Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
With a slight eye roll, I shake my head. “My parents adore you. Really, you could have told them.”
“My par—” Colten pauses. “My mom adores you, but you know that.”
“You were going to say parents.”
His brow furrows while he gives me a slow nod. “My dad liked you.” He lowers his gaze.
“Why do you make it sound like that was a bad thing?”
“Because it was,” he mumbles.
“I don’t understand.” I nudge his leg with mine, forcing his gaze back to me.
He frowns. “I was on my way to your house to tell your dad about us. To tell him that I loved you. And I wanted to go wherever you went after graduation.”
I slowly shake my head.
“Just as I was walking out the door, my dad came home. He made some snide remark about me secretly pining for the chief’s daughter. I said it wasn’t going to be a secret much longer.” Colten rubs his forehead. “Then my dad said you were the smartest decision I had ever made. And he was amazed I hadn’t screwed it up yet. He thought your good work ethic would rub off on me. And … well … that rubbed me the wrong way. It triggered my toxic need to do the exact opposite of what he wanted.” He shakes his head. “I … I was so damn self-destructive. I didn’t want to please him. I didn’t want to be him. So I didn’t tell your dad that I loved you. I did the opposite. And when your dad suggested the Marines, I knew my dad would hate that idea. So …”
He glances up at me again.
I don’t know what to say. This hurts.
Colten rakes his hands through his hair, leaving it a mess. “Have you ever wanted so badly to not become something or someone, that you’re willing to destroy your own world to prevent it? You’re willing to destroy everyone around you too?”
After a few breaths, I get misty eyed, and recognition flickers in Colten’s eyes. I start to speak, but I can’t, so I swallow back some of the suffocating emotion.
On a slow exhale, he closes his eyes for a beat. “Of course you know,” he whispers.
I let seventeen years pass. I held a grudge for seventeen years. I hated Colten Mosley because … I loved Colten Mosley. That wasn’t hate. I had no idea what true hate felt like until Athelinda shattered my existence into so many unrecognizable pieces that I can’t imagine ever feeling whole again. Still, I’m trying.
My job.
My family.
My friends.
Colten.
They’re pieces I recognize. They belong to Josephine Watts. I need all the pieces of her I can get.
I wipe the corner of my eyes. “Did you tell your mom?”
“Not yet, but she’ll be elated.” He leans forward in his chair and takes my hands, brushing his thumbs along my knuckles. “I think we should set a date.”
This fear is borderline paralyzing. I still have the urge to go hide. Sometimes I have the urge to inflict pain upon myself. The guilt … it fills my lungs like I’m in a constant second stage of drowning. Then there’s the other shoe waiting to drop, the next horrific, century-old vision.
How did I murder those girls?
“Bring up a calendar.” I smile despite the knots in my stomach. I never thought the day would come that I’d have to psych myself up just to be a functioning human being.
Colten’s whole face comes to life. “Yeah?”
I give him the why-not shrug.
He releases my hands and snatches his phone from his desk. “I was originally thinking right after the holidays. I know they’re right around the corner, but …” Giving me a quick glance, his nose wrinkles a bit. He’s bracing for me to object or return some sort of apprehension.
“Perfect,” I say, feigning my best calm confidence. My pulse has to be close to one-forty. Maybe January is too far away. Maybe we should elope immediately. Will it really happen if we wait for me to go out of my mind?
“How about the seventh?”
“The seventh it is.” I have to remind myself not to grit my teeth or clench my fists. I’m getting married on January seventh. Normal, non-serial killers do that sort of stuff. Josephine Watts deserves this. I really, really want to be her.
He taps his phone screen, adding an event to his calendar on that date:
Marrying the girl of my dreams.
“Listen,” he says, head still bowed to his phone screen. “When we tell my mom and she asks about your engagement ring, tell her it’s being sized.”
“I don’t have an engagement ring, probably because I proposed to you.”
“Whoa … what?” His head snaps up. “Not true. Not true at all. I proposed to you at the donut shop.”
“Oh? Was that really a proposal?” My lips twist to the side. “Maybe, but I broke off our engagement after I got back from California. Two nights ago, I proposed to you.”