Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
I don’t laugh.
Instead, I hurry across the empty living room and pull her into my arms. She comes without resistance, tucking her face into the base of my neck as I tighten my embrace with one hand on her lower back, the other on the nape of her neck.
It’s too much for her, and she gives a little hiccup of a sob before she lets loose. She wept during the funeral but at all other times, she always had the stiff upper lip as she talked to person after person who came to pay their respects. She never lost it, and I felt that was wrong.
Not that she was doing anything wrong, but I don’t think she was ever given the opportunity to just pour out her emotion. She had to deal with funeral arrangements, burying her brother, and then sorting out all the loose ends that are left to tie up when someone dies.
Regan bends her head so her face is now pressed into my chest. I can feel the heat of her tears soaking into the fabric of my shirt. Tightening my hold, I start to rock back and forth, not saying a word so I don’t interrupt the catharsis of her grief.
When she starts to quiet, I pull away slightly to see her. The black streaks of mascara under her eyes and extending down to the tops of her cheeks make her appear even more frail and vulnerable.
I give her a smile, hoping to get one back. Wanting her to acknowledge that was good and freeing to some extent—the security of a good old-fashioned emotional cry.
Instead, she worries at her bottom lip as she tries to wipe the blackness out from under her eyes. It’s only a flash, but I see she’s incredibly troubled about something. It’s gone just as quickly when she shoots me an overly bright smile, which appears forced and painful.
“What is it, Regan?” I ask as my fingers come under her chin to make her look at me. “Something’s wrong, and I want to know—”
“It’s nothing,” she says in a tone so automatic and programmed it’s obvious the truth is the exact opposite.
“Regan… it’s me. You’ve known me your entire life. You know what Lance meant to me. I swear to God whatever is wrong, I’ll help you fix it. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help.”
“Honestly,” she replies as she tries to make her smile bigger in an attempt to throw me off. “Everything’s fine. I’m just tired and ready to get home.”
Home for Regan is southern California where she stayed after graduating from college to be a nurse. Lance didn’t like her being clear across the country since it impeded his ability to visit with her during the small pockets of time he might have available during the regular season.
But Regan had apparently gone from shy to incredibly independent in the years since I’d seen her. By Lance’s account, she was loving her life there.
“You don’t have to be so strong all the time,” I say, hoping it will help to break through her stubborn refusal to share what has her worried.
Her lower lip quivers ever so slightly, but she keeps her smile in place. “I’m fine, Dax.”
“You’re not,” I retort, absolutely positive she’s lying.
Regan’s lips press into a flat line, her eyes hardening. She’s shut herself down and erected a wall, and I consider what new tact I should take to break through.
An insanely irrational thought bursts with vivid color in my mind. It’s of me grabbing her by the shoulders, hauling her into me, and kissing the hell out of her.
I shake my head, blink, and refocus. We engage in a staring war but given I’m more stubborn than Regan could ever hope to be, I shore my resolve.
Whether she senses it or not, I’ll probably never know, but to my incredible surprise, her face crumbles and she practically wails, “Oh, God… Dax. Everything is wrong. Lance ran up a ton of debt, and I have creditors pouring out of the woodwork demanding payment. Lance’s accounts are empty, and he didn’t have any life insurance. I have no clue—”
“What do you mean he didn’t have life insurance?” I cut in.
“I called,” she says as a tear escapes and slides down her cheek. She dashes it away. “It had been canceled.”
I mutter as I scan helplessly around for the answer to all her problems. It’s not within the packed boxes, which is all that’s left of Lance. When I look back to her, I say, “That’s not on you though, Regan. You’re not responsible for his debts.”
“I know,” she says without equivocation. “It’s just… of course I know that.”
I watch her with a critical eye, evaluating her last words. She knows Lance’s problems aren’t hers now. Yet… something is still weighing on her. I can actually feel it radiating off her.