Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I just left my life right where it was destroyed months ago, and as I watch the front door of the house like it holds the answers to questions I’m afraid to ask, I find it incredibly sad that I just walked away from a place Lana loved so much. Maybe she would understand why I did it, maybe she wouldn’t, but there’s nothing I can do to change my reaction now.
I try to talk myself into going inside, but even two hours later, I’m still just sitting in the SUV at the curb, taking in every inch of the house I planned to make a home with my wife, creating our perfect little oasis. The place we wanted to raise our family.
It no longer holds the same appeal for me, and I wonder, not for the first time, if putting it up for sale would hurt less in the long run. I’d probably regret the decision initially but making a home someplace that isn’t filled with broken promises could be best.
A familiar SUV turns into the driveway, and I wait to watch Boomer climb out of the driver’s seat, also expecting Ali to be with him, but it’s her driving, and she’s alone.
Concern makes me sit up straighter in my seat, watching her as she climbs out and closes the driver’s door. She shouldn’t be here alone, and yes, technically I’m here, but she wouldn’t have known that when she left the clubhouse.
She glances in my direction, a weak smile on her face before heading to the front door.
My first instinct is to rush in behind her and ask her what the hell is going on, but that would mean going inside. Even in my current irritated state, I know I couldn’t do that.
So I sit and wait for her to come out with plans to confront her whenever she reemerges.
Chapter 11
Alyssa
I could easily go ask him why he’s sitting outside the house. Physically, I’m capable of that, but mentally, I don’t know that I’ll ever be ready to walk up to him in any sort of confrontational way.
Peeking through the gap in the front curtains, I watch him as his eyes close, and he leans his head back on the seat. He looks exhausted. I noticed it this morning when I walked into the kitchen, but it’s not my place to bring it up. I got out of there as quickly as possible, knowing he’s always in an agitated state when I’m around. I didn’t want to cause the man the irritation my presence brings.
I should’ve gone to the burger place Grace and April invited me to instead of coming home, but I just needed a few minutes alone. It’s getting harder and harder to sleep each night on that couch, and my own irritability grows with every passing day because of my lack of sleep. I was hoping for a quick nap on my lunch break, but knowing he’s outside makes it impossible.
I head to the kitchen, pulling out the fixings for a sandwich that I got while grocery shopping yesterday. I’ve given Boomer access to the house, and he wasn’t very impressed with the lack of food in here. He all but forced me out of the house and to the store. I bought quick and easy things to make because I’ve never been much of a chef. Since he was just glad I didn’t put up too much of an argument about going shopping, Boomer kept most of his frowns to himself when I loaded the cart with freezer meals and things that didn’t have to be prepared.
My thoughts trail back to the man outside while I pull the bread out of the bag, and I end up grabbing enough for two sandwiches, thinking it would be easier to go out and ask if he needs anything if it came along with the peace offering lunch would bring.
I stare down at the bread and the two pieces I’ve slathered mayo on, realizing I have no idea how the man likes his sandwiches. It’s not surprising. Other than him wanting me as far away from him as possible, I know nothing about him.
I make his sandwich identical to mine, planning to eat it later if he turns it down. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and a snack-sized bag of potato chips before heading to the front door. I keep my pace quick, afraid I’ll lose my nerve if I slow down.
Being inside cooled me down some, but the hot summer sun beats down on me, drawing a sheen of sweat between my shoulder blades by the time I cross the street.
When I first stepped outside, his eyes were still closed, but they were lasering into me when I lifted my head after stepping off the curb.