Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I storm up the steps, my anger just bubbling up even more when I think of the fact that Wyatt could have been in this house when that shit went down, and I can’t stop my hand from pounding on the door. “Harmony,” I say, “open the door.”
CHAPTER 34
Harmony
I close the door behind me, ignoring the burning of my feet from walking through the weeds and dry grass. My purse falls from my hand as I put my head back on the door and close my eyes. The tears roll down both cheeks so slow as I turn my head to the side to look out into the darkness. “You’ve done the stupidest thing you could ever do,” I tell the empty, dark, humid room. “You’ve gone and fallen in love with someone who will never love you back.” I wipe the tears from my face and take a step forward, wincing from the stabbing pain in my feet.
I walk over to the steps putting one foot on them to go upstairs, and the pounding starts, stopping me from taking the next step. “Harmony,” he growls out, and I close my eyes, just looking at the door when the next pounding comes. “Open the door.”
I look at the door, taking a deep breath before walking back to it and turning the lock open. I’m going to let him off the hook, I tell myself. It’ll be fine, my head says the words, but my heart feels like it’s being broken into a million pieces with the shards of glass piercing through me, causing me so much pain I’m having trouble breathing. “Baby,” he pleads, his banging not letting up. “I’m going to break down this fucking door.” I unlock the door, and he must hear the click because the banging stops as I open the door a bit, just so I can see out of it. “Baby,” he says again, and the pain in my chest is stronger than it was one minute ago. His hands go to the side of the door as he stands there in his shorts and nothing else. “Why did you leave?”
The question makes me do a small blink, thinking of how to answer this. I look over his shoulder, wondering if Taylor is waiting for him, but just the thought makes my stomach lurch. “You had company.” That’s the only thing I can come up with.
“I had company,” he repeats my words, as if he’s trying to understand them. “Harmony,” he grits between clenched teeth, and I know I have to let him off the hook. This needs to be over for both of us.
“It’s fine, Brady.” I try to muster up all the courage I have to get this conversation over with, and then when it’s finally over, I’m going to lie in bed and cry. “I get it.”
His hands fall from the doorjamb, folding over his chest, “You get it?” I really hate this conversation is taking more time than it should, prolonging the inevitable, because he’s repeating everything I say.
“Yeah, I get it.” My voice goes higher than I want it to go, but this has to just fucking end. “You felt sorry for me.” His eyes bore into mine, and his jaw gets tight. “It’s fine. It’s all fine.” I pretend that it’s fine. “I know where we stand.” I just need him to fucking leave.
“You know where we stand?” His voice is tight, almost as if he’s hissing and growling at the same time. “And where is that?”
It’s my turn to repeat his question. “Where is that?” He can’t be serious.
“Yeah, where is that, Harmony?” His voice is still tight, and I really fucking wish he would have waited until the morning for this.
“Yeah, you felt sorry for me—” I start to say and the sound that comes out of him is feral, but I know I have to just continue this. “It’s totally okay, Brady, I know where we stand.” I just need him to leave. He is staring at me, and he looks like he’s thinking of something to say. “Like, can we not do this? I get it. I so get it.” I finally throw up my hand in frustration. “We don’t have to do this.”
“I think we have to do this,” he finally snaps, pushing past me and into the house. “We most certainly do since you just handed me that bullshit right there.” He points at me, and I turn now and try not to wince, but of course it’s Brady, so he sees it but ignores it for now.
“Brady.” I am literally hanging on by a string right now. After the whole fucking day, the whole fucking couple of months. I thought I had it under control, but I was wrong. “Please, for the love of everything, can we just fucking not do this?” The tear escapes, but it’s a mad tear, a frustrated tear. “Like, I fucking get it. You”—I point at him—“you are you, and I know that us—” Should I even use the word us? “With me, it’s a passing thing.”