Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
That was why she’d been pleased about Jared quitting his job and returning to the States. She had thought she would finally have her boyfriend all to herself.
Claire chuckled. How naive she had been.
A persistent pressure in her bladder made itself known again, so she got out of bed and padded to the bathroom.
When she was done, she returned to the bedroom but paused, looking at the empty bed. Where was he?
Claire turned around and left the room.
The house Gabriel had bought for them after he found out about her pregnancy was huge and luxurious. It was the house of her dreams. But now, in the darkness, it seemed too empty and cold. Claire pressed her hand to her belly. It wouldn’t be so empty soon.
She found Gabriel downstairs.
He was asleep on the couch, the moonlight pouring in from the open window and illuminating his features. The moonlight was kind to him. It concealed the bags under Gabriel’s eyes.
Claire stared at him for a moment before shifting her gaze to the phone on Gabriel’s chest. She hesitated, but she wanted to know.
Carefully, she picked up Gabriel’s phone and glanced at the display.
The email app was open. Claire frowned, noticing that Gabriel had many unsent messages in “drafts.” Emails to Jared, all of them unsent. Quietly, she sat on the couch next to Gabriel and started reading from the oldest email, dated more than a month ago.
…
Claire told me to say hi. She doesn’t know why you left, so I couldn’t tell her we weren’t talking at all. That’s why I’m writing. To say she said hi.
…
The new doctor is great. Her name’s Anne Boyle, and she’s fun and very pretty. She’s the only female team physician in the Premier League. How cool is that?
I like her a lot. She’s awesome. She doesn’t scold me and doesn’t tell me not to eat something I want to eat. She doesn’t care. She’s great.
…
Tristan is such a suck up. He’s somehow weaseled his way into the English NT now. Everyone’s treating me like a ticking bomb for some reason. They probably expect me to be angry about it and envious, but I don’t give a shit. He can gloat all he wants.
…
We don’t know the gender of the baby yet. Claire wants it to be a surprise. I’m not sure I care one way or the other and it scares me. Shouldn’t I care? I’m scared I’m going to be a shitty dad.
…
My muscles are so sore after today’s training session. Ron’s massages suck. And he had the nerve to tell me it’s my own fault for not being relaxed enough and flinching when he touched me. It’s not my fault he does it all wrong.
I almost hope I’ll be benched for the next match. I hate playing on the right wing, anyway.
…
I found your t-shirt in my closet today. I think it’s the one you wore when we went hiking back in June. It smells of summer and sunshine. I miss summer.
…
I couldn’t sleep last night again. I asked Rebecca to give me some sleeping pills again, but she refused and told the coach. I always knew she hated me.
…
The coach forced me to see a therapist. You know I hate shrinks. They always try to twist your words into something you never said.
Dr. Bisset isn’t that bad, but she asks stupid questions. Today she asked me why I still hadn’t married Claire. Like it’s any of her business. Why does a piece of paper matter? Claire doesn’t care, and neither do I.
…
The coach yelled at me again. Not sure why. Lately he does it all the time. I should probably care more.
…
It’s raining again. Sometimes I feel like it’s always raining.
Maybe I should accept Barcelona’s offer and move to Spain next year. There’s nothing holding me here. At least I’ll be warm there.
…
Jay, I
…
It’s all your fault, you know. You turned me into this. So fuck you. I hope you’re miserable. I hope your days seem bleak and endless. I hope you look at my pics and feel like paying millions for one hug. I hope you can’t sleep, and when you do, I hope you dream of me, and when you wake up, you feel cold and want to go back to sleep, but you can’t.
…
That was the last unfinished email, written only tonight.
Claire closed the email app and stared blankly into the darkness. Oh God. God. Was that how Gabriel felt while she was pregnant with his child?
It hurt. It hurt even more than his opinion of marriage.
Gabriel had never bothered to ask. He had never asked her whether she wanted to get married. Why had he assumed it didn’t matter to her? She had hinted several times that she had always dreamed of a big wedding.
Shaking her head, Claire told herself not to be naive. Many footballers didn’t marry their girlfriends—most famous footballers were in happy relationships and had kids without being married—so she knew she shouldn’t feel hurt. Gabriel loved her. He did. But she would have liked him to ask her opinion.