Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
I let her see the raw honesty in my eyes, not daring to give her some bullshit excuse about this being a coincidence. “What do you think I’m doing here?”
Bri shakes her head, those tears finally falling and streaking down her face. “That’s not fair,” she says, her voice wavering with pain. “You can’t do this.”
“I know,” I admit. “I’m leaving. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have . . .”
She nods but doesn’t respond. Just stands there as we both wait, not wanting this stolen moment to come to an end. I creep in closer, the soft breeze picking up her subtle perfume. “Don’t go back in there,” I beg. “Let me take you home. You don’t want to be here.”
Bri looks up at me with those beautiful eyes that I love so much, and I reach out, wanting to touch her, but I pull back. The touch would be like the sweetest heaven, and I’ll be sucked in, ruining us both. I can’t risk it. “Have you changed your mind?” she questions, her voice so small and hesitant, yet so full of hope.
“No,” I tell her, the single word shattering my heart all over again.
Bri wipes the tears off her cheeks before standing tall and plastering a fake smile across her face. “Then I’m going back in,” she says with determination before turning on her heel and disappearing back inside the bar, taking my heart right along with her.
Chapter 9
BRIANNA
What the hell was he thinking showing up here like that?
Five months of struggling, five months of agony, and while I haven’t come very far at all, just seeing him like that has undone any kind of progress I’ve made. Why can’t he just leave me alone? Is that too much to ask?
The way he looked at me, the way he smelled. It all came rushing back. I wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and let him hold me just like he used to, beg him to take away the pain and love me like I know he desperately wants to. Fuck, the pain in his eyes was almost enough to bring me to my knees. I still don’t know how I managed to survive.
God, I miss him.
He wanted to touch me. I could see the way his hands balled into fists, how he tried to reach for me before thinking better of it. Had he touched me . . . had he given in to his most basic urges and stepped into me, folding me into his warm, strong arms, I would have dove straight in and refused to let go.
There’s no doubt in my mind—Carter Waters is still deeply in love with me, and seeing me tonight wasn’t easy for him. He’s hurting just as much as I am, and I don’t doubt that the ghosts of our relationship haunt him, but he shouldn’t have come. He had no right to do that, to show up the way he did. What the hell was he planning on doing? Was he gonna knock out my date and put on some heroic show to defend my innocence? Because he knows better than anyone that there’s nothing innocent about me. There’s nothing here worth saving, not anymore.
Realizing my date has been in there alone for way too long, I take a deep breath and try to find the courage to keep going. Turning on my heel, I head back into the bar, desperately trying to mask the unease that rocks through me, but fuck it’s hard. Seeing Carter like that was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure. My heart shattered all over again.
My date smiles as I sit back down, and as he launches into another bullshit story about his work, I try to force a smile. Being here feels wrong. The guy is nice enough, but I can’t for the life of me remember his name. The second I saw him, all I could think about was Carter. The guy looks so similar in his style, body shape, hair, and mannerisms.
This is only going to end badly for me.
This was a mistake.
Feeling the familiar sting in my eyes, I realize I’m seconds from breaking. I thought I could walk back in here and handle it, but as the tears begin to well, it becomes too much. A panic starts drumming through me, and I cut off his story to hastily excuse myself for the bathroom. I all but race across the bar before slamming through the door of the ladies’ room, hyperventilating as I grip the sink and try not to be sick.
The tears spill down my face, staining my sweater. Just the thought that Carter saw me here meeting another man is gut wrenching. That must have stung for him. The need to splash water on my face comes over me, but seeing as though I’m wearing mascara and am supposed to be on a date, that probably isn’t such a great idea. What I do need though is to get the hell out of here.