Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
I nearly say, “Me?” but of course he means me; there’s no one else in the room.
My eyes widen, but I quickly do as I’m told. While I’m getting naked, he walks over and turns on the shower, still in his underwear.
Are we taking a shower together?
That seems to be where this is heading.
I’m not complaining, but I am confused. I don’t risk asking because what if he changes his mind?
Once I’m naked, I stand awkwardly by the shower and wait. He disappears into his closet to grab clothes, then grabs two clean towels out of the linen closet.
Once everything we need is on the counter, he shucks his underwear, opens the glass door, and steps into the shower area.
He left the door open for me and seems to expect me to follow him, so I do, my tummy tumbling as I cross the threshold and gently close the glass door behind me.
Memories of the last time I followed a Granville into a shower stall creep in and fill me with insecurity. It doesn’t help that Milo apparently wants me in the shower with him, but he isn’t speaking. It doesn’t really feel like he wants me here.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?” I ask tentatively.
He turns, his gaze softening as he looks at my anxious face. He shakes his head, reaching for me. “No, of course I’m not mad at you. Come here.”
I go into his embrace, wrapping my arms around his middle and pressing my bare body against his. My eyes close and I rest my head on his firm, muscled chest. It feels so good to be here, but I’m afraid to trust it. Lately, we’ve felt like a plank bridge that’s half-rotted so every step you take, you risk plummeting to your doom.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been dealing with this well, Kennedy,” he rumbles. “I know you’ve needed stability, and you’ve always been able to count on me for that before, but this whole thing… I haven’t coped as well as I‘ve wanted to.”
His words loosen a tightness I’ve carried in my chest for days now.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” I tell him. “There’s no manual, and you’ve never been through it before. It’s not an easy thing to navigate.”
“I’ve been paralyzed with fear, afraid I’m going to make a wrong move with massive repercussions. That’s not how I normally handle things, but this feeling of losing you… it’s stirring shit up. Long-buried shit, shit I never wanted to feel again.”
I want to tell him he’ll never lose me, that I’m his for as long as he wants me to be, but it also feels like he isn’t finished and I don’t want to interrupt.
“When Edie died, it was sudden and unexpected. There was no warning, no possible chance to stop it. After it happened, I would lay awake nights thinking of all the things I could have done differently. Her car needed an oil change—why wasn’t that the day I scheduled it for? I could have rearranged my schedule, given her a ride to work and picked her up. Hell, I made enough money that she didn’t need to work. If she wouldn’t have had a job, she wouldn’t have been on the road that day. Any fucking thing I could think of to avert disaster, but it was all after the fact. I would have given literally anything to be able to rewind time and go back to before it happened and do things differently, to be able to stop it, to save her.”
I swallow, my grip on him tightening protectively. I can’t stand the idea that I’ve reminded him of that painful time in his life before me. “I’m sorry this has stirred all that up for you. I shouldn’t have said that last night, I just…”
“No, you should say whatever you feel. I don’t want you wasting energy censoring yourself for me. I’ll be fine, I can handle it. I’m just trying to explain that, even though the crisis was different, all I can fucking think about is why wasn’t I able to stop this from happening to you? Why did I let you leave that goddamn hotel room? Why didn’t I notice the phone lit up on the seat beside me? But since I know there’s nothing I can do to change what has already happened, my focus shifts to, ‘how can I stop it from getting worse?’ How can I protect you now to ensure it stops here and things don’t spiral out of my control? That I don’t lose you, too. I want to put you in a fucking bubble, Kennedy, because I’m terrified of anything else hurting you—whether that’s you, or me, or Jonathan. My instinct is to control and protect you right now, and that isn’t what you need, but it’s the only place my mind will go.”