Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“I wasn’t.”
I squint up into his warm brown gaze. “Yes, you were. I can see it in your eyeballs. You’re thinking about how sad it is that I don’t know how to handle soft, squishy emotions and wondering if I was held enough as a child. But don’t worry, I was held plenty. At least, I think I was.” I sniff hard, blinking faster to dry out the last of the waterworks. “I don’t really remember being a little kid. Everything before seven or eight is a big blank. So, even if I wasn’t held, I don’t remember it, so who cares?” I point a finger at his chest. “And yes, my parents are hard on me sometimes, but at least they’ve never vanished without a trace, leaving me to wonder if I’m actually a horrible person or smell like moldy socks or have some deeply offensive personality trait that causes people who I thought were my ride-or-dies to give me the middle finger and hit the road.”
“I never gave you the middle finger,” he says, regret tight in his expression. “And it had nothing to do with you. I told you, I—”
“I know what you told me,” I cut in, fighting the urge to start tearing up again. “But I’m not sure I believe you, Sam. I have a hard time believing you could be that selfish. That’s not who you are. There has to be something else, something you aren’t telling me. Something I did or said or—”
I break off with a swiftly indrawn breath as he grips the bottom of my face in one big hand, holding me prisoner as he says in a rough, raw voice, “It was everything you said and did. Every word, every laugh, every brilliant thought and perfect smile and…everything, Jess. It was everything about you and it has always been you. For ten fucking years, you were all I could think about, all I could dream about.” His lips twist. “And you loved me like a brother, which sometimes felt worse than not being loved at all.”
“Wh-what?” I croak out, my heart racing in my throat.
“I didn’t see a way to get to the place I wanted to be with you,” he continues, “but I couldn’t find another path forward with you so deep in my head and my heart. I didn’t know how to just be your friend anymore. It was ripping me apart and driving me crazy, so…I left. Without saying goodbye because I knew I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t look at you and say goodbye and not say all the other stuff, too.”
I swallow, then swallow again, not sure if I’m going to laugh or cry or explode, only that some overwhelming emotion is rising in my chest, threatening to drown me in feelings so big I don’t know how to control them.
I’ve spent my entire life avoiding feelings, muting feelings, hiding feelings so that they wouldn’t upset my family. The Cho house is a peaceful house, even if that peace has to be maintained by all three of us stuffing our emotions down into a deep, dark corner of ourselves where they rot and fester.
“Miss Cho?” a polite feminine voice says from nearby.
I jump in my chair, flinching and bleating like a sheep as Sam releases me. I bolt to my feet, barely resisting the urge to grab the young nurse’s hands and cling to her like a lifeline. “Yes, I’m Miss Cho. Jessica. You can call me Jess. How is my mom? Is she going to be okay?”
“She’s going to be fine,” the nurse says. “It looks like it was a mild cardiac event, but the doctors want to keep her overnight for observation. They’ll also be talking to your family about cardiac rehab and how to help your mom get her heart in better shape.”
I nod so hard I feel like a bobblehead during an earthquake. “Yes, absolutely. We’ll help her do better with her diet and exercise and all of that.”
“And smoking,” the nurse says, making my bobbing head still and my chin jerk back into my neck. “She’ll have to stop as soon as possible.”
“But…” I snort out an awkward laugh. “My mom doesn’t smoke.”
The nurse’s brows lift. “Oh. Well, she told the doctor she has a pack-every-other-day habit, so…I’m not sure what to tell you. Either way, we’ll give you all a comprehensive list of steps to take to make sure her first heart attack is her last, okay?” She smiles, glancing at Sam, her expression growing troubled as she asks, “Are you okay, sir?”
I glance back to see Sam looking like he just ate about a pound of rat poison before running a marathon. His face is flushed, and his usually bronzed skin looks pale and jaundiced underneath. “I’m fine, thanks,” he says, his gaze fixed on his interlocked fingers.