Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
“Maybe.” He tugged me down again. “And I don’t mean to say that I’m not happy about her reaction. It is a good thing. It’s just . . . good things can be deceiving, you know?”
Something in his voice set off the faintest alarm bell in my head. “How so?”
“Well, it’s important never to take for granted that everything is fine. You can’t be too complacent.”
I was completely still, letting his words sink in, trying to make sense of them. “Or else what?”
“Or else life will bite you in the ass when you’re least expecting it.” Then he said, quieter, “I suppose, now that I’m really happy for the first time in years, I’m just . . . a little bit afraid.”
“Of what?”
He hesitated. “Of something I can’t see coming.”
I curled up tighter against him, throwing my leg over his thighs and wrapping my arm around his torso, as if I could protect him from whatever it was he was scared of. I spoke fiercely. “Nothing bad is coming, Cole.”
He chuckled. “You sound so sure of that.”
“I am sure.”
“How?”
I picked up my head and looked at him. “Because I have been waiting for this moment my entire life, and the universe knows it.”
His lips curved into a smile. “This moment right here?”
“Mmhm.”
“What’s so special about it?”
“You’re here next to me.”
“That’s it? No, no, no. Let’s make it more special than that.” He rolled over so that I lay beneath him and looked down at me. “I love you, Cheyenne. And I’m so happy you never gave up on me. I hope you know that.”
My heart threatened to explode. “I love you too.”
He pressed his lips to mine. “Say it again.”
“I love you, Cole,” I whispered. “And everything is going to be okay. The best is yet to come.”
Twenty-One
Cole
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
I lay awake in the dark, anxious and sweaty, aware of every creak of the house, every click and whoosh of the furnace, every gust of wind whistling against my bedroom window.
There was a fucking dragon. I was sure of it. I could sense it. I could hear it creeping up on me. I just couldn’t see it.
It was waiting for me to drop my guard, that was all. It was waiting for the exact moment I was alone and unprotected. The moment I thought I had it all. Then it was going to attack. I felt it in every blood cell, every nerve ending, every bone in my body.
The next morning, I called Jessalyn. I knew she had Saturday morning office hours, and even though I was technically on shift, I felt like I had to talk to her.
“I need to see you,” I said. “It’s an emergency.”
“Cole, is everything okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m fully booked this morning, but I could see you on my lunch hour.”
“Fine.”
“Be here at noon,” she said.
At eleven-forty-five, I told the dispatcher I was going out of service and headed to Jessalyn’s office, which was on the second floor of a small office building downtown.
Too restless to sit—probably due to the six cups of coffee I’d had this morning—I paced the floor in the waiting room, ignoring the stares of a kid about Mariah’s age and his mother, as well as the receptionist.
“What’s wrong with that policeman?” I heard the kid ask, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“Nothing. And don’t stare,” she whispered back, although she peered over the top of her magazine at me suspiciously before taking her own advice.
A few minutes before noon, they were called into the office of another therapist in the practice, and I was left alone. Too agitated to sit still and tired of pacing, I started stacking all the magazines into a pile on the coffee table.
A minute later, Jessalyn’s door opened, and a teenage girl with a nose ring and pink hair came out. She gave me an odd look before hurrying into the hallway.
“Cole?” Jessalyn said, appearing in the doorway to her office. “Come on in.”
I tossed the magazine in my hands aside and strode into her office.
She shut the door behind me. “Please take a seat.”
I did, perching stiffly on the very edge of the couch.
She sat in her desk chair. “So what’s—”
“You were wrong,” I blurted, jumping to my feet.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You got everything all wrong.” I paced back and forth in front of the couch. “I did everything you said, and it didn’t go like you said it would.”
“Do you mean telling Mariah about Cheyenne?”
“Yes,” I snapped.
“She didn’t handle the news well?”
“She handled it great,” I said. “Which is why you got everything all wrong.”
She shook her head. “Cole, I’m confused.”
“You said there would be resistance.” I pointed at her accusingly.
“I said there might be resistance.”
“You said it would be a tough conversation, and I might have to give her extra hugs.”
“Okay,” she said patiently.