Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“I said, get up!”
I yelped, springing off the bed as ice water hit the naked skin of my chest.
“What the hell?” I yelled as Lexi came into focus, holding a now-empty ice bucket, the contents of which had melted and were now soaking into my couch. “Did you seriously just pour freezing water on me?”
“Yes, I did. You need to snap out of it.” She started pressing buttons on my built-in espresso machine. “How does this thing work?” she muttered.
I rolled my eyes, which, thanks to the two bottles of wine I’d drunk the night before, hurt like hell. “I need to snap out of what?” I demanded.
“A lot of things, actually, but let’s start with the fact that”—she leaned toward me and sniffed—“you obviously haven’t showered in…too long. Aha!” she said as coffee started dripping from the machine and she slid a mug under it.
“These are the first few days in a row I’ve had off in years. Can’t I enjoy them?”
“If this”—she swept her arm in my general direction—“is your idea of enjoyment, then no.” She put her hands on her hips and glanced around the condo. “For someone leaving in a couple days, you don’t look very packed.”
I scrubbed a hand down my face. “All I need to do is put together a couple of bags,” I told her. “I’m keeping this place for when I come home for holidays.”
“Ah.”
I looked at her, sensing more behind that short, singular word. “Ah, what?”
“A half-formed contingency plan,” she said. Before I could respond, she turned and started pushing me. “It’s a start. Go on. Take a shower while I make you some breakfast and then we’re going to chat.”
“You don’t cook,” I reminded her, but acquiesced as far as the shower and started heading to the bathroom. It had been a couple of days since the disaster known as Gage Buchanan’s Bon Voyage Party and I wasn’t expected in the office as I was supposed to be preparing my apartment for my departure. Instead, I’d been doing some moderate drinking and some heavy wallowing. Maybe a hot shower would help clear some of the fog from my head. I started walking more slowly. I didn’t want to clear the fog from my head. Underneath the fog was…her.
“Go!” Lexi scolded, obviously having heard my feet begin to drag. I sighed, and continued on but halted again when she called, “Do you cook eggs with or without the shell? Kidding!”
I closed the door to the bathroom and went about the business of cleaning my body on autopilot. But when I got out, I stared at myself forlornly in the mirror as I ran a hand over my scruff.
The misery I’d been trying my best to hold at bay came washing over me like a tsunami and I put my palms on the counter to brace as it did its worst, battering and drenching.
I’d never suffered. Not like this.
I’d never hurt and yearned and felt a desperate need for something I couldn’t have. And I didn’t know what to do with it.
I’d done everything “right” and yet everything was wrong.
Everything.
My head fell forward, and I simply let myself feel it. For the moment, it was all I could do.
A sharp rap on the bathroom door jolted me from my pain stupor and I lifted my head. “What?”
“Just making sure you didn’t drown in there.”
I was drowning. Emotionally, anyway. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
I opened the medicine cabinet and removed my razor, but then stood there looking in the mirror again. The scruff felt like all I had left of her and so I put the razor back, unwilling to let this very small piece of her go in the dwindling hours before my responsibilities could no longer be ignored.
I dressed quickly and went back out to the kitchen, where Lexi was just sliding a plate of bacon and eggs onto the counter. I sat down and studied the food warily. It appeared edible and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, so I picked up a fork and took a bite, chewing for a moment before admitting, “This is decent.”
“Well, thank you,” she said. “I’ll take that as a high compliment from you, Mr. Foodie. I’m more capable than you might think.”
“I never said you weren’t capable.” I picked up the coffee she’d placed next to the plate and took a sip.
“No, but you think it. I can tell. That’s okay. I have nothing to prove to anyone, unlike you.”
I looked at her over the rim of my mug. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Listen, I’m not going to beat around the bush with you, Gage. I’ve taken the last two days to investigate exactly what went on since the last time I was here. I talked to Mom and Blakely and Faith Lorenz too, and I drove over to Pelion and visited the Hales as well because I wanted the full scoop from everyone involved. The only place I didn’t go was Mud Gulch because while I obviously don’t mind overstepping, I thought that’d be a step too far.” She put her hand up when I opened my mouth to interject and demand that she not to make this more difficult on Rory. “However, I don’t think that’s necessary anyway because I figured out the gist based on”—she waved her hand around in the air—“the club and the critters and the scruff and the fire hydrant in the park.” She exhaled and then pulled in another breath and went on. “It’s obvious you’ve landed yourself in a big ol’ mess of your own making, brother of mine. I’m not surprised, and I’m actually not disappointed because I think it might be exactly what you need.”