Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 146666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 587(@250wpm)___ 489(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 587(@250wpm)___ 489(@300wpm)
“Kicked a puppy?”
“Jesus. Of course not. I’m not a psychopath.”
“All right. Spit it out, how did you run off these imaginary ladies you told me about?” she asked.
“Imaginary? They were not imaginary!” He gaped down at her. “Why would you think that?”
“Well, they’d have to be made-up to not want you.”
Jesus.
She was killing him. He kissed the side of her head, breathing in her scent. “You were made for me.”
“Hack,” she whispered in protest. “Do you usually move this fast?”
Fuck. She’d grown agitated in his arms. Did she now think this was something that he did all the time?
“No! Listen to me, it has never happened to me like this before.” He drew her face back. She tried to look away, but she needed to hear him. “Never. I’ve only ever had two serious girlfriends. Both of whom I knew for months before we went beyond casual dating. But eventually, neither of them could handle how much control I needed.”
“You blindsided them with your needs and desires?” she asked.
“No, I laid it out clearly. Asked for their limits. Respected them.”
“Then . . . they sound like idiots.”
“I’m a possessive bastard. I don’t like anyone else even looking at my woman. Let alone touching them. I wanted to know where they were at all times. When they left the house, when they were coming back. I needed to know if they were safe. I always tried to make sure they ate healthily. I also liked to pick out their clothes. And buy them things I liked for them to wear.”
“Wow. You sound like a complete asshole. We should lock you up in bad boyfriend jail.”
“I can assure you I can handle everything about you. If you can put up with my . . . quirks.”
“I’m not sure I’d call those quirks, Fossy.” She grinned at him. “But none of those things seem crazy to me. And if you did go over the top, I’d tell you to back off. But I’m still not sure this can work.”
Fuck. She was killing him here. “Why not?”
She sniffled.
“Oh, baby. I don’t want to upset you. Please. Don’t cry.” He’d do anything not to have her cry.
Even let her go. As much as it might kill him.
“Do you know why I’m scared of snowstorms? Why the feel of snow on my skin can trigger me?”
Ahh. This seemed an odd segue, but he’d go with it.
“No. I assumed something happened to you during a snowstorm.”
“My dad died,” she said simply.
Oh fuck.
“I was in the car with him. He was driving me home from ballet practice. I never went again. Things changed a lot after he died. My ma . . . she worked several jobs just to keep us fed, so Aidan kind of took over a parenting role for Cash and me. But mainly . . . all the joy went out of our house. You know? He had this big, booming laugh, my dad. I can remember that so vividly. I can’t see his face . . . I can’t remember what he smells like . . . but I can hear his laugh.”
“I’m so sorry, baby. How old were you?”
“Just four. I don’t know if the memories are real or things I made up. Aidan thinks my brain created memories for me. But I just . . . I know that there was snow. We skidded off the road, and I remember waking up and being so cold. The snow was falling all around me while I kept calling out for him and for Ma, for my brothers. And no one came. I tried to move, but I couldn’t get up. Someone driving past saw our car and rushed down to save me. I was fine . . . but my dad didn’t make it.”
“Baby, I’m so sorry.”
She buried her face in his chest. “It was a long time ago, but it still hurts. I just . . . I miss him so much. Even if I can’t really remember what he looks like. I just want him back.”
“I know you do. I know that.” He hugged her tight, rocking her. “I lost my parents when I was in medical school.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. They were older. My mom, she’d always been fragile healthwise. She died of cancer. And you know how they say someone can die of a broken heart?”
She nodded.
“Well, that seemed to be what happened to him. He grew depressed, wasn’t taking care of himself. He got pneumonia and by the time I discovered he was sick, there was little that could be done with him.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. My aunt, who I was visiting in Minneapolis, she was there for me, helping me through it all.”
“And now she’s ill. Oh, Hack.”
“I’m going to think positive and believe that she’ll get better. So I understand your pain, baby girl. But it wasn’t your fault, what happened to your dad.”