Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
So much silence.
“Maybe I made a mistake blocking the mayor in with my car when I didn’t know if the threat was serious. Okay? Maybe it was a mistake. But even if I’d gone and waited at the end of the block like a good little soldier, there would have been a next time. A time for you to feel vulnerable—if we tried to make this work. In the future, I’d have gotten a flat tire on the side of a dark road without you. Or maybe I’d finally get the courage to go skydiving with Jude—”
The look of absolute horror he gives me would be funny if this conversation wasn’t so excruciating.
“And you’d remember I’m a liability. A threat to the emotionless life you’re so determined to lead. And you’d push me away. Best to do it now before things get too complicated, right? Get it over with?”
I take a step closer to him and his jaw bunches, fingers flexing at his sides. Almost like he’s scared I’ll touch him and he’ll crumble. Maybe he would. Maybe he’d apologize for his harsh words and we’d kiss and go home together, but our root issues would still exist.
“There is nothing emotionless about guilt,” I continue, doing my best to keep my voice even. “About the way you’re punishing yourself. Terrible things happen sometimes, but you can’t avoid the high of happiness or joy, because you’re too afraid of falling from a great height. Maybe I learned some of that lesson myself since we met. I just…” This is getting too hard. Standing so close to him and not walking into his arms, having that warmth permeate me when I need it the most. “You never made me any promises, Myles. Even if you wanted to. So I hereby absolve you of any guilt where I’m concerned. Okay? That being said…” Chin up, I look him right in the eye. “It’s your loss, bounty hunter.”
“Taylor,” he rasps.
Turning on a heel, I walk away. I leave him behind me, literally and figuratively, because I don’t have another choice. I won’t get more attached when he’s made it clear that he’s an island in the middle of the ocean. Unreachable. A loner that commits to no one. My dream is to have the opposite. A warm, committed relationship where it’s a given that we are in every adventure, every tragedy, together. No questions asked. Myles wants the road—and he never made any bones about it—so my only option is to give my statement to the police, go home and embark on day one of mending my broken heart.
Chapter 20
Myles
I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting on the edge of my bed in this motel room, staring into space. My bag is packed on the ground. Did I ever even unpack it?
No. When do I ever?
I should be a hundred miles from Cape Cod right now. My email is full of job opportunities. A missing parolee down in North Carolina. A hit and run driver in Michigan caught on CCTV with a ten-thousand-dollar reward on his head. Quick jobs. Easy ones that I could move on from and never think about again. If I could move from this spot. If I could just stand up, walk out the door and leave this sea foam green nightmare of a room behind. Get on my bike and go.
It’s obvious why I can’t light out of this place. She is the reason. And Christ, it’s fucking painful to think about her. Your loss, bounty hunter. Truer words were never spoken in this lifetime. Until she tossed her hair and strutted away from me on the sidewalk, I never stopped to acknowledge that I have PTSD. There is no way in hell a man lets a woman like that leave his side unless he’s blocked up by serious mental trauma. I have post-traumatic stress. The Christopher Bunton case screwed with my head and…
And she’s right. I’m punishing myself over it. Three years later, my past is leading me to do things like shout at this incredible woman when I should be kissing her, rejoicing in her safety, praising her for being brave. I did none of those things. I lashed out like a wounded bear. Knew it, too. Kept going because of the crushing residual fear. She drove her car straight at a murderer. Could have crashed, could have been shot or stabbed. Or caught in a crossfire with the police. My blood turns to ice thinking about it.
Hell yeah I’m still pissed at what she did. Sorry.
I’ll probably be mad about it until the day I die.
But I’m feeling a lot worse about her not being in my lap right now.
A lot worse.
Sort of like I might die.
I try to swallow and can’t, a choked noise tripping out, instead.