Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“I’m doing the same thing you’re doing.”
I shake my head. “I don’t remember agreeing to share a car with you.”
“We’re saving the band money,” he states, shrugging as if it’s no big deal that we’re together. To him, it’s not. He doesn’t feel like he’s wronged me at all. That cheating on me was okay and that I’m going to forgive him because that is what he wants.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in rehab?” I ask. “Wasn’t that your big ‘save me from me’ push you tried to get me to buy?”
“I checked out. It wasn’t for me,” he says as nonchalantly as possible.
“Right, cheating on your wife, the woman you’d been with since you were seventeen is more your speed. How stupid of me to forget.”
“Zara,” he draws my name out in the tone he used to use when I was upset with him or when he would need something. I can’t fathom how this man doesn’t understand that I’m beyond my breaking point with him. “I’ve asked you to let me explain.”
“Explain what, exactly?” I catch him staring. I turn toward the door and look out the side window, only to have the scenery blocked by a semi. Not that there’s much to see between LAX and Hollywood, or whatever hospital Hayden and Freddie are at.
“I know I hurt you, that I destroyed your faith and trust in me. I took advantage of a situation and couldn’t stop.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. Not because I want Van back, but because I’m angry that I’m here, trapped in this car with him. I don’t want to hear his excuses, to be blamed for our marriage failing, to find out that I could’ve done something to prevent him from straying. I already blame myself, wondering at what point he thought another woman would treat him better than his wife.
Van leans forward, and I adjust in my seat, pushing me closer to the door. I desperately want to try the handle again, but becoming roadkill is not high on my priority list.
“I’m sorry, Z. I’m sorry for everything I did that fucked up our marriage. If it’s any consolation—”
I hold up my hand in a silent plea for him to stop talking. “If you’re going to finish that sentence with ‘she didn’t mean anything’ or ‘they didn’t’, don’t. I don’t want to know, Van. I’ve lost more than enough sleep, wondering if there was only one, and then finding out there were two. I don’t want to know anymore.” I shake my head to fight off an impending bout of tears. I refuse to cry in front of him, to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s reached me on an emotional level.
Surprisingly, he stays quiet for the duration of the drive. Without my phone, I’ve lost track of time. I don’t know if we’ve been driving for thirty minutes, forty-five, or longer. What I do know is that I’m tired, I miss Levi and the girls, and I want to go home. Home, being Nashville, in a house that is filled with laughter and love.
When the car finally pulls off the highway, I’m actively looking for any sign as to what town we’re in. There isn’t even a hospital sign.
“Where are we going? What hospital are Hayden and Freddie in?”
“I don’t know the name,” Van mutters as he looks at his phone. I’m half tempted to pull it out of his hands so I can call Levi, but giving Van his number is the last thing I want.
Turn after turn, my concern grows the farther we drive into the desert. I rack my brain trying to come up with what hospital would be out here that would have a trauma unit. Fact is, I can’t come up with a single one.
I slowly pull my sunglasses up and glare at Van. He looks away, unable to meet my gaze. “Where are we going?”
He looks out the window, and without looking at me says, “You’ll find out.”
Sure as the sky is blue, the car turns and pulls into a long driveway. Outside looms a Spanish-style building. People are walking around, all wearing white coats. Nothing but fear takes over my body as images of me being held here against my will flash through my mind.
I contemplate running as soon as I get out of the car, but can’t recall a single building from the last five miles of the drive. It’s too hot for me to run and with no cell phone, I’m stuck.
My door opens, and a young man reaches for my hand. “Welcome to Paradise Springs, Ms. Phillips.”
“What is this place?”
“It’s a spa,” he says. “Your rest and relaxation are waiting for you just beyond those doors.”
Turning, I look through the sliding glass doors, wondering what the hell Van has gotten me into. “Am I able to leave whenever I want to?”