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)
Jack smiles, gently rocking beside me. “My mom used to sew costumes for Jess and me. I went through a heavy Star Wars phase. Luke, Han Solo, Yoda, Obi-Wan … and every year, my mom would say, ‘Jude, I’ll pay you money to choose something that’s not Star Wars.’ Jessica was the pleaser that time of year because she wore whatever Mom made her, no complaints.”
I love that about him—the softer side to Jack.
“Did you ever imagine your life would go in this direction?” I ask.
“Never. I assumed I’d be more of a white-collar crime guy.”
I giggle. “How so?”
“Well, I went to college and graduated with a degree in computer engineering with a minor in finance. A good Ponzi scheme seemed like a possible direction for me. But things never go as planned.” He glances over at me, maybe because he feels the weight of my stare. “What?”
“You have a degree in computer engineering?”
“Yes. Did you think I was nothing more than a pretty face with a bad habit of killing people?”
My lips twist as I shake my head. “I love that you never stop surprising me. Well, the good kind of surprises like yesterday’s unexpected visitors. I know Livy and Slade plan to take Wylder home when they leave here, but I want to steal him. He’s … thousands of dollars of therapy all wrapped up in a pint-sized body with fishy kisses, the best hugs, and the most addictive giggle.”
Jack returns his attention to the road. “Grief, trauma, depression … they come in waves. I’m happy that you’re feeling better today. I hope this is the beginning of great strides. But Wylder is leaving. And I’m not a therapist, but I think it might be a good idea for you to talk to someone or join a support group.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Just to keep moving forward. There’s work. Driving your car again. And I think you could use some better self-defense skills. I know a guy.”
He’s right on all accounts. And I know this because I have read enough self-help books to know that I might need help beyond those books for quite some time. But I’m turning a corner. I feel it. I know it. And I have Jack to thank.
“Can I say something aloud without you reacting? Without you speaking or responding in any way? Can I see if I can say these words outside my head without falling apart?”
Jack eyes me carefully for several seconds before nodding.
I don’t look at him. I’m better, but I’m not there quite yet.
After a long inhale, I let the actual words see life beyond the dark recesses of my mind and the nauseous pit of my stomach. “Archer Sanford raped me on his piano. It didn’t hurt because I let the important parts of me leave my body. At the time, I didn’t feel him. I didn’t feel anything until I met your gaze on me. And I felt embarrassed. I felt shameful. I felt … at fault. And part of me felt like I, too, would have blood on my hands for the rest of my life. Days later, I thought about the events of that night, and I realized I never said the word ‘no.’ I never screamed. I didn’t even fight him.”
I’m on the verge of tears, but I’m so damn proud of myself for getting all that out without shedding a single one.
But when I turn my head, I realize my moment of great strength is Jack’s final-straw moment. He doesn’t move. His hands are gripping the arms of the chair, and his face is wet with tears.
The man I love is not heartless. He’s not a killer. He’s human.
He bleeds.
He feels pain.
And sometimes … he cries.
I stand.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t blink.
I stand, stepping in front of him. Still, he doesn’t acknowledge me. It’s as if he’s fighting everything to hold it together, but he can’t hide the parts that leak to the surface. I can’t imagine ever loving him more than I do right now.
Wedging between his spread legs, I curl up in a ball on his lap, face in his neck, hand flat against his heart. “If you carry me to the finish line, I’ll carry you for the rest of our lives.”
Ever so slowly, Jack’s hands release the arms of the chair and embrace me. Head bowed. Lips pressed to my head.
He is my Baines. I am his Ada. And together, we will sail away to a future filled with unimaginable happiness.
EPILOGUE
Eight Months Later …
Jackson waits.
He worries.
What if she doesn’t make it?
What if something happened along the 2500-mile journey?
How long would it be before someone told him?
If she has so much as a scratch on her, heads will roll.
He paces. Checks his watch. Then he heads to his basement to beat the shit out of his punching bag.