Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Hey,” Rafe says, “calm down. I’m not trying to fight. I’ll be there if you want me there. If you don’t, I won’t. It’s as simple as that.”
I nod. “I want you there,” I say. “But I can’t….”
“Okay,” he says. “It’s okay.”
All I can do is nod. I throw an arm over his chest, hoping we can stop talking. Rafe rubs my back, and I twine strands of his hair around my fingers. It’s the kind of wavy it gets when he braids it wet from the shower.
After a while, I kiss his neck and slide my hand down his chest to his stomach. I feel his intake of breath, and his hand tightens on my back. With a hand on his cheek, I turn him to me so I can reach his mouth. The kiss feels so right—familiar and warm—and I deepen it.
Rafe turns on his side so we’re facing each other and kisses me, softly at first, then more urgently. This. This is what I need. I need to forget everything except the feeling of Rafe against me, his mouth on mine, his hair between my fingers, his hands on my skin.
“Rafe,” I murmur into the kiss. “Please. I need….”
“What?” He strokes my cheek. “Anything.”
“You—I… I need you.”
I try to pull him on top of me, needing to feel that he’s really here.
“Yeah?”
I nod. He’s studying my face, and I try with every last bit of energy I have to show him how much I want him. How much I need this.
“Okay,” he breathes, and relief rushes through me.
“You’re so handsome,” he says, kissing my neck. I snort, and he covers my mouth with his fingers and goes on. “I didn’t think about it until the kids started talking about it, but I can see what they mean.” He runs a finger down my cheek, over my chin, down the bridge of my nose, and over my eyebrows. “I watched the show. Supernatural. Last week.” He looks a little embarrassed at this confession. “I was missing you and… anyway, I see the resemblance.”
He kisses me before I can argue with him, sliding a hand under my neck to control the kiss. It’s hot and hard and I pull him down on top of me. My exhaustion evaporates, replaced by need. Our hands are everywhere as we kiss. Rafe is like a tornado and I meet it with everything I have, until we’re straining together, sweaty and shaking. Until I’m obliterated. Gone.
SOMEHOW LAST night with Rafe, I forgot everything. I forgot that Pop is dead. I forgot that, in the last few months of his life, I didn’t even notice anything was wrong because I barely saw him. I forgot that he died terrified and alone in a room of doctors. I forgot that I’ll never see him again, that I’ll never have the chance to earn his respect or… or…. But now it all comes rushing back.
Brian is a mess when I pick him up. He’s in Pop’s bed, eyes red and clothes stinking of beer. We meet Liza and Sam at the cemetery, and after a few minutes, Daniel walks over slowly, Rex at his side. They both look put together and pressed. Daniel doesn’t even look sad. His green eyes are clear, and though he’s a little pale, he mostly looks impatient, as if this is all just an inconvenience to him.
And with him is Ginger, his best friend. The two of them put their heads together, and when Ginger says something, Daniel looks over at me with a half smile on his face. As if it’s not bad enough that Ginger told Daniel about my tattoo, it looks like they’re laughing about it. I’m still furious with myself for going to her to ask about getting it covered up in the first place. She was the only female tattoo artist I could think of, and it seemed less embarrassing than having another man see the butterfly. My stomach clenches.
During the funeral, I can’t look away from the coffin. Pop’s coffin. The words being said about Pop don’t matter. This guy didn’t know him.
Hell, I’m not sure that I knew him. I wrack my brain, trying to think of things I know about him.
I could read his mood, sure, since it was necessary to surviving in his house. Tell when he was pissed off and I should leave him alone. When he was in a good mood and I could approach. When he wanted to teach me something and when he wanted me to figure it out for myself. I know what beer he liked, and what rum. I know which teams he rooted for and which radio stations he listened to. I know his socket wrench of choice and which brand of oil he’d recommend to a customer.