Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
She brushes past me. I curl my fingers into fists, resisting the urge to touch her.
“I’m glad I could be here for her.” She pulls on her gray ankle boots. “I felt bad that it took me so long to get here. I’ve been spending the holidays with”—she lifts her gaze to mine while sliding on her jacket—“friends. And it’s about an hour away. But with holiday traffic, it took me just under two hours.”
Friends.
She stressed friends, and her downcast gaze reeks of guilt or regret.
Does she mean friend? Singular? A guy?
I press my lips together, biting my tongue. It’s none of my business.
“You hate that some other guy’s going to take what’s yours. The girl. Her love. Your life.”
It seems early to move on. Maybe she’s just numbing the pain. Perhaps I need to do the same.
“I’m an asshole for calling you. I should have figured out something else to do days before Christmas. And you had plans that I screwed up. Not to mention the drive. And staying the night.” I pull a wad of folded cash from my pocket and hand her two fifties. “At least let me pay for your gas. And please give my apologies to your friend.”
She stares at the cash in my hand. “Fitz, I don’t want your money. I care about Edith. I’m glad you called me.” When she lifts her gaze to mine, pain twists her beautiful features, as if the money is an insult.
“She’s not your responsibility.” I inch the money closer to her.
She ignores it, bending down to grab her purse from the floor. “Yeah, well, put your money away, because I’m not your responsibility.” She opens the door. “Let her sleep for several hours before checking on her. She needs to rest.” She pulls the door shut.
I’m flat-out nauseous, and my chest aches like I’m having my own health crisis. I open the door and step outside. “Are you upset with me?”
Jamie stops, slowly turning. She grabs her purse strap and sighs. “No.”
I rest a hand on my hip and drop my head. “I’m trying to figure out how to move on without regretting everything that happened before Thanksgiving weekend.”
“Does it matter?” Her gaze drifts to the side; she stares off into the distance before she continues. “It’s over. If you need to regret ever meeting me, then do it. Nothing changes where we are now. I wasn’t your future. I wasn’t really yours. And you were most certainly never really mine.”
“That’s not true.” A pang of anger swells in my chest.
She shakes her head and turns, continuing to her Jeep. “I’ll be your scapegoat, but I won’t be your punching bag. My feelings might not matter to you, but they matter to me.”
“Feelings?” I follow her. “Are you serious? Do you have any idea how I felt when you dropped that shit on me and then just left? Huh? Did my feelings even cross your mind? Talk about treating someone like a punching bag.”
She stops at her door and whips around. “You wished a hundred miserable deaths upon my father before hoping he’d burn in hell! He didn’t hunt down your family and kill them. He listened to my mother scream as a bear attacked her and their unborn child while I was home—a three-year-old child. And I never asked you to forgive him. I never asked you to forgive me. I flew Edith to you. And I told you the truth. Then I quietly left. You didn’t stop me. And I get it. You needed space. And I didn’t know what else to say. So I left. But don’t stand here and act like you weren’t fucking relieved that I was no longer a choice you needed to make.”
“I MADE MY CHOICE!” My words explode as I take a step closer.
She falls back against the driver’s side door, eyes wide.
“I chose you.” The words grind out of my chest. I’m breathless and so damn miserable. “I had my mother’s ring and the two most important people with me for Thanksgiving. I told Maren and Will that I chose you. This huge weight was lifted off my shoulders because I knew that you would say yes. And you would consume my whole fucking body and soul, and nothing and no one would ever matter as much as you.”
I won’t blink and let her see me cry, but watching her fall apart under the weight of my words is killing me.
The tears streaking down her cheeks.
The redness in her eyes.
The quivering of her lips.
The soft sobs vibrating her whole body.
My voice loses its drive; the anger simmers into pain. “Then you took it all away—he took it all away. Just like that, I hated Dwight Keane all over again.”
I don’t touch her but can’t tear my gaze away.
She furiously wipes her face and sniffles. “If you hate my father, then I can’t imagine how you’ll ever love me.” When she turns, I take a step back.