Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
I plug her phone in next to mine on the kitchen counter to make sure it’s charged by the time she wakes up. Grabbing a bottle of water, I lean against the counter exhausted and down the contents. The cool liquid feels good as it slides down my throat.
Dropping my head, I rub the bridge of my nose, thinking I should try to go to bed. I want to stay awake as long as I can to make sure she’s okay, though. After holding her hair and rubbing her back as she threw up in the bathroom, I helped her shower in hopes of sobering her up. She grabbed my sweatpants and one of my T-shirts before saying she should stay on the leather couch “just in case” she vomited again.
I don’t think it really works like that, but I wasn’t going to argue with her. I’m just glad she’s finally resting.
Refilling the bottle from the pitcher of cold water from the fridge, I put it back and turn to go check on Marlow when a buzz on the countertop stops me. I turn to see a message on the screen of Marlow’s phone: You’re fired.
Fuck.
I’m still not sure what happened with Casteleone, but using the reservation might not have been the wisest idea. Of course, I didn’t bother with that bullshit. If I’m getting a table, I’m getting it on my name alone . . . and the little lie that I was celebrating my wife’s promotion. The hostess was endeared by the gesture.
Right time.
Right place.
It almost all worked out. Until her mom showed up.
I’m not sure where we’ll stand when she wakes up. She was just getting settled into a new life that was created in her best interests, for her happiness, instead of curated by narcissists.
I’m best for her.
It took her so fucking long to see me as anything more than an extension of our friends’ crew. Sex might have opened the door for us, but I walked through. Me. I fucking walked through that door and showed up for her.
Fuck her mom.
Fuck her dad.
Fuck her boss and anyone else who dares to mess with my girl. She doesn’t need any of them because she’s got me in her corner. I’ll be there however she needs me if it helps her see she’s better off without them.
I walk to the office and dig through the closet, pulling a pillow and my sleeping bag from the depths. Dumping them in the hall, I continue to the bathroom and brush my teeth. Running my hand over the rough hairs on my cheek, I know I need to shave, but I’m too tired. Dark circles are also highlighted in the unnatural light of the bathroom.
Standing shirtless in a pair of basketball shorts hanging low on my hips, I realize it’s been a while since I’ve hit the gym. No big changes, but those dinner dates with Marlow and the holiday parties are starting to show a bit. I need to start exercising again—because it keeps me calm when my job is the opposite.
And it’s something I want to start doing with Marlow. I’m not sure what her preferred form of physical activity is, but I hope we can find something to do together outside of the bedroom. Although that is my favorite form of exercise with her.
Exercise might be another way we can do life together. I’ll bring it up to her tomorrow, and hopefully, she’ll like the idea.
I finish up and scoop the pillow and bag when I walk down the hall. Moving the coffee table away from the couch, I set up camp on the floor next to her. I take the blanket that’s started to slip and pull it a little higher, not wanting to disturb her sleep, then kiss her on the head.
Her life’s a mess, but who doesn’t have a rough patch here and there. I crawl into the sleeping bag and adjust my pillow under my head. Staring up at the ceiling, I listen to her breathing. It’s quiet and steady, content even.
I look at her sleeping on her side, facing my direction. Her hair needed washing, but she didn’t have the energy to blow-dry it, so she twisted it up on top of her head after running a towel over it. The collar of my shirt hangs over her shoulders, exposing the skin to the cool air. I reach up and tug the blanket higher. She doesn’t stir.
Lying back down, I close my eyes, taking the time to rest. I’m not sure how she’ll react, but I imagine seeing that text in the morning will feel like another blow to the life she’s trying to rebuild. It’s a life she’s determined to define on her own terms for the first time. But it has me wondering where I fit in.