Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
But he can never know this.
At the end of the day, it’s his fault I’m a widow. He’s the one that couldn’t get his shit straight and got my husband, his brother, killed. He’s the reason our lives were turned upside down and he doesn’t deserve to have it skated over.
Even more, we both know there’ll be a point when he will walk away. If there’s one thing Crew Gentry does, it’s that. His calling card is walking away when things get hard or something else looks more interesting.
That weighs heavily on my mind. I want Ever to have a relationship with him; she loves him to pieces. But I’m terrified of the day he lets her down and I have to see her heart break. I know how painful that is.
“Hello?” His voice wrapped around me through the telephone, the deep timbre making me relax. I’ve needed to hear his voice for days but haven’t been able to get in touch with him.
“Crew! Finally! How are you?”
“Hey, Jules.” I can hear his grin through the line. I flop back on my bed, ignoring my father shouting from the room below.
“How are you?” I ask again. “How’s wrestling? How’s Minnesota?”
The line gets muffled before he clears his throat. “It’s good. Real good, actually. It’s a different life here. So much going on all the time.”
“I bet. I’ve missed you so much.”
“I miss ya, too. How are things back there?”
“Good. School’s good. I get through each day by thinking this is my last year and I can come be with you. And every day is a day closer to Christmas break and you coming home. Just three weeks now. I haven’t seen you in so long.”
The line goes quiet and a sinking feeling creeps through me. “I’m really excited to see you, Crew.”
Crew blows out a breath. “Look, Jules. I know I was supposed to come home, but I don’t think I can. There’s so much going on up here and I wouldn’t be able to stay home more than a few days, anyway . . .”
I grab a jar of pasta sauce and focus on dinner. I jump at the sound of someone banging on the door. I walk to the curtain and peek outside and am not at all surprised at what I see. Or whom.
His hands are stuck in the front pockets of his jeans, his Carhartt hanging open. A white thermal shirt is stretched down the length of his torso. His shoulders are hunched over as he scans the area, taking everything in.
With a heavy sigh, I twist the lock and open the door. “What?” I ask, one hand on my hip.
His face is solemn, his eyes hesitant. I know this day is as hard for him as it is for me, but it should be. He’s the reason we’re both miserable. But as much as I want to slam the door in his face, I don’t.
“Can I come in?” He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets.
“Why?”
He looks at me and holds my gaze. I feel my throat burn. I roll my eyes, lest he sees my moment of sympathy, and head to the kitchen. I leave the door open behind me. When I hear it close, I don’t look back, not sure if he’s followed me inside or taken off. And I don’t really know which I prefer.
I head to the stove and grab the pasta and strain it. “You all right?”
I shrug but keep my back to him. “Am I supposed to be?”
A chair is pulled back and the coins in his pocket jingle as he sits down. “I just . . . I wanted to check on ya today.”
“Well, I’m fine. Making dinner, as you can see.”
“Didn’t you see I called?”
“I did.”
“Why didn’t you answer?”
I set the spoon down and close my eyes for a minute. I’ve avoided this conversation like the plague all day, a situation I don’t want to think about, never mind discuss. A situation I’m in because of him. And here he sits, not taking the hint, showing up at my house even though I’m obviously not taking his calls and forcing me to discuss it. Fuck him. “Because I don’t really have anything to say to ya, Crew. Another year has gone by without Gage. Thank you for that.”
He looks at the floor and suddenly I feel terrible. He closes his eyes, wincing as my words, filled with such poison, hit him full on. Any other day and he would’ve just spouted off something back. He would’ve smirked, said something cocky, and walked out. But today’s not just any other day.
“Crew—”
“Nah, Jules. Don’t apologize.”
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I said not to apologize.” He’s watching me carefully, his eyes somber. He’s apologized to me so many times and I’ve never accepted it. Now he won’t accept mine. Not sure what to do, I turn back to the stove. I fiddle with the knob, trying to get it back in place while feeling his eyes on me. “Remember when I talked him into surfing with me on the Fourth of July that year?” His voice is soft and if I wasn’t listening for it, I might not have even heard it. “And he swore a shark was circling his board?”