Total pages in book: 196
Estimated words: 188002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 940(@200wpm)___ 752(@250wpm)___ 627(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 188002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 940(@200wpm)___ 752(@250wpm)___ 627(@300wpm)
I don’t know if I should feel flattered or offended by everything that just spilled out of his mouth.
“As you can see, I’m employed and I do have health insurance. I’m single but I have friends and family to help out. Lyric is very well loved and cared for. You can tell Blue we don’t need anything from him. You can tell him his dog is still fine, too.”
“You can drop the defensive act. I’m here as a friend, not your enemy.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just having a rough couple weeks. It’s....” My voice trails off and I let out a bewildered sigh.
His expression softens. “It sucks to be in a toxic relationship. Been there.”
My lower lip trembles defiantly. “I’m not in a toxic relationship with him or anyone. We’re not in an anything.”
He touches my chin and tilts my head up, forcing me to look at him. “Trust me, Piper. You’re in a toxic relationship. And he’s the father of your kid. You’re always going to be in a something with him. Whether you like it or not.”
Shit.
“I have a kid with my ex. It’s hard, but we make it work for our kid. I make sure she has everything she needs.” He pushes his body off the table and levels his brown eyes on me. “Blue ain’t me, though. He can’t deal, ya know?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I do know.”
“He cares about you, though. That’s a first for him. And since he’s too fucked up to deal with it right now, I’m just trying to be a good friend. To make sure his kid is all right.”
“She is. She’s happy, she’s super smart, she’s a lot like him.”
He sticks his hand in his back pocket and hands me a card. “Let’s hope she’s not too much like him. My number’s on the card, and I wrote his on the back, in case you don’t have it.”
Reluctantly, I take the card from him and shake my head. “No. He didn’t give it to me.”
“You’re better off calling me. He never answers his.”
“I’m sure we won’t be needing anything, but I appreciate it. You’re a good friend.”
He winks at me. “Someone’s gotta be.”
After he leaves I ignore the stare from the receptionist and return to the privacy of my office. I have an overwhelming gut feeling that this definitely won’t be the last time I see Reece Blackstone.
A month later an envelope is delivered to my office, with a thousand dollars of cash inside, and a note from Blue:
Ladybug,
I’m sorry I fucked up. Again. You see my pattern? This is me.
I can’t stop thinking about you. I wish we had more time together before it all went to shit. I wanted to start over. I love how you love me and I love how you hate me. Don’t feel bad. I need your hate and I need your pain just as much as I need your love. It fuels my fight like nothing else. I wish it didn’t hurt you. I hope I’m worth it but I’m probably not. I’m sending you money for Lyric. I love that name. I know you named her for me. I’ll send you more when I can. I waste a lot of money on shit I shouldn’t do. But now maybe I won’t do that anymore. Someday I’ll be better. I hope someday we can try again. I miss you. I fucking ache for you, really.
I love you.
Blue
I close my door so my co-workers can’t see me crying at my desk, and then I re-read the note multiple times. I do this every time Blue leaves me a note—I read it over and over and get more upset and fall more in love and by the end of the day, I’ve memorized his words and I’m even more confused and pulled deeper into this abyss with him.
As much as I hate to admit it, maybe Reece was right, and this is a toxic relationship. Has knowing Blue ever not given me both the best and the worst parts of my life? No. My life pre-Blue seems like another life altogether. What did I think about before him? What did I love before him? What did I look forward to before him? What made me cry before him?
My mind blanks. I can’t see the answer to these questions.
I tuck the envelope of cash and the note into my bag, wondering what he was thinking, sending this amount of cash through the regular mail. It’s unheard of and I’m surprised it didn’t get stolen. The missing return address on the envelope doesn’t go unnoticed, nor the absence of his phone number. Does he not have an address or a phone again? Or does he not want me to be able to contact him?
For the rest of the day, that little tidbit continues to irk me. How I have never been able to contact him. How he was able to disappear, nameless and address-less—for years! If I hadn’t heard his song on the radio that day, who knows how long it would have been before I ever saw him again. Years? Maybe never.