Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“Hurry up,” she yells as I wander out of my bedroom to the top of the stairs, looking down as she paces, her face engrossed in her mobile. What the heck am I going to do until lunchtime? There’s only so far and so long I can run, and I’m quite envious—and annoyed—that she’ll soon be distracted by work because nothing can distract me from her.
She looks up at me standing motionless at the top of the stairs, gesturing impatiently for me to get my arse in gear. “You’re very demanding this morning,’ I grumble, ignoring her huff of laughter. How many hours until lunchtime?
“Going for a run?” she asks as I collect her and move us toward the door. She can’t hide her delight, her eyes taking a greedy jaunt up and down my physique.
“Unless you have something better for me to do?” I open the door, and she rolls her eyes, passing through.
“Right now, all you need to do is get me home sharpish.”
“Yes, so you keep saying.” Stupid work. “Ever thought of setting up your own business?” I ask as we board the lift. She’s more than capable, then at least she’s not answerable to anyone except me. I smile on the inside. Perfect solution. I’d make a double appointment every single day.
“Maybe one day.” She goes to her bag and rootles through, and a few things spill over the top, falling to the floor. A lipstick. And her pills. “Shit,” she curses, and I slap a palm on my forehead, closing my eyes, gritting my teeth. “Sorry.” She looks anything but sorry. I dip and pick up the bits, my hand faltering on the pill packet. There’s one less than there was an hour ago.
“Okay?” she asks as I hover in my crouched position. I look up, and she tilts her head in question. I force a smile and hand them to her.
“Never better,” I murmur, raising and guiding her out of the elevator. She’s taken a pill. That’s a good thing.
But what about the plan to keep her, Ward?
Fuck off!
Once she’s in my car, I make quick work of getting behind the wheel and revving the engine hard.
Anything to drown out the voices in my head.
* * *
Yet when we pull up outside Ava’s, the voices haven’t fucked off, and I can’t say I heard a word she said on the drive to Kate’s. Did she even speak?
“Are you okay?” she asks when I pull up outside, her curious eyes boring holes into my profile. Am I okay? No, I’m pretty sure I’m ready to be assessed. I turn and force a smile, reaching for her cheek. My smile turns from forced to natural when she inhales, closing her eyes and leaning into my touch.
“I’m not sure how I’ll survive until lunch.” I’m being honest with her. Telling her the truth. Although not talking about my past and my demons isn’t technically lying.
“Think of me,” she says, taking my hand from her cheek and blinking her eyes open. I look at her with all the adoration I’m feeling and hope she sees it. “Won’t be long.” She hops out and dashes up the path to the door, rummaging through her bag as she goes. Her hair swishes across her back, and I settle back in my seat, watching as she faffs and fiddles to find her keys. She drops them, and I shake my head around my smile. Then nearly swallow my tongue when she bends to pick them up. “Jesus, Lord above,” I breathe, my hand resting over my shorts, my arse shifting in my seat. She disappears through the door, and I drop my head back against the seat, looking up at the roof of my car. This morning is going to drag painfully. I know it.
I pull my phone out to text Sam.
Run?
I click send and startle when my phone starts buzzing in my hand. I drop it like a hot potato into my lap, looking blankly out of the windscreen. Not today, Amalie. The constant rings are like a foghorn, going on forever. She’s not giving up. My forehead drops onto the steering wheel, the sound of my mobile cutting through me.
Then answer her call, you coward. Take the first step.
My phone goes quiet, but not for long. She tries me again. I feel blindly around in my lap and pull it out, my thumb hovering over the screen. Do it.
I hit the red icon. I can’t. Reaching for the stereo, I crank up the volume, closing my eyes, trying to get myself back to a relatively peaceful place. This conflict makes no sense. Amalie often tries to get in touch, and it never hits me this hard. Right now, I feel guilty. I feel like a bastard. Blocking her from my mind and my life has always been easy. Casting thoughts of my parents aside was instinctive. Why now am I finding it so hard?