Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“Khloe,” she finally manages.
Her hair falls around her face, becoming a curtain for her to hide behind. I want nothing more than to go to her and pull it back, beg her not to hide from me. That would be weird, though. She probably wouldn’t be comfortable if I put my hands on her. I am a complete stranger after all. I held her hand the entire time she was asleep, but she doesn’t need to know that.
My fingers tingle with the need to touch her again, even if it is just her incredibly tiny hand in mine.
“That’s a pretty name,” I tell her, hoping she’ll lift her eyes to mine.
She huffs, her hair blowing away from her face from the sudden gust of breath. Okay. Not impressed with my smile, doesn’t take compliments well. What other problems am I going to have with her?
I walk around the end of her bed and sit back down in the chair I was occupying before she woke up.
“I saw you in the park,” she says from behind her hair.
My muscles tense. She was so out of it earlier, I had assumed she wouldn’t remember our intense eye lock.
“I watched you for a long time,” I confess. “I saw you take a couple pills. It wasn’t until you stood up and staggered away that I realized you’d taken more than just a few.”
“Not enough, apparently,” she says coldly.
“I followed you,” I continue, ignoring her jab. “I saw you drop the empty pill bottle. I saw you climb up on the rail of the bridge.”
I shake my head at the images that have been running through my head the last couple of hours, images I’m sure are going to be around for a while.
“I pulled you off the edge,” I say.
I give her a weak smile when she lifts her head to look at me. “You should’ve let me jump.”
Chapter 5
Khloe
I watch his handsome face fall.
I have no clue why he’s still here. I mean, I get why he pulled me from the ledge. I guess it’s what almost anyone would do if they saw someone about to jump, but I have no clue why he’s stuck around. He seems friendly enough, but the last thing I need is someone hanging around out of pity, or worse yet, obligation. Everyone leaves eventually anyway, so there’s no sense in investing one second of my time into him.
He holds my gaze as if he’s trying to get a better read on me.
What you see is what you get, is what I want to tell him. He’s looking for something though. A spark of life maybe? An ounce of care for my life? Keep looking, buddy. You won’t find that shit here.
I take in every inch of him, noticing first his muscular arms and wide shoulders. I see part of a tattoo peeking out from the arm of his t-shirt. The tiny hint makes me want to see it all. I’ve always been partial to inked bodies, loving how a story can be told in ink rather than words.
His dark brown beard is ridiculously neat, trimmed to perfection. It surrounds pouty, kissable lips. I can’t help but wonder if he has chest hair. I’ve always been attracted to very masculine men. I realize how much of a freak I am, staring at this stranger, itching to see the rest of his tattoos and wondering what he’d look like naked, how my fingers would feel caressing his skin.
Soothing brown eyes look back at me, almost pleading with me to change my views of the world. His hair is longer on top than on the sides, tousled and messy as if he’s been running his hands through it for hours. Sexy, this man is incredibly sexy. He has an edge of danger to him, but at the same time, he seems completely approachable. He’s a wash of contradictions.
“I’m sorry about your fiancé,” he says reaching his hand out to take mine.
I pull away immediately, unable to hide the quiver in my lip at the mention of Alec.
“Don’t,” I say unsure of what the word is in reference to. Don’t touch me. Don’t mention the death of my best friend. Don’t walk out of here and leave me alone.
A few minutes of peace are all I’ve gotten since Alec’s death. A handful of times over the last couple of weeks my mind would shut down, and I forget, briefly, just how much I’ve lost. I got that reprieve looking at Kid until he ruined it by opening his mouth.
Why do people always feel the need to speak? Why verbalize the pain others are feeling? Sometimes just sitting, being available if needed is the best thing you can do.
“He’s my best friend,” I say on a choked sob. I have no idea why I’m telling him this. I don’t know why I feel the need to ease the hurt I saw in his eyes when I pulled my hand away from his touch. “Was. I lost my best friend.”