Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“And he sounds like a brat. ‘Where are you?’” He throws his voice up an octave, sounding much more like a whiny toddler than Roy did, but the similarity isn’t lost on me. “Last one.”
“What the fuck, Hope? You embarrassed me in front of the whole town. Getchur ass back here. Now.”
The difference between the two messages is marked. Roy doesn’t sound at all whiny in the second one. No, he sounds furious, every word spat out through clenched teeth. I’ve seen Roy angry. I know he has a temper, but I’ve never been scared of him. Not a single time in all the years we’ve been together. But now? I’m not scared, exactly, but a tingle runs up my spine. A bad one.
“Where’d you say he hangs out at?” Ben asks, with the worst poker face I’ve ever seen. He looks mad enough to smash the guitar in his hands over Roy’s head.
I shove his knee with my toe. “You’re not going after him any more than my dad or brother are. I don’t need that.”
“What do you need?” Ben plucks a few chords, giving me a moment to think of a real answer, not a flippant, superficial one.
I told Joy I needed time. I told myself that too. But the truth is, I think what I need more than anything is to spread my wings in a way I never have before. I’ve been living inside a cage—a beautiful, comfortable one I willingly went into and that most people would be proud to live in. But before it’s too late, I want to see what I’m capable of. Crash or fly, I want to experience it all. And if I ever choose a cage—ahem, I mean marriage—it’ll be with someone who doesn’t make me feel trapped.
Putting this off and distracting myself isn’t going to do me or Roy any good. I need to grow some metaphorical balls and handle things. Because I may not know what I’m doing, but I know what I’m not doing—marrying Roy.
“I need to call Roy,” I admit. I don’t miss the flash of disappointment in Ben’s eyes, but he starts to leave, presumably to give me privacy to make the call. “Wait. Will you sit with me while I do?”
He presses his lips together but sets his guitar aside and sits back down. Once he’s next to me on the couch, a pillar of strength even though he doesn’t agree with what I’m about to do, I pick up my phone and dial Roy’s number. I have him saved as Hubby To Be, which seems ridiculous now.
“Hope? What the fuck, babe?”
Great greeting there, Roy, I think as I close my eyes against his anger.
“I’m sorry,” I say, hot tears falling down my cheeks. I’m not crying for Roy or even for myself, but for the me I was a few short days ago. That girl’s gone.
“You should be sorry. You left me standing up there like a fucking idiot.”
I swear I hear a rumble in Ben’s chest, and I glance over at him, holding up one finger. I don’t need him to be mad on my behalf. I’ve got this. I think.
“Roy, I’m sorry I left like that. But I can’t marry you. Not now. Maybe not ever. I’m sorry.” The words come out in one long, rushed sentence with no breath until the end, when I finally inhale again. It feels like my lungs are expanding for the first time in a long time.
“What?” Roy laughs like he doesn’t believe me, like what I’m saying is a joke, even though I’m dead serious. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” The irony of those two little words isn’t lost on me, and I rush to tack on, “I do mean it.”
“But it’s always been me and you.” Roy sounds off-balance, which I guess I can understand. But that isn’t going to change my mind.
“I know. That’s the problem. I need to just be me for a little while. Figure out who Hope Barlowe is beyond Roy Laurier’s girl.”
“What do you mean? You are my girl. You’ve always been my girl, Hope. Since that first day I saw you in the hallway and put my arm around your shoulders, it’s been us.”
My tears fall freely at the image he pulls up in my mind. I was thrilled when he sought me out in that busy hallway, shocked when he publicly laid claim to me with that possessive arm, and proud to be by his side. I’m not sure when that changed, and walking away from him now is terrifying, but it’s the only thing I’m sure of.
“I know. But all day—when I was getting prepared, when Joy buttoned up my dress, when Dad was walking with me—every moment I should’ve been ready to run down the aisle to you, I was panicking. I almost bolted a dozen times yesterday, and it shouldn’t be like that. You don’t deserve it. Neither do I.” Admitting that is like prying open my chest and showing him my deepest, darkest fears, but he deserves the truth. I owe him that after everything we’ve been through together.