Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“That’s not up to you.” She steps back and shoves her hands in her coat pockets. “Text me. You won’t want to, but you’ll do it. No matter what happens with Jarret, Lorne and I are your family.”
Her soft smile hits hard, but her words center me. I don’t know if I’ll ever reach out to her. I’m not that brave. But it’s nice to know she wants me to.
She closes the door and returns to the porch. I don’t watch her retreat or let my eyes drift to the dark shadow under the overhang.
I put the car in gear and maneuver through the snow and onto the dirt road. My chest is so tight I can’t breathe, but I hold it together until the ranch fades in the rearview mirror.
When the misery floods in, it’s an avalanche. Uncertainty claws from my chest. Determination holds my foot to the gas pedal. Heartbreak fills the car with godawful noise.
I turn on the radio and cry harder as Just A Fool by Christina Aguilera & Blake Shelton tortures me with cruel lyrics.
It’s okay. I’ll be okay. I might be falling apart, but it’s an opportunity to rebuild myself. I’m lost, but I’m going to find myself. I’m doing this for me.
Except I know that’s a lie. I’m doing it for him.
He deserves a woman who doesn’t resent him, who isn’t afraid of him, who wouldn’t even consider walking away from him.
I’m not good enough.
When I reach the edge of town, I leave the could’ve been’s, should’ve been’s, and never will be’s, and head south.
Destination unknown.
“You need to be patient.” Conor glares at me, her eyes as green as her sweater.
Two auburn braids fall past her shoulders in the same style Maybe wore, and it pisses me off.
I slam the refrigerator door, wobbling the contents. “It’s been two months.”
Two fucking months and Maybe hasn’t called. No messages. No updates. Nothing. I’m confined in a persistent fog of rage and helplessness. My patience flew the coop the moment she drove away.
Jake leans against the back counter, his face a tapestry of blue and yellow bruises. Mine looks worse. We talk with our fists, and we’ve been talking a lot lately.
“I’m calling the private investigator.” I pop the cap on a beer and move to push past Conor.
She blocks my path, anchors her fists on her hips, and raises an eyebrow.
I know that look. It judges and scolds with a terrible reminder. Not too long ago, we shut her out of our lives. We let her believe we abandoned her for six years, and here I am, raging about being ignored for two months.
“Fine.” I grit my teeth. “I’ll give her more time.”
“Thank you.” She gentles her expression. “And try to be a little more tolerable.”
I can’t promise that. Anger’s my trusted companion. It feeds me and keeps me breathing.
With a long draw from the beer, I storm out of the kitchen and into my bedroom.
Maybe’s hair tie sits on the nightstand next to the cream I used on her welts. There’s a bottle of mint shampoo in the shower, little cotton shorts under my pillow, and random girly things in the closet. Her sweet, feminine scent lingers in every corner, and I’m terrified it’ll fade before I see her again.
I’m crawling inside my skin, missing her, cursing her, hating her, and aching for her. If she saw me in this state, she would be horrified.
I writhe in my bed at night, fucking my fist like a sex-addicted fiend. I snap at everyone who looks at me. My best friend has become a white calf named Chicken, and I can’t eat meat without feeling ill. I’m twisted-up, banged-up, so fucking desperate for her I can’t stand myself.
Does she think she’s the only one hurting? I want to bloody her ass for leaving me. I want to punish myself for letting her leave.
Is she safe? Does she think about me? Is she coming to terms with what happened? Or has she moved on with someone else?
My vision turns red, and I pace the room, vibrating with fury and needing an outlet. The walls close in around me, huge sections demolished from repeated collisions with my hands.
My fists flex.
From my pocket, I remove my phone and pull up Fuck You Bitch by Wheeler Walker Jr.
As the sneering song croons through the speakers, I move to a pristine wall and lay into it.
Swinging my fists, I break through sheetrock and send up a cloud of dust.
Fuck her. I let my arms fly, savoring the pain.
I hate her. I punch harder. Right hand, Left hand. My knuckles throb.
I fucking love her. I grip my head and roar.
FOUR MONTHS LATER…
I wake. The room is empty. The walls are bare, the air stale.
Jarret isn’t here. He isn’t near.
“I don’t care.” I push out of bed and move toward the window, opening it wide.