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)
His forehead puckered as he braced his hands on either side of me and leaned forward.
My breath caught.
“Morgan, that was not your fault. Steve said they were done for the day. You had no way of knowing that guy would fall. It was an accident, plain and simple.”
“It was so close,” I whispered. “She…it was so close.” Just the idea of losing—don’t go there.
He rested his forehead on mine and overwhelmed my senses. Sight, scent, touch, sound…it was all Jackson. “It was too close. But you saved her. You got her out of the way and shielded her with your own body.”
“Anyone would have done it.” My heart rate picked up again.
His head lifted as he cradled my face. “No, a lot of people would have dived the other way—to safety. You deliberately put yourself between Finley and a hundred pounds of sharp, pointy bronze. That’s extraordinary.” His gaze dropped to my lips. “You’re extraordinary.”
Not for you. NOT FOR YOU. My sense of self-preservation screamed at me to run the other way, but a craving for him raced through my veins, flipping on switches that had lain dormant for almost two years. All that adrenaline had been replaced with something far more dangerous: need.
He lowered his head—
The door burst open, and Jackson retreated.
Before I could process what had almost happened, Sam stood at the edge of the kitchen, her eyes wide.
“I can’t even leave you alone for two weeks!” she exclaimed before crossing the floor and hauling me into a hug. “Are you okay? Steve and Finley told me what happened. They’re both worried sick down there.” She grabbed ahold of my shoulders and pushed back far enough to see for herself. “Ouch.”
“It’s just a scrape, and you’re two days early!” I’d never been so happy to see her in my entire life.
“Is that a complaint?” She arched a brow.
“Never.”
“Good, because I’d hate to see what would have happened in another two days,” she teased with a shaky smile before yanking me into another hug.
“Me, too,” I whispered, locking eyes with Jackson over her shoulder.
Yeah, I saw it all too clearly—how easy it would be to step into something I wasn’t ready for, assuming I wasn’t misreading his signals. How incredible it would feel to kiss him, to have those sculpted arms around me for more than just a few minutes.
How impossible it would be to survive when my ruined heart was inevitably broken again.
Sam had shown up just in time.
…
“That sounds a little harsh,” Sam said slowly to Dr. Circe as she sat back in the armchair next to mine four days later.
“It’s not about being harsh,” Dr. Circe countered softly. “It’s about both Morgan and myself being aware of how Will’s death has changed her. She’s chosen you as her support person through this process, and I know she has immense trust in you. You won’t be harsh.”
Sam’s gaze skittered my way.
“Go ahead,” I encouraged.
Sam swallowed and looked back at Dr. Circe. “Before it happened, Morgan was fearless. She commanded every room she walked into and never hesitated to let anyone know what she was thinking. She had a smile that would light up half the state, and she…got out more, I guess you could say.”
She glanced my way, and I nodded my support.
“She was something of a social butterfly, and she was happy. Not all the time, of course—no one’s happy all the time. She and Will got into a few legendary fights, and her temper was quick, but whatever emotions Morgan felt were there for the world to see. She was always brave like that.” She turned toward me. “I always envied that about you. You were never scared to speak up and fight for what you wanted. You never ran away from the hard things like I did.”
It took all the energy I could muster to hold her gaze while trying to remember the girl she described.
“And now?” Dr. Circe prompted.
“You’re quiet,” Sam said to me, as if it was just the two of us and we weren’t in my third session of therapy for complicated grief. “You hide your emotions, and I don’t know if it’s because you’re incredibly strong or scared that the people who love you can’t handle what’s inside.”
I focused on my joined hands that rested in my lap.
“She’s avoiding the rest of our friends, which is something she never would have done before Will died, and I wish she didn’t feel like she had to. She’s drawn so far into herself that she’s basically a few cats shy of a cliché, and she won’t open herself up to even the slightest possibility that she might be happy again someday.”
Because it’s not possible. I kept the thought to myself.
“But mostly, she’s sad. So damned sad. That light she’s always had inside is still there. I see it flicker from time to time, but it’s almost like she has it buried, and I just want to help her get it back.” She reached over and took my hand.