Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 505(@200wpm)___ 404(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 505(@200wpm)___ 404(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Reaching up, I put my hand against his face and wait until he meets my eyes. “It wasn’t your job to save her.”
“Maybe not. But I’m responsible for pushing her over the edge.”
“No,” I whisper. “You’re not, Ethan. She would have been just as crushed had you not cared about her affair. You didn’t push her into the darkness; she surrendered herself to it.”
“I’ve gone over that night a thousand times in my mind. If I hadn’t let my temper get the best of me, Lilly would still have her mom.” He slides a hand behind my back and pulls me into his chest. “My marriage was over the second she got into Mike’s bed, but when you have children, your marriage becomes about more than just two people. We could have gotten a divorce. I could have made sure she was comfortable. Maybe she would have married Mike. I don’t know.” He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “I just don’t know.”
“It’s not your fault.” I pull out of his embrace enough to meet his eyes. “Just like my mom’s drug abuse wasn’t my fault.” I want to wrap my arms around him, but I feel like he needs to look into my eyes while I say this. He needs to know I’m not just trying to appease his guilty conscience.
He might be standing firm, with every muscle tense and his jaw so hard that it looks like he’s been chewing glass, but under all that is the man who kissed my tattoo with tears in his eyes. A man who’s spent the last three years wrapped up in the kind of grief that’s weighed down so heavily by guilt that it never lets you take a full breath. My mom is still alive, but I know what that kind of grief feels like. Loss comes in many forms.
“I used to think it was my job to make my mom happy. When she started using again because real life was too hard, I thought it was my fault. It wasn’t. What happened to your wife isn’t your fault. And it’s not hers, either. It’s a disease, Ethan. You lost her to a terrible disease.”
“I don’t ever talk about her because I’m ashamed. I failed her, Nic.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You’re the reason she held on as long as she did. I’ve found those little notes she left you around the house, and I see a woman who wanted to get better for her husband. She just didn’t know how.”
He closes his eyes and wraps his arms around me. “I thought I was broken forever, and then you showed up. Now I want things I didn’t think I’d ever want again.”
If my chest didn’t already ache from his heartbreaking confession, it would now. When he finds out about my lie, will he still want those things from me? I pull off my glove and reach up to skim my fingers over his jaw. He hasn’t shaved today, and the thick layer of stubble scratches my fingers. I have to swallow back my own confession, to remember my promises and save it for another time. “You’re not broken, Ethan. You just needed to heal.”
He turns his head and presses a kiss against the middle of my open palm. “I just needed you.”
Ethan
I. Want. That.
It’s all I can think when I spot Nic sitting on the couch in the basement. When we got back from our walk, I didn’t kiss her goodnight—even though I was dying to. I just squeezed her hand and told her to let me know if she needed anything.
I wanted her to process what I told her. I needed her to know my darkest secret before I touched her again.
Now the whole house is asleep except the two of us, and she’s sitting with a bowl of popcorn in her lap and her gaze on the television in front of her. I want to sweep away the popcorn, turn off the TV, and lose myself looking at her. Feeling her. Touching her.
She perks up when she sees me, grabs the remote off the end table, and presses pause. “Can’t sleep?”
I shrug. “I can’t turn off my brain.”
“Do you want to talk?”
I shake my head and give a small smile. “I think I’ve done enough talking for a year.”
“Do you want the TV?” She stands, and I hold out a hand, stopping her.
“Please don’t. I’ll watch whatever you’re watching.”
“Are you sure?” She bites her lip. “It’s Outlander. Kind of a chick show.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I want your company.”
She settles back onto the couch, still looking skeptical, and I take the seat next to her and steal a handful of her popcorn. “Can I get you a beer or something?” she asks.
“I’m good.” I can so clearly see my life like this. I’d come home after a long day to beautiful Nic sitting on the couch. Just be patient. I steal another handful of popcorn. “Tell me about this show.”