Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
I managed to keep the sobs quiet as I clutched his suit jacket and pressed my face in his dark shirt. He brushed his hand through my hair and down my back, over and over. “I’ve got you, Ana. I’ve got you.”
“Ana, where do you want this casserole?” another freaking guest asked. My hands squeezed tighter on Kevin’s jacket as I tried to control my emotions. Just as I was about to turn and growl out my response to her, Kevin locked me into his chest.
“Fridge,” he answered for me.
I heard the refrigerator door open and close. “There’s no room.”
“The freezer outside then,” he commanded in a clipped tone.
Having him answer instead of me lifted a small weight off my shoulders, and I sighed. It was good to have that help, if only for a second.
While he’d been dealing with the guest, I’d managed to pull myself together again. A little lighter than before, having been able to loosen the pressure in my chest.
He brushed the hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ears and using his thumbs to dry any leftover tears. “Come on. This has been going on long enough. Let’s kick these people out and clean up.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Kevin
I stayed with my parents and helped Ana clean up before finally heading out. When she gave me a hug goodbye, I held on a little longer than polite, but then she pressed her breasts against my chest and, like a dick, I got hard. I did my best to fight it, but knowing what was hidden beneath the black dress she wore, feeling her pressed into me after so long and so many nights thinking about her, I couldn’t fight it. She felt it and pulled back, looking at me with wide eyes, filled with something other than the sadness I’d seen all night. Pushing my luck, I leaned down and pressed a “friendly” kiss to her cheek, but ensured my lips touched the corner of her mouth too. I wanted to swallow the gasp she let slip out.
When I pulled back, she fought to control her reaction and straightened her back. “You should go,” she muttered.
But we both knew I’d be back.
Which was how I ended up in the weird position of being a twenty-six-year-old man climbing out his window in the middle of the night. No matter how odd it was, the motions of reaching my foot for the railing as I held on to the roof felt familiar and reminded me of all the times I’d done it before in high school. I’d missed it.
For the past seven years, Ana hadn’t been next door. And every time I lay in my childhood bed, I thought about her. For the first three years we spent apart, it was her choice. She’d done a damn good job of avoiding me.
But the four that followed was on me. I’d avoided my home like the plague in fear I’d see her walking up to her house in the arms of another man. Scared at some point I’d see her married or pregnant. I’d shut down all information about her as a safety measure, but I’d been left with my memories and those had kept me plenty of company.
When my parents told me that her mom had passed away, it was a punch to the gut. I’d been lit with a rage that they’d kept it from me. I could’ve been there for her and they’d prevented me from it. I’d lashed out at them, and they’d let me, knowing I needed the outlet. They’d let me burn the fire until it faded and disgust took over—disgust for myself. I’d been so adamant to stay away, that I’d let her suffer alone.
I tried to make myself feel better, thinking that she probably had a husband to help her through this. But it was a hollow lie that was smashed to pieces when I saw her standing at the front of the line alone, with no ring on her finger.
But I’d be there for her tonight. I’d be whatever she needed me to be when she opened that door.
She swung the front door open, holding on to it for support, and stared silently. My eyes dropped to her bare feet and back up, taking in the half empty bottle of wine firmly in her grasp.
“How many of those have you had?”
“Not nearly enough,” she answered as she lifted it to her lips and took a long pull straight from the bottle.
“Not even bothering with a glass?” I commented, raising my eyebrows.
“No, Dad.” She rolled her eyes. But then they sparked with something other than sorrow. They hardened like she was preparing for a challenge. I’d take it. I’d take anything other than the broken defeat I’d seen earlier.
Taking my cue, I scoffed and brushed past her, walking into the house. Ana and I always bickered, always challenged each other. Maybe she needed the familiar.