Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“From you?” The skin between his eyebrows wrinkled, and I was struck with a ridiculous urge to smooth it with my fingers.
“Yes!”
His jaw ticked, and his eyes turned fierce, pinning me to the lighthouse deck with the force of his stare. “Morgan, you don’t get to tell me what I want any more than I get to dictate your feelings.”
I blinked, admitting the undeniable logic of his statement. “That’s fair.”
“If you don’t want to start something with me, then that’s your choice, and I’ll respect it, no matter how badly I want to convince you otherwise.”
“Thank you.” Crap, was that a twinge of disappointment that lowered my shoulders?
His head tilted back as his chest rose and fell with a deep breath, as if he was the one struggling for control—not me. When he met my gaze again, I held my breath.
What the hell did I really want? To press pause on this moment, call Sam and get her take on it, and then press play again so I know what I’m supposed to be feeling. Like that was going to happen.
“I know about the anxiety attacks. Remember, I was there for one,” he stated simply, like we were talking about what we’d had for lunch. “I’m glad you have a therapist because I’m well aware that you’re working through something that you’re not ready to let me in on, and that’s okay. You don’t exactly know everything about me, either, and chances are the more you know, the more you’ll think you’re the one who should run.” He didn’t move a muscle, but the way he looked at me felt like a caress all the same. “In fact, I know you’ll be the one running.”
“From you?” I scoffed. “You’re the most together person I know.” Even if he was still pining for his ex, but who was I to judge?
“Then you should meet more people.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Morgan, I like you, and I don’t just mean as my neighbor. I want you in a way that keeps me up at night, mentally calculating the steps between my door and yours. I want you so badly that I barely stop myself from taking those steps every single night. I have no problem owning my feelings about you. And while I’m not going to push you for something when you obviously don’t feel the same—”
My jaw dropped. “I never said I don’t want you—”
“I damn well think you deserve to know that you might preach you’re a mess, but I think you’re pretty fucking perfect, wreckage and all.”
Every protest died on my tongue at the tangible sincerity in his voice.
“Are you struggling?” he started again. “Yeah. That’s obvious. But, God, you’re a fighter, even if you don’t see it. You had the courage to pick up your whole life and move because you knew you needed a fresh start. You might not be able to open that truck door, but you didn’t just dump it in some storage lot and run. That shit is in your front yard where you choose to confront it every day. You push your boundaries, whether it’s on a surfboard or letting me drag you to a barbecue. You have loyal friends, which means you’re pretty damn loyal yourself, and when death came flying at you in the form of the weathervane that time forgot, your first instinct was to protect my daughter, which is enough to make me fall at your feet without the fact that you’re the most exquisite woman I’ve ever laid eyes on—which you are.” He lifted that eyebrow in challenge again.
My lips parted, and the butterflies in my stomach fluttered so fast the friction warmed me from the inside out, even as they threatened to turn to flame and catch my body on fire. He actually wanted me. He saw the mess and wanted me anyway, somehow finding beauty in everything I called wreckage. Damn it, I didn’t want it to be wreckage anymore. I wanted to be whole again. I wanted to have something to offer this man who took me hiking in the moonlight and pulled me away from my own shadows with his light.
My breath abandoned me as the realization hit—he made me want to live, not just survive and hope for the best. He’d reignited that spark within me from the moment I’d felt that flare of attraction on the beach and the care he’d taken when rescuing me from my own staircase. That spark grew every time he made me laugh, or smile, or roll my eyes. It thrived when I made plans with him, finally willing to look forward in my life. I might have been doing the work in therapy, but there was no denying that Sam was right—Jackson had become my reward for learning to live again.