Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I almost felt bad for asking about it now. “That must be so hard for you.”
He nodded. “So, naturally, I’ve always put this enormous pressure on myself to succeed. Because I wanted to prove myself to them.” He ran his hand through his hair. “But really, what did I attain in the end, if we’re still not speaking—if my father sees it all as an abandonment rather than being proud of me? The hardest part has been losing touch with my brothers, though.”
That broke my heart. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have siblings. But honestly, who needs siblings like that? Your family should’ve supported your dreams. No one should be told what to do with their life for someone else’s gain. Your brothers are probably bitter because they wish they’d had the balls to do what you did. People don’t typically act like that unless they have a problem with themselves. They’re jealous of your success.”
“As always, you’re very insightful, Wren.” He sighed. “But it is what it is. Like you said, success isn’t the measure of joy, right?”
“You remembered.” I smiled.
“I’ve tried to let it sink in a little. I suppose it’s one of the reasons I called you back. The last time I experienced joy…was with you.”
Oh God. A shiver ran down my spine. Hearing him say that was both beautiful and heartbreaking. And the feeling was mutual. I had a good life, nothing to complain about, but nothing in recent years had lit a fire inside me, either—until Dax. I wanted to tell him so much but couldn’t find the right words.
He looked down into his cup. “I hope that didn’t come across as inappropriate. I just meant that in order to experience joy, you have to let your guard down. And the first time I’d done that in a long while was during that massage with you.”
“That makes me very happy.” I wanted to reach out and touch his hand, but I stopped myself. “And thank you for sharing a bit of your history. I hope your family comes to their senses someday.”
He took a deep breath. “When I met Maren, part of what drew me to her was the way she saw me and the way she made me feel. She looked at my self-made success, my hopes, dreams, and flaws the way I’d hoped my family would. And she filled the void they left…somewhat. We didn’t have a perfect marriage. But she was basically the only family I had and my best friend.” He shook his head. “Are you sorry you asked now?”
“Not at all,” I said, humbled by his openness.
He circled the tip of his index finger along the rim of his cup. “I took your advice and started journaling.”
“Really? I’m so glad to hear that.”
“It’s a work in progress.”
“Life is a work in progress, a series of ups and downs. What matters is that we pick ourselves up when we’re down and keep going. You’ve had a lot of practice with that as of late.”
“Well, that’s true. What’s that they say? God doesn’t give you anything you can’t handle? I feel like crying uncle so He knows I’m done.” He chuckled. “Anyway, now I suppose it’s my turn to ask you something, yes?” He flashed a mischievous smile. “I’m still curious about your bad-girl history—what you alluded to last time. I think it’s time you dispel my theory about being so put-together.”
I laughed. “There are probably too many stories to fit into this one appointment.”
Dax stared through me. “Share only one, then.”
I wracked my brain. There were several to choose from. “Well…okay…” I picked a memory at random. “For a brief period of time, I was a scrap-metal thief.”
“What now?” His eyes filled with amusement. “I gotta hear this.”
I sighed. “About ten years ago, my father became temporarily unemployed. We were in danger of losing our house. He’d been through so much and worked so hard to support us that I felt like I needed to do something—even if it was desperate. This kid from the neighborhood found out about my predicament and showed me all the best places to go to steal scrap metal. I’d sell what I gathered, and then leave the money in an anonymous envelope in our mailbox. My dad didn’t know where the cash was coming from.”
“Wow.” He chuckled. “Where did you steal the metal from?”
“Lots of places. Taverns that left their unsecured kegs out at night, construction sites… I refused to take anything from graveyards or playgrounds, though.”
“Did you ever get caught?”
“Yup. It scared the crap out of me. A woman caught me taking a bronze statue from her yard. I was lucky she didn’t have me arrested. When I explained why I’d resorted to stealing it, she actually let me have it and agreed not to press charges. But on the condition that I promise not to steal anymore. She also made me tell my father what I’d been doing. She knew him because we lived in the neighborhood. Once my dad found out, he was livid. So he and I did her snow removal that winter.”