Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
“I don’t give a fuck about scones,” he clipped out. “I give a fuck about having to deal with my best friend drunk as all fuck because that’s how he deals with the demons nipping at his heels. Had to see him realize no booze in the world will chase them away.” Something mingled with the fury in Rowan’s tone. Something softer.
Concern. Emotion. For Kip.
There was a story there I didn’t know. The Kip I knew was easygoing, jovial and definitely not a man who seemed haunted by demons.
But if I had learned anything about these men, it was that they were not at all what they seemed.
Though I did care about Kip, and it did hurt my heart to know there was something painful he was running from, it wasn’t what mattered in that moment.
“I give a fuck about dealing with all that, expecting to come home to my woman, warm in my bed, only to find my bed empty, my woman nowhere to be found, and a fucking note telling me she was done with us,” Rowan continued, still seething.
Fear prickled at the back of my neck, his fury coating me like oil.
The note was cowardly, I’d give him that. Especially when I knew him well enough to know he wasn’t just going to accept the note, that he’d end up right here, and I’d have to face him anyway.
“I figured your bed wouldn’t stay cold for long,” I spat back, glaring at him.
Surprise punctured his anger. “What are you talking about?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m talking about Kaitlyn.” I hated the way her name sounded, hated that I was resenting another woman who did nothing wrong.
“Kaitlyn?” he echoed, looking confused.
My eyes stung with the tears he didn’t deserve, the tears I didn’t want him to see rolling down my cheeks. I turned, twisting myself from his grip and turning my attention to the dough.
“She came to visit not long after you left to get Kip,” I clarified, still fighting back tears. “I’m guessing you got your wires crossed because she didn’t know you weren’t home, and she certainly wasn’t expecting me.” I tried to keep the bite to my tone, but it faltered a little at the end.
I gritted my teeth, willing myself not to cry right now.
“Nora—”
“I made her coffee,” I cut him off, unwilling to let him spew whatever excuses would come out of his mouth. “She drinks it with a lot of creamer. Cashew creamer, to be exact. I know this because she told me. And because there was cashew creamer in your fridge.” I forced my eyes shut for a split second before I continued. I ignored the searing pain in my side, mentally cursing my body for dealing with trauma by convincing me I was dying.
I took a deep breath, and black spots danced in my vision.
“Now I know this relationship of ours has been somewhat of a whirlwind,” I ground out, “but I also know that we have been together longer than it takes creamer to expire.” An angry tear escaped then. But I convinced myself it was because of the pain spearing into my side.
Rowan was close to me. Much too close, almost completely pressed into my side as I tried my best to focus on the dough.
“You don’t answer the door in the middle of the night on your own, Nora.” His tone was hard, eyes narrowed in anger.
“Don’t turn this into more alpha bullshit about me being weak and vulnerable, and you being the strong man establishing routines for my safety,” I snapped.
Rowan exhaled a long breath through his nose. “You know that’s not what this is.”
“Yes, you’re right. This is about the woman who was knocking on your door, expecting you. And sex.” I kneaded my dough with a little more force than necessary.
Rowan moved into my periphery, not letting me dismiss him and focus all of my attention on my dough.
His hand fastened around my wrist. “Nora.”
I sighed, staring at the hand and debating trying to fight him. It wouldn’t end well. Plus, if I continued taking my anger out on my dough, my scones would suck.
“I wasn’t a monk before I met you, Nora,” he told me, not unkindly. His eyes were hard, though, resolute. “I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. I fucked other women. A lot of them.”
Though I was aware of that—it was pretty darn clear he wasn’t a virgin our first time—it was hard to hear it. I guessed that made me weak or overly romantic or whatever.
I didn’t like to think about his hands on other women’s skin. Him looking at them the way he looked at me, him speaking to them in those raspy tones.
Rowan was watching me carefully, no twinkle to his eyes. There was a purposeful distance between us that made me feel cold all over. I wrapped my hands around my torso, hugging myself.