way I needed Dr. West to drag the truth out of me. Jack won’t touch me until I ask him to, but what if I can’t bring myself to do that? What if I’m not that strong?
“Pa!” Wylder tosses a pillow off the bed and giggles.
“Come on, wild one, let’s let Frankie get some sleep.” Jack scoops him up and carries him down the hallway.
My heart makes a lunge, but it trips before reaching its destination. And I’m left with a whisper only to myself. “I’m the girl you kiss good night.” I touch my lips for a second and close my eyes.
Archer raped me.
His daughter is responsible for Steven’s death.
I survived gunfire.
I survived the loss of my twin.
Yet, a stranger shoved me against my car, covered my mouth, stole my purse, and tossed me aside. And that flipped my whole world on its head? It doesn’t make sense. He didn’t touch me like Archer did. He didn’t say the things Archer said.
Did I experience the final straw phenomenon? Something so, in and of itself, minor, upending my entire existence.
I brush my teeth and head to my door to shut it as tiny feet race toward me again.