Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Grinning, I patted his stomach. “Yes, tell me that story.”
“Hugo was about twelve, I’d just turned nine . . .”
Rafe’s voice and arms wrapped me in a cocoon of safety as I listened sleepily to a story that proved at one point he and Hugo had been the best of friends. My heart felt easy knowing Rafe had had a childhood filled with sibling friendship, and parents who loved them so much they were mindless with fear when the boys took off into a dangerous wilderness. My eyelids grew heavy as his voice soothed me, and soon I was deep asleep.
Chapter Twenty-One
The closeness I’d experienced with Rafe that night all went to hell the next day.
It started when I woke up in his arms. Unlike the Fourth of July weekend, this time we were asleep on our sides facing one another, my cheek pressed against Rafe’s chest. He had an arm stretched out above us on the pillows and the other wrapped around my waist. Our legs tangled in each other’s.
We were both still fully clothed.
My first thought:
I feel so safe and wanted.
My second thought:
I want to wake up in this man’s arms every day for the rest of my life.
My third thought wasn’t so much a thought as much as it was a fearful instruction from the back of my mind to get the hell out of this situation with Rafe as quickly as possible.
That crushing pressure returned to my chest and I shoved none too gently out of his arms to roll away from him. Rafe grunted as he woke up.
“Hey, what time is it?” he sleepily asked.
“I don’t know.” I couldn’t look at him as I grabbed clean clothes and underwear. “I’ll check. You don’t want to miss your flight.” I hurried from the room, checked in on Arlo to find him asleep, and dove into the bathroom before Rafe could fully rouse himself.
By the time I emerged, sleep-rumpled Rafe had disappeared. He’d changed his clothes and sat in the living room waiting for me. “Bathroom’s free,” I announced as I wandered into the kitchen to start breakfast for Arlo.
“I washed at the kitchen sink.”
“When is your flight?” I opened the refrigerator, staring blindly inside because I had no idea what I was looking for.
“Star.”
“Do you want breakfast before you go?”
“What I want is for you to turn around and look at me.”
Flinching at his hard tone, I reluctantly faced him and found him standing in the kitchen, staring at me with a slightly panicked glimmer in his eyes.
“What the hell is going on?”
What was going on was that I’d fallen asleep to this man telling me stories about a normal, happy childhood only to wake up feeling extremely attached to him when those stories actually only highlighted our extreme differences.
Rafe Whitman wanted what his parents had.
I couldn’t give it to him. While I was many things, I wasn’t a person who strung someone along.
A choking sensation filled my throat, but I forced past it and let the words out. “I appreciate you coming here, but I can’t do this with you. I’m sorry.”
He took a deep breath, his expression pained. And then he asked, “Why?”
“I’m not good for you. I can’t give you what you want.”
“In what way?”
“In every way!” I yelled now in frustration because it should be obvious and I just wanted this over with, and him gone. For good.
“Well, I’m sorry, that doesn’t cut it. I need to know why.”
“Because you want me to commit to you and I don’t have that in me!”
“How do you know that if you won’t try?”
“I just know!” I gestured around the house. “Look around, Rafe! I’m coming from a totally different place than you and I’m just going to let you down!”
“Bullshit!” he yelled back now. “You’re not afraid of letting me down. You are terrified of me letting you down like the assholes who raised you!”
“Don’t psychoanalyze me again!”
“Get your head out of your ass and maybe I won’t have to!”
“Stop yelling at me!” Tears flooded my eyes. “Just . . . stop.”
Remorse filled Rafe’s expression and he took a step toward me.
“Don’t.” I held up a hand to ward him off. “Please.”
The horrifying disappointment and hurt on his face made me want to die inside. “Star . . . don’t do this.”
I couldn’t look at him. “You need to go.”
“Star—”
“I asked you to leave.”
Rafe let out a shuddering breath. “If he were well enough, I’d kick Arlo’s ass. He messed you up good. They both did.” Face clouded with anger, Rafe walked away, crossed the room to where he’d left his overnight bag, grabbed it, and marched out the door.
He slammed it so hard behind him, I jumped.
Suddenly that crushing pressure disappeared, but the hollowness it left behind was worse. “Fuck!” I sobbed, fisting my hands in front of me, wishing I had something I could tear apart.