Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Chapter 17
Kit
“I think that’s a great idea,” Jules says.
“Yeah?” I look over at the pile of clothes her mother wore that have made us recall the happiest stories. “I bet Mom knows someone that could make that happen.”
She nods, her smile still a little sad, but at least she’s not torn in two the way she was when I found her sitting right outside of the room when I arrived.
I’ve just suggested having a memory quilt made out of her mother’s clothes, and the idea seems to bring her a little peace.
I have no better idea how to help this woman with her grief than I did years and years ago when her mother passed away. I’ve still been fortunate enough to not have lost someone I cherish so dearly. My parents are a constant in my life. Even my grandparents on both sides are still alive.
What it does is help me to understand a little better her unwillingness to chance losing someone she loves, even though her secret is tearing me apart.
“You look ridiculous,” she mutters, a little laughter in her voice.
“This?” I point to the sun hat that’s been on my head the last fifteen minutes. “I think it has a certain charm.”
“You’re the charming one,” she says dismissively. “It has nothing to do with the hat.”
I turn away from her, needing to hide my smile.
We’ve been going through her mother’s things, mostly clothes, books, and sentimental items, for nearly two hours. There are no kitchen items, furniture, nor anything that doesn’t hold some sort of memory for her. She was strategic when she packed her mother’s things, and I can’t even imagine what those days looked like. I wasn’t around for it.
I escaped St. Louis before she was forced to deal with her mother’s house going into foreclosure, although I heard about it from my mom while it was happening. It killed me not to be there for her during those times, but I was still bitter and hurting from her rejection. She didn’t reach out either. I never woke in the middle of the night to a text because she was thinking of me. She never once tried to rekindle the friendship I so desperately wanted. We just kept on living separate lives until I finished my years of service.
Returning home a changed man had given me hope. I’d imagined walking up to her, telling her that I’ve loved her for years, confessing that no one would ever compare to her, but other than an awkward hug and a welcome home, I got nothing else from her. It was as if those nights on my parents’ couch and the thousands of text messages we shared never happened. I never brought it up, and neither did she. It was just a part of our history, something she seemed to want to forget.
“Now it’s just getting weird,” she says, yanking the hat off my head.
I turn to her with a wide grin, ready to tell her that I’ve never looked better than I do with one on, but that joke dies on my lips when I realize just how close we’re standing. My arm immediately goes around her waist, my eyes locked on her lips.
She stopped crying a while ago, but that bone-deep sadness is still in her eyes.
I have to step back from her, letting my arm drop back to my side, hating that she just can’t seem to understand that I want to experience every damn high and every fucking low with her. I want to tell her that I’d never let Beth get angry with her. I want to tell her that even if it happens, I’ll be everything she’s ever needed.
But I can’t. Her mind is made up.
I clear my throat, turning around to grab one of the few remaining items from the last box.
“What about this?” I ask, trying to sound cheerful through my own broken heart as I lift the cotton nightgown over my head and begin to struggle to get the thing on over my clothes.
Her soft laughter cools a little of the fire that’s been eating me from the inside.
“You’re an idiot. Would you stop? You’re going to rip it.”
“Fuck,” I grunt. My arms are trapped over my head. “A little help?”
Jules steps forward, one palm on my stomach, the muscles there contracting, begging for more, as she lifts on her toes to pull the thing back over my head.
Her grin is wide once she frees me from the fabric, and it hits me in the chest that I’ll love this woman every day for the rest of my life. Accepting that she’ll never be mine, I risk ruining everything when I clasp the gown in my hand and pull it from hers.
I see it in her eyes when she looks up at me. She knows how I feel, and even though her head starts to shake back and forth, just another rejection, I still press my luck, stepping into her and lifting her chin when she tries to look away.