Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“Then whose fault is it? Huh?” Tears threatened, and I swiped angrily at my eyes. “Whose fault if not mine? He reached out to me. I let him down.”
“No, you didn’t. There’s no way you could have known he was going to do this.”
I leaned my elbows on the table and took my head in my hands. “I want to go back. I want to go back and fucking tell him to stop thinking about Kopecki.”
“That was a fucked-up day that we lost Kopecki.”
“That was my fault too.”
“Fuck off, Woods. It was not.”
“I’d been nice to that kid.”
“We all were.”
“And he turned around and tried to blow us up.”
“Because he wasn’t just a kid, Woods.” Mack’s voice was hard. “He was a soldier.”
“I should have seen it coming. Should have been sharper. I was weak—I felt sorry for him, growing up surrounded by war. ‘What chance does he have?’ I thought. I was soft.”
“You were human, looking for a little humanity among the violence. It’s understandable.”
“But it’s not forgivable.”
Mack didn’t argue. He knew there was no point.
“I talked to Bones’s mom,” he said. “There’s going to be a service next week and she asked if we’d be pallbearers.”
I nodded. I couldn’t speak.
“Daddy, can we have lunch?” A little girl appeared in the kitchen doorway. It looked like Millie, the oldest. She had her mother’s blond hair and Mack’s dark eyes, and she was at that gangly age where her arms and legs looked too long for her body.
Mack cleared his throat. “Yeah. Give me a minute.”
“What are you going to make?” she asked dubiously.
“I don’t know. Chicken nuggets.”
She sighed heavily and turned around, walking back into the family room. “It’s chicken nuggets again, you guys.”
This news was greeted with groaning.
“God, how can they be so sweet one minute and such little assholes the next?” Mack asked.
Any other day, I would have laughed.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I took it out to look at it. It was a text from April Sawyer asking if I could come in. “Shit. I have to go in to work. It’s going to rain and they need to move everything inside.”
Mack nodded.
I replied to April that I’d be there within the hour and shoved my phone back in my pocket.
“You gonna be okay?” he asked, getting up from his chair.
“Fine.” All I had to do was flip the switch so I didn’t have to feel anything—not grief for Bones, not guilt over Kopecki, not regret for all my mistakes.
“Want to grab a beer later?” He pulled a bag of chicken nuggets from the freezer.
“What about the kids?”
“I can try to get a sitter.”
“Okay. Yeah. Let me know.”
It wasn’t until I was on my way home to change that I remembered Stella was waiting for me. Fuck. I was already a shitty boyfriend and we’d only been together for twelve hours.
Because you’re not cut out for this. You’re not capable.
I scowled at the highway in front of me, hating myself for getting into this situation. For allowing myself to fall for her and letting her fall for me. She’d been right to be scared. I was only going to hurt her. Nothing good had ever come of dropping my guard and letting someone in. Of being weak. Of being soft.
I sat up straighter in my seat, jaw clenched, hand tight on the wheel. I had to be tough. I had to be ruthless. I had to sever the feelings at the root so they would die.
As for her feelings, well, that was her problem. I’d warned her, hadn’t I? I’d told her I wasn’t good at this. I’d told her it would be a mistake. She needed to go home and forget about me.
I ignored the way my gut was churning. The sharp pain in my chest.
I parked the truck in the driveway, ran into the house, and changed from my running clothes into jeans, a Cloverleigh work shirt, and boots. I was on my way back out again, jogging down the front porch steps when I saw Stella about to come up.
She’d obviously run on her own, and was glistening with sweat, her cheeks flushed. At the sight of her, my heart started to pound.
“Hey,” she said, slightly out of breath. “Everything okay?”
No, I wanted to say. I fucked up and I’m a mess and I can’t handle this. I can’t handle any of it.
“Fine,” I said shortly, moving around her and heading for the truck.
She spun around. “Wait, where are you going?”
“To work.” I opened the driver’s side door. “I got a message they need me.”
“Oh.” She twisted her hands together at her waist.
Her nipples were hard and poking through her top, and I hated myself for not only staring but starting to get hard at the sight of them. I loved her body. I loved its softness and its firmness and all its curves and planes. I loved her arms and legs around me, and the smell of her skin, the taste of her lips. I loved the sound of her voice, the touch of her hands, the way she looked at me, as if she was in awe. As if I had saved her. As if I were a hero.