Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 147136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 736(@200wpm)___ 589(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 736(@200wpm)___ 589(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
“You love what?”
“Your hair, dummy,” she clarified, stepping closer with her finger pointed at me. “I always loved you as a redhead. Rock on, sister! How long has it been? Freshman year?”
I smiled. It felt good having my best friend’s much-appreciated approval, and it stripped away that tiny shred of doubt I was holding on to regarding my radical decision.
“Sophomore,” I corrected her, sliding my laptop beside me and stretching my legs out. “I would’ve gone back sooner to the red, I think, if it weren’t for Marcus’s strong dislike for it. I was tired of the blond. Plus, it was really damaging to my hair, all that bleach. This,” I said, tugging at a lock, “won’t need to be maintained as much. And it’s all silky now. Feel.”
Tori took the three steps to reach me and moved her hand through the ends of my hair.
“Sweet,” she murmured, plopping down beside my legs and smiling softly. “I’m going to be supportive and ask if you’ve found another job yet. Though, know this, I’m kinda hoping it takes you a few months and we get to kick ass at Whitecaps together for more than five seconds.”
Tori was always flat-out honest with me, all the time. I appreciated it.
I laughed and slid my hand to the laptop, tapping it once.
“I only found one so far and it was posted eight months ago. Doesn’t look good. You might get your wish.”
“Shame,” she said, a smile in her voice even though she kept her face indifferent. She bent her knee and rested her leg on the bed, asking, “You speak to him yet?”
Him being Marcus. There was no other him in my life, even though I had engaged in conversation yesterday with the man I’d accidentally ripped into two nights ago. It certainly didn’t mean I had another “him” in my life. Though if I’m being honest, it was nice being texted back all the same.
But Tori didn’t know anything about that, so she most certainly wasn’t referring to Brian.
I shook my head, then dropped it back against the headboard.
“Still?” She appeared shocked.
“Not a word.”
Her one hand curled into a fist.
“Bastard. What the hell? He doesn’t care to know where you are?”
“Where would I be besides here?” I asked, shining a light on what was, in my mind, the obvious explanation for Marcus’s silence.
Tori’s mouth grew tight. She knew I couldn’t go to my mom’s place. She knew all about my mother and our nonexistent relationship.
Marcus knew, too. Still, he couldn’t reach out and make sure I’d arrived safely?
“Right,” she replied, studying her nails. “Well, you are always welcome here. You know that, hon.”
It felt good hearing that, and Tori was right. I did know. But I didn’t dwell on that good feeling because I was now grasping for an explanation as to why the man I’d married no longer gave a shit about me or my whereabouts.
It hurt. Marcus was the last person I wanted to talk to but, strangely enough, the one person I needed to hear from the most.
“Are you going to call him?”
At the sound of Tori’s question, I refocused my attention on her, the hand in my hair starting to work that same lock again after going still during my pondering.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Do you think I should?”
She sat up a little taller. “Honestly? No, and I really don’t care how immature this sounds, but I think he should be the one reaching out to you. He wanted out. He blindsided you and ended things, which was the entire reason you packed up and left. Not because you realized how much better off you are without him, or how living with me instead of Marcus would be the shit, because it clearly is. No, he should be calling you and begging for your forgiveness. And I. Mean. Beg.” She leaned closer, placing her hand on my knee and squeezing. “And when this happens, you shouldn’t forgive him unless you want to forgive him.”
I lowered my eyes until she gave my leg a squeeze again, prompting me to lift them and look into hers. She waited for this, then spoke with a softer tone.
“Promise me, Sydney, right now, that you will not go back to that man unless you want to stay married to him. Do what your heart tells you to do. It’s the only voice that should matter.”
I smiled a little, then felt the need to point out a fault in her theory.
“My heart told me to marry him six years ago. What if it was wrong then? What if I made a mistake?”
She pushed off from the bed, propped one hand on her hip, and said with some sass coating her tongue, “The heart is never wrong, honey. It’s just stupidly hopeful like the rest of us. Can’t blame her for the fault of man-kind. That’s on them.”