Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
When he acts like this, I’m reminded of the man I fell in love with. The sweet guy who sat with me outside a bar while I hurled my guts up on my twenty-first birthday. The handsome man who got down on one knee in a rainstorm, because it had rained all weekend, to ask me to marry him at Story Brook Lake. The protector who swung me in a circle when he found out we were having our first child.
Why did things have to change?
Jack slips his T-shirt up and over his head. Has he been going to the gym again? “I talked to Dad this afternoon. I told him Michael and I might stop by on our way to Hocking Hills.”
“How is he feeling?”
“His blood sugar was a mess. I was a minute from calling an ambulance when he said the number was back down.” He squeezes his forehead. “He’s more of a headache than the kids.”
For you, maybe.
My irritation subsides as I take in the pain on Jack’s face.
His biggest fear is that something will happen to Harvey, and he won’t be there to help him. But his dad refuses to move out of the house he shared with Myra and is fiercely independent, so there’s not much Jack can do. And I hate that for him.
Jack’s gaze holds mine before he rips it away.
“Thank you for breaking the news to him about the cabin,” I say, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “I didn’t expect you to do that.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.”
I pause and look at him. “What does that mean?”
He sets the Coke on my desk and then turns to me. His muscles shine in the light beaming in through the windows. Good grief. He leans forward, his eyes glued to mine.
My breath catches in my throat.
“Has it ever occurred to you that I’m not incapable?” he asks.
I force a swallow down my throat. “Incapable of what?”
He glares at me.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I say, instantly defensive—the moment stolen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You act like it surprises you that I’m capable of anything.”
“Oh, I know you’re capable. I just have low expectations.”
“And that’s a fucking problem, don’t you think?”
I stand taller. “What? The fact that you’re capable or the fact that I’ve given up hoping you will exercise that ability when it comes to me?”
He walks across the room and stands in front of me. The intensity of his gaze makes my knees wobble. I have no idea what he’s going to say, nor do I understand why he’s making a point to argue this now. Isn’t it moot?
I search his eyes longer than I should—long enough for my heart to soften. Long enough to remember exactly why I avoid seeing him at all anymore. It just makes things harder. It pulls me back into a vicious circle of caring, then hurting, ending in disappointment.
“When are you and Michael leaving?” I ask.
His jaw pulses. He stares at me for another second, then two. Finally, he sighs and swipes his shirt and the can off my desk.
I exhale in relief.
“I’m going to grab a shower, and then we’ll head out once he’s back and packed,” he says, sending a whoosh of his cologne my way.
“Make sure he tells me goodbye.”
He looks at me over his shoulder. I can’t quite read the look in his eyes, and that’s probably for the best.
“And take his inhaler,” I say.
“Of course.”
And with that, he walks out of the room.
CHAPTER THREE
JACK
Did you tell your mom goodbye?” I ask.
Maddie snaps her seat belt in place. “You’re just dropping me off at my cheer party. I’ll see her in two hours when she picks me up.”
I level a look at my daughter.
“Oh, right,” she says with appropriate fourteen-year-old sarcasm. “Like she’d let us out the door without telling us goodbye. But here’s the question, Daddy—did you tell her goodbye?”
She bats her mile-long lashes, a feature she got from her mother, my way. But there’s a special brand of smugness to her this afternoon that I can’t quite put my finger on.
I watch her warily. “Yeah. I did.”
Before I can follow up on my response, Michael flings open the back door. He tosses a backpack in the cab before climbing into the middle and closing the door.
“I got all of our luggage and camping gear in the truck bed,” he says. “And all of Maddie’s stuff for cheer.”
I glance in the rearview mirror. “You know we’ll just be gone a few nights, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a lot of crap,” I say, switching my gaze to my son. “Are you sure you only got the stuff I told you to get out of the garage?”
Maddie waves a hand through the air. “I packed you some extra food and just . . . little things. You know, mosquito spray and peanut butter crackers. Can’t let my boys get hungry.”