Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Except that it does.
Mom rises abruptly. “Stay here.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get something. I’ll be right back.”
I pour myself another glass of lemon water and wait. Mom returns a few minutes later, holding a red velvet box.
Oh, geez…
I know what it is. It’s the ring from her grandmother. Her pride and joy. The pink star sapphire.
“Mom, I—”
“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t say you’re not ready, or it’s too soon, or whatever. It’s yours. It’s always been yours.”
“What about Brad?”
“He’ll get the diamonds from your father’s mother. This is for you.”
“But you love that ring.”
“I do. It was my grandmother’s, as you know, but I rarely wear it. The pink clashes with my green eyes. Everything clashes with my green eyes. But on Rory Pike? This ring will be perfect.”
She’s not wrong. This ring will look stunning on Rory’s left hand. But our fight…
Mom slides the velvet box across the table to me. “Take it.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. If you’re serious about Rory, you should have this in your possession when you need it.”
“But this morning…” I shake my head. “We had a ridiculous fight. I told her I needed to be away from her.”
My mom pats my hand. “Fights happen, but they rarely signify the end of a relationship. Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“No, not really. It was stupid. I need to fix it.”
“Then fix it, Brock. If you love her, you have to fix it.”
I grab the ring box and rise. “I will. Thanks, Mom.”
She smiles at me. “Don’t turn your back on love. Not ever. And for what it’s worth? I think Rory Pike is wonderful.”
And with my mother’s words, I know exactly what I need to do.
Rory’s not answering her phone.
I’ve called three times, left two voicemails, and I’ve texted.
I decide to try one more time.
I get a breathless, “Yes?”
Her voice doesn’t sound right.
“Sweetheart? It’s me. What’s wrong?”
Sobs then. Racking sobs.
My heart drops. She’s upset, really upset, and it slices into me like a butcher knife, gutting me. “Where are you, Rory? Tell me, and I’ll come right away.”
“On”—gasp—“my”—gasp—“way”—gasp—“back”—gasp—“from”—gasp—“Grand Junction.”
“What were you doing in Grand Junction?”
“You told me”—gasp—“to see a doctor.”
“Rory, I said we’d go together.”
“You told me to get out. You told me—”
Then a clatter.
Damn! Where is she? God, I hope she pulled over. If she’s crying like that, she shouldn’t be driving.
“Where are you? I’ll come get you.”
Rustling. A big sniffle. Then— “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
“Oh, but I am. And you’re fine too, Brock. Because you know what? I’m not pregnant.” Big gasp. “You didn’t knock me up. So yeah, we’re both just fine.” Sniffles again. More sobs.
My Rory. My sweetheart. Sadness sweeps through me, and I know what I have to do. I have to get on the road to Grand Junction and find her. I don’t want her to be alone right now.
Together we can deal with the grief.
For it is grief that I’m feeling. Sadness and anguish and pure grief.
For a baby I didn’t know I wanted…until now.
I find Rory still on the side of the road. After getting her into my truck and arranging for someone to transport her car back to her parents’ house, I drive her to my place.
Once inside, I take her in my arms right in the foyer. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing.”
I cup her cheeks. Her eyes and lips are swollen and red, her nose even redder. Still, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
“Please tell me,” I say. “What do you need?”
“I don’t know.”
“When I’m upset, I swim. It helps.”
“I don’t want to go swimming,” she says.
“I didn’t think you would want to. It was just an example. It helps me when I’m upset.”
She doesn’t reply.
I walk her to the kitchen. “Do you want a cup of tea? My mom likes to have a cup of tea when she’s…”
When she’s what? Crying? Sobbing? Just found out she isn’t pregnant?
“No tea,” she says.
Rory stands in the kitchen, leaning against a counter.
I take her hand and lead her to my bedroom, though I’m not sure what we’re going to do when we get there.
Maybe a shower?
She walks straight into my bathroom and turns on the faucet. I watch her as she splashes water on her face and shudders. “I know I must look like a fright.”
“You’re beautiful, as always.”
She scoffs. “Don’t bother lying to me, Brock.”
“I’m not lying to you. You’re beautiful to me no matter what.”
“You told me to get out,” she says.
“I did. I needed to cool off. I was angry.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so nonchalant about a trip to London. We weren’t gallivanting about London so I could be missing my work. I wanted to be there for you. I wanted to help you. I was just…”
“I understand.”
But do I? I want to. Are we in the same place? I asked her to move in with me. Hell, I said I’d marry her. My great-grandmother’s ring is in the pocket of my jacket.