Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
My breath catches. He knew. Somehow he knew it was the end for him. “I had no idea.” The words slip out before I think better of them.
“How could you know? We don’t really talk about it.”
I frown. “Why not? Was the cancer a secret?”
He shakes his head. “It wasn’t his death so much as the circumstances around it that are so troubling. Mom went back to his apartment after leaving the hospital, and she said some of my dad’s things were missing.” He huffs. “Whoever she was, she didn’t just sleep with a married man. She stole from him. And she didn’t even bother to show up to the funeral.”
“Maybe he wasn’t cheating. Maybe she was a friend or . . .” Maybe this is just a terrible dream.
Alec lifts his gaze to meet mine. “My father was a very private man. Even his best friends in Manhattan never saw the inside of that place. Do you really think he had young women up to his apartment because they were friends of his?”
“It’s possible.”
Alec sets his mug on the sofa table then takes mine to place next to his. He pulls me into his arms and kisses the top of my head. “I love that you’re trying to make me feel better about this, but I’ve made my peace with all of it.”
I close my eyes and breathe in his scent. I want to pretend my past wasn’t my past. I want to strip it off like an unwanted sweater and leave it behind so I can stay here with Alec. But I can’t. The truth doesn’t work that way.
“So,” he murmurs into my hair, “how can I convince you to stay the weekend?”
I swallow hard. I was ready to tell him about my relationship with Oliver, but I can’t tell him about my involvement with his father. And it’s not just cowardice this time. I stole from that man, and to this day, I don’t know what was in the chest I emptied for Oliver.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “I need to go home.”
The gentle rise and fall of his chest stills beneath my cheek. One beat. Two. He steps back. “I thought we were going to talk about it? Can you tell me what changed in the last five minutes?” He blinks toward the photograph then back to me.
Does he see it on my face? Does he suspect?
“I’m not my father, Savannah. I would never be unfaithful. Not to you. Not to anyone.”
My heart turns hollow in my chest then crumples like tissue paper. “It’s not that.”
“Is it my family? I know they’re a lot, and my mother—I’ll deal with my mother.”
“Alec, don’t.” I just want to run. Can he see it in my eyes? This terror? This guilt? “This isn’t about your mother, either.”
“Then what’s this about?” he asks. “Is it the money?”
“Nah, brother. I’m pretty sure it’s me.”
Alec’s gaze whips toward the kitchen, and I follow it.
Oliver Rhett is leaning against the counter, the façade of amusement twisting his lips a sharp contrast to the anger in his eyes.
Part Eight
EIGHT YEARS AGO
CHAPTER TWENTY
SAVVY
I’ve always admired the women at the gym who worked with the barbells. I assumed that they were born strong and that was why they could lift so much. Assumed that the things they did were out of reach for me.
But now I’m one of them, and I feel like someone’s opened a door to a whole new world.
I’m not very strong, and the girls I’ve admired since I started at Crossport U have more plates on their barbells than I do on mine, but I’m completely addicted to how lifting feels. Oliver told me I was stronger than I thought, and he was right. It’s only been a few weeks of this, and I know real changes will take time, but I feel stronger after every session. I thought learning to fight would be my favorite part—I won’t deny that I get a thrill from punching and kicking the pads Oliver holds up for me—but it turns out that the weights make me feel like I can take on the world.
“How are your quads?” he asks, squeezing one of his own with a big hand. “Still sore from Tuesday? Because we can just do back and biceps if—”
“No. I’m fine.” I shake my head. “Not too bad. Sorry if I whined about it.”
He grins. “You didn’t. You whine less than most of the fighters I’ve trained with. Never doubt yourself. You’re an absolute badass.” He leads me over to the squat rack and adjusts the barbell height for me before loading it up. “Did you finish the warmup I wrote for you?”
I nod, and he gestures for me to get in place under the barbell. “How many?” I ask.
“Eight here, and then we’ll go up.”