Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
But as the cab draws closer and the bravado fades away, nervousness settles in. It could go either way. He could push me away because his pain is just too big or he could pull me close, cling to me now only to push me away later when it subsides. Either way, I have to go to him. I want to ease his burden.
Pam looks somber when I step off the elevator.
She has to be aware of the contract I’ve broken when she sees me because she holds up her hand to prevent me from walking further into the office. It seems I’m no longer welcome. My access is being denied.
“I’m here to see Mr. Ward,” I tell her, having no idea why I’m acting so formal when I’m in jeans and a t-shirt.
“Gaige isn’t receiving visitor’s today, Ms. Redmond.”
Pam’s phone rings, and as she answers, her eyes stay on me as if she’s afraid I’ll dart through the office and defy her. Honestly, I’m considering it. She nods a few times, saying nothing.
“You remember where his office is?” she asks when she hangs up the receiver.
I nod, and she sweeps her arm in that direction.
I move before she can change her mind.
The breakroom is filled with Blackbridge men, and they grow silent as I walk through, several waving at me, but none try to engage me in conversation. Finnegan and Brooks seem relieved that I’m here.
I take a deep breath outside of his office, just a second to compose myself before I turn the knob. I don’t bother with knocking because I don’t want to be denied. He’s at his desk, head hung between his hands, and I imagine I looked much the same way sitting at my father’s desk yesterday morning when I first returned to New York. My own problems seem so small now.
“I just need a few minutes, man.” His voice is harsh, filled with emotions he seems to be struggling with holding back.
“Gaige?” I whisper.
His head snaps up, and it pains me to see him so disheveled. I know I look no better. I didn’t even brush my hair before leaving my apartment. His eyes are red and swollen, tired.
“Leighton?” he asks in a way that makes me think he doesn’t really believe that I’m standing across the room.
“Are you okay?” I ask as I step in and close the door behind me.
He shakes his head, a tear rolling down the right side of his handsome face.
The sight of it has the power to break me. I cross the room, and he stands as I reach him. My arms wrap around him, and it seems like we battle on who can squeeze the tightest. He wins of course as he buries his face in my throat and sobs. I cry as well.
For him.
For me.
For Lala.
For us.
We don’t rock back and forth. We don’t move. We’re static except for the shudder in our chests as we cry. It seems to last forever, but somehow it’s not long enough when he pulls back, his arms opening, and I find that I don’t like breathing as much when it means he’s not touching me.
His hands cup my face.
“I missed you so much,” he whispers, his thumb tracing my jaw.
“I missed you, too,” I confess.
“What are you doing here?”
“I thought you might need me.” I didn’t know we were going to start so soon with the confessions. I may be a little too raw for it right now.
“I do. I need you so much.”
He leans forward, pressing his salty lips to mine. The kiss is soft and needy, so slow and powerful it takes my breath away. It’s truths and promises.
And it’s over much too soon.
He pulls me to his chest again, this second hug somehow tighter than the first.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m here for you.”
“You being here is the best thing in the world,” he says, his words rumbling against my ear. “Come home with me?”
I nod, knowing I’d deny him nothing right now. We haven’t solved anything, but now isn’t the time for those serious conversations we need to have.
“Give me a few minutes?”
“Of course,” I tell him as he backs away, but then he’s right back in front of me, his fingers in my hair, lips pressed to mine.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he says against my lips. “Promise me.”
“I’ll be right here.”
“I just have to wash my face.” His eyes search mine as if he’s afraid I’m going to disappear.
He rushes into the bathroom inside his office, but then he takes his time. I know he’s trying to get himself back together before he has to walk out in front of all of his friends, but I also know there isn’t a single man out there that would give him hell for being upset over losing a loved one.