Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
My ass hits the curb. The concrete is hot and feels good beneath my funeral dress as I wrap my arms around my knees, head tipping to the side. The tears I thought were coming are suddenly bone dry. “You didn’t have to run away, Tulsa. We could have talked.”
“Go away, Ledger,” I mutter, opening my eyes to look at him, at his soft wavy brown hair, chiseled jaw, angular nose, green eyes, a full beard that’s short and trim, and the same dark circles that match the ones I have beneath my own.
“Not happening. Come on, we’ve got some talking to do, butterfly,” he calls me by a name I haven’t heard him use in years, hand out and requesting me to take it in a quiet manner.
“I think it’d be better if talking weren’t necessary.” His calloused hand slips around mine, engulfing me in more ways than one. Ledger helps me off the ground and pulls me into his body, allowing me to rest my head on his chest, arms going around his waist. I should hate him. He’s so readily willing to push me away, and what do I do? I burrow into him further, breathing in his presence, a mix of leather, pine, and bergamot, a scent I’ve known for as long as I can remember. Any chance I could get to be near him, I took full advantage of—a hug hello, a wave here and there. I soon figured out he wasn’t as immune to me as I once thought he was.
“Spread your wings, Tulsa Rose, be the butterfly you were always meant to be. Come home for the summer if you want or stay up there; it’s entirely up to you. But you’ve got to do this, even if you hate me for driving you away.” He may be breaking my heart bit by bit, word by word, but I know one thing for certain: he’s not as unaffected as he plays off to be. My body is flush against his, a presence against my stomach. There’s no way it could be anything else than Ledger’s length. Hard, clearly thick, girthy, and long judging by the way it’s jutting upwards. One day, I’m going to make Ledger Sinclair regret the day he pushed me away.
1
TULSA
Ten Years Later
It’s a sad state of affairs when you have no one to come home to. True to his word, Ledger Sinclair took me to Alabama. The ink on the death certificate was barely dry before he was driving me away from the life I knew and loved. The anger, hurt, and betrayal lingered in my body the entire way. I guess the good news is that the will did state the money from the estate would keep up the house. Ledger would do check ins every other week and was asked to stay while the house was cleaned seeing as how all of my family’s worldly possessions were locked away inside. I breathed a sigh of relief. That still didn’t mean I spoke a word to him the entire drive up. While being accepted to the university I’d hoped and dreamed of early in my senior year of high school was amazing, what wasn’t awesome was having zero family to celebrate it with. A huge accomplishment, but it left me feeling empty inside. All of the extra classes to graduate early seemed to have backfired. If I had stayed the course like most teenagers, I could have stayed in Orange Blossom. Instead, I was in Alabama for a minor in business and major in interior design. I’m proud of what and who I became for the most part, though I’ve still got a long way to go in overcoming so much trauma as a child and young adult. Thankfully, that’s what therapy is for. Another reason for why I’m just now making the trek back home, ten years later instead of returning after I graduated college. You see, there was a time when Ledger would answer my calls and texts, until I called him after a particularly long session of therapy, where I told him I hated him and wished it were him instead of Montgomery who’d died in the crash. At least someone would still be on this earth who loved me. The absolute worst thing I could say and entirely my fault. When I tried to get a hold of him two days later to apologize, the text I sent first came back not delivered and the phone call I placed said his phone line was disconnected. Another phone call placed to Mr. Flay let me know that Ledger was still around and taking care of what was asked of him, meaning I’d really bungled up life. I did the next best thing after once again talking to my therapist—writing a letter explaining how sorry I was, along with a few other things. And what do you know? It was returned to sender.