Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“What do you mean you know?” I scan her face.
“He told me.” If I thought I was shocked before, it’s nothing compared to what she just told me.
“He told you?” I ask, and she just nods. “When?”
“At the hockey game.” My mind is blown. “But the question is, why didn’t you tell me?”
I’ve shared everything with her except for Romeo. “To be fair, I thought it was a fling.” She tilts her head to the side and has a “yeah, right” face on. “Okay, fine. I was scared that if I asked him what it was, I was going to be hurt, so I didn’t.”
“How did that work out for you?” she asks, and I hate when she makes sense.
“Obviously not as good as you.” I try to make a joke, but instead my head hangs. “After we broke up.”
“You mean when he cheated on you,” she states, and my head whips so fast it’s a wonder I don’t give myself whiplash.
“Wow, he really told you everything,” I say and she nods.
“What are you going to do?” Abigail asks, and I just shrug my shoulders because I have no idea what to do.
She gets up and looks down at me. “Don’t make the same mistake I did.” She blinks away the tears. “Talk to him.” I just nod at her, the lump in my throat growing. “Now I have to get back, I left Penelope alone.”
I don’t move from the couch, and the door slams shut for the second time in less than an hour. My phone rings again, and when I see it’s my mother, I groan, “So you saw it.”
The sound of her laughter fills the phone. “I did. Was that a first date?”
“No,” I say and sit back. “We were dating in LA,” I admit, and the gasp from her tells me that she’s surprised. “We were together for seven months.”
“Gabriella,” she says my name in a whisper.
“Then I came home, and there was a girl there.” She gasps again, and I have this sudden need to protect him. “He didn’t sleep with her,” I quickly defend him. “He says it’ll never happen again.”
“Do you believe him?” my mother asks.
“Yes,” I admit to her.
“Do you think you can forgive him for what he did?” she says softly, and I wish she was here so she could hug me.
“I went on a date with him, so I’ve forgiven him a bit.” I try to be strong and joke about it, but she knows.
“But do you see yourself with him at the end of the day?” she asks. “In the future, do you see yourself with his babies?”
I roll my eyes and groan out loud. “Why do we always have to put babies in it?”
“Okay, fine,” she huffs, “when you are old and shriveled up like a prune, do you see yourself with him?” I don’t say anything. “If you know you can’t forgive him and move on, then you should just let him go.” I swallow down the lump in my throat that feels like a boulder. “Because it’s not fair to him.” She waits for me to say something, and when I don’t, she continues, “You need to forgive him and move on or let him go.” I close my eyes as I think about not being with him and a tear escapes me. “Your silence means you have a lot to think about.”
“I do,” I admit to her, “I really do.”
I’m getting into my car when the phone rings and I look down to see that it’s my father. I close my eyes not sure if I should answer it or ignore it. It would be easy to ignore it, but I also know that he’s going to keep calling me until I answer. I press the green button, accepting the call. “Hey there, Pops,” I say, trying to sound light and cheery like I always do.
“Don’t you hey, Pops, me,” he says, and I can hear his voice is tight. “I just got off the ice, and imagine my surprise when I have three hundred and fifty-seven missed texts from the family.”
I close my eyes, leaning my head back on the headrest. “I guess it’s a quiet news day.”
“Gabriella Stone,” he says my full name like he does every time I’m in trouble.
“Justin Stone.” I laugh now.
“What is going on?” he asks, and I let out a huge sigh. “Before you think about answering something else, I mean with you and Romeo.”
“I don’t know what exactly your question is,” I say softly. “We are two people who met, and he asked me out.”
“Those pictures look like more than just a date,” he states, and I wish I could tell him that it is more than just a date. That it was more than just a date, but the thought that he would hate him makes my stomach burn.