Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“She’s not a fuckin’ thief.”
“So, quick to come to her defense.”
“Jesus Christ, you give me a headache.”
“I have that effect,” he said easily, getting up from his seat. “Look, I’m not gonna treat her like shit or freeze her out because she did somethin’ shitty. She had enough of that growin’ up and I’m not gonna add to it. You wanna do that, it’s on you.”
After he left, I cleaned up our beer bottles and closed up the house for the night, making my way upstairs in the dark. The closer I got to my room, the more anxious I got, wondering if I was going to find Emilia in my bed like Rumi had mentioned. How the hell would I throw her out? Because I knew I’d have to. Fucking Emilia would be the stupidest thing I’d ever done, and I wasn’t about to go down that road. She’d screwed me over once, and I wasn’t about to let that happen again. We had a son to think about, and we needed to keep things friendly between us—sex would mess that up in a hurry.
When I reached my bedroom and found the door open, I braced but realized almost immediately that she wasn’t in there. Ignoring the disappointment I felt—I must be a goddamn masochist—I closed myself in.
The room was as close to perfect as I could get it. I’d picked out every feature, from the ceiling fan to the massive California king bed myself. My mom said I got so caught up in the minute details because I was an artist, my dad argued it was because I was a perfectionist, but I just thought I knew what looked good, and I wasn’t willing to cut corners. The carpet was plush, the curtains were blackout, and the sheets were fucking amazing. I could live in the same work jeans and a worn-out flannel no problem, but I wasn’t willing to sleep on shitty sheets. Life was too goddamn short.
I wondered what Emilia thought of the house as I got ready for bed. She’d obviously done some looking around, because I knew that I’d shut my bedroom door and it had been open when I got there. Did she like it? Was it weird for her?
Of course it was fucking weird for her. I was living in her fucking house.
No, it was my house. I’d made it mine.
It hadn’t been when I’d moved in. The family I’d bought the place from hadn’t changed it much and it had still felt like Emilia’s house. It had the same carpets and most of the same wall colors. Same cabinets, appliances, hell, they hadn’t even changed the window blinds. I’d only been in her house a couple times while her parents were gone, but I’d remembered exactly what the place had looked like back then.
I shrugged off the memory of the first day I’d come back here, looking for answers.
The hot water did little to relax my shoulders and neck, but I stood there for a long time anyway. I couldn’t believe she was back. Fuck, for a year after she’d gone, I’d fall asleep with her on my mind. It didn’t matter if I was drunk or sober, Emilia had been the first thing on my mind when I woke up and the last thing on my mind when I’d gone to sleep. I’d worried about her, fuck, I’d worried. Silently and not so silently raged at her. Missed her. Loved her. And then, sometime in the past year, that shit had all calmed. I’d still thought of her often, but not as often. I’d still worried, but that had mellowed, too.
Now suddenly she was back, and I didn’t know what to do with that. We had a son, and I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with that either.
When people said that you didn’t know the depth of feeling you could have until you had a kid, they weren’t lying. The moment I met Rhett, I knew I’d die for him. When he’d wiped out in the yard and I’d heard him crying, I’d felt it deep in my chest. Instant fear and the urge to make it better no matter what I had to do. It was a fucking trip, to say the least. I didn’t even know anything about him, but I knew he was mine. One hundred percent mine.
Okay, fifty percent. Whatever.
He was so fucking sweet, and you could tell just by looking at him how much he loved Emilia. She was his north star. I scrubbed at my body as I contemplated how it might all work.
Eventually they were going to get a place of their own, but I wanted him with me. It made me nauseous to think of the things that I’d already missed. Spending half his time with me and half his time with Emilia seemed like the fairest thing. Equal time. We were both his parents.