Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Don’t do that to yourself, Teagan. You have no idea what was going through his mind.”
“And neither do you—with Max, I mean.” I hold up my hands before Carter can shut me down. “I’m not saying it’s the same. I know it’s not. If I’d been there that night and survived him . . .” I shake my head slowly. “I can’t imagine what that was like for you, but I do know what it’s like to carry that blame. I know how it eats away at you. How it makes you . . .” I close my eyes, remembering those months after Heath died and before I moved away. “It makes you act differently. Recklessly.”
“You think I’m being reckless?”
“I think the Carter I knew before the warehouse fire didn’t have a revolving door of women in his bed.”
It’s not pain that crosses his face with those words but . . . nothing. Like he flipped some switch inside him that turns off his emotions and turns his face to stone.
“I’m not saying it’s the same,” I repeat, trying again, “but I am saying I might understand what you’re going through better than you realize.”
“Teagan,” he says, “let it go. I’m fine.”
But I understand fine, too. Fine is where hopes and dreams go to die.
Teagan
I have to give Carter credit. I’m sure he knows all there is to know about all of the local breweries—and he certainly knows everything there is to know about Jackson Brews beer—but as our tour bus took us from one brewery to the next, he acted like this was his ideal way to spend a day off. I know the Jacksons are picky about beer and think their stuff is the best, but he tasted the samples at each stop like it was all new to him.
We’re sitting thigh to thigh at the far end of the bar at Jackson Brews, the last stop of the day. After the tense and abrupt end to our conversation in the hotel room this morning, it was a relief to let loose and do something fun together. Now I’m slightly buzzed from the beer samples. My skin is warm and my eyes are heavy, and going back to our room for a nap is starting to sound mighty tempting.
The best part of the day has been spending it next to Carter. I kept catching my gaze drifting to him as we toured the breweries. My sister is completely smitten by him. Or maybe she loves the idea of me being with someone she believes makes me happy. He plays the role of my boyfriend effortlessly—walking hand in hand with me and whispering comments into my ear. He’s so natural that I’d almost believe he did adore me. I almost want him to.
The worst part of the day has been Rich watching our every move. He wasn’t at dinner last night, but I should’ve known the reprieve would be short-lived. I haven’t talked to him since he showed up in Jackson Harbor last year. I don’t know if he’s tried to call or text. I blocked his number a long time ago, and Rich is perceptive enough that I’m guessing he’s figured that out. My friendly Apple Store tech informed me that I can listen to the voicemails he leaves if I go to the Blocked Messages folder. Thanks, but no.
I don’t realize that my thoughts have made me frown until Carter leans over and brushes my hair behind my ear. “Are you okay?”
I swallow and push away thoughts of Rich—as much as I can when I know he’s in the same room, sitting three chairs down from us. “I’m fine. What about you? Are you having an okay time?”
“If this is your family’s idea of bonding, I can see why you fit in so well with the Jacksons,” he says.
“I think this was more Saanvi and Liam’s idea of fun than Mom’s.” I lean my head on his shoulder. We’re supposed to be a couple, after all, so wouldn’t I touch him like this? “But maybe my parents have loosened up a little in recent years.”
“They did put us in the same room.”
I huff out a laugh. “Mom cornered me at dinner last night and told me she’d given us the other suite to ‘appease the bride,’ then warned me of the risks of pregnancy and the struggles of her patients who have babies out of wedlock.”
His eyes are wide—perhaps the slightly horrified look of a man who’s wondering if there’s a shotgun wedding in his future. “And what did you tell her?”
“I told her that I’m a virgin and I’ve never so much as kissed a boy, and how exactly are babies made again?”
He laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, yes, I did. She didn’t think it was funny, sadly.”