Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I’m not going to tell Holly any of this, though.
“They got along right away,” I assure her. “Boomer didn’t really give him a choice. He decided they were gonna be best buds, and Poppy didn’t really have a say.” I wink at her, and she squeezes my hand tighter, so tight that I hate to tell her we’ve reached the place I had planned on us sitting because I don’t want her to let go.
“Let’s sit here.” I reluctantly release her hand and spread an old, frayed blanket I brought with us on the ground, next to a large rock, for us to sit on. The rock is almost the size of half my truck and about twenty feet from the river, which has thawed out and is slowly flowing downhill. We both take off our jackets, the walk here having warmed us up enough that sweaters are just enough to be comfortable, and we settle down on the blanket. This is one of my favorite places to come and relax. I used to come here to smoke a joint every day, but since I’ve quit that, now I just come here to chill out and get my head together.
Knowing she feels uncomfortable with too much silence, I pull up my favorite playlist on my cell phone and set it off to the side on low volume, so we have some background noise in addition to the sound of the river behind us.
“You remember everything,” she says softly, pulling her new blanket into her lap.
“I try to.”
She lies down flat on her back, pulling the blanket over her, and stares up at the sky. “I love watching the clouds. I think I could stare at the clouds and the stars every day for the rest of my life and never get bored of it.”
“You’d love my loft bedroom. I have a skylight right over the bed.”
She squints up at me. “What’s a skylight?”
“It’s a window in the ceiling, so you can see the sky.”
The way her mouth falls open in awe is priceless and adorable. “Are you serious? There’s ceiling windows?”
“Yup.”
“I had no idea.”
“You’re welcome to check mine out any time you want. I’ll stay downstairs.”
She turns her attention back to the sky, but her mind has drifted as far away from me as those clouds. I can’t tell if giving her distance makes her feel safe or unwanted. We have so many fucked-up gray areas between us we’re practically a black-and-white movie.
“Can I lie down next to you?”
There’s that flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, that moment when I can see her breath catch in her throat—most likely a thousand bad memories rampaging through her mind—and it sucks that I’m always the cause of it, constantly having to scare her to move forward with her.
And why am I even trying to move forward when I know damn well one or both of us will end up getting hurt or left behind? Because, even in pain, there’s a degree of pleasure, and I can’t stop myself from wanting my own little shred of that.
“Okay,” she finally replies, and I lie next to her, leaving half a foot of safe space between us, and she gently spreads the blanket over me.
“Does it make you feel safe, too?” Her soft voice has taken on a nervous lilt, and it makes my heart pound harder.
“Yeah. It does.”
Poppy and Boomer join us, curling up at the end of the blanket for a nap after their game of chase and leaf stalking.
“I love being here with you and them…hearing the river…watching the clouds…having a soft blanket…I feel so free, like I can breathe.” She turns to me, her blond hair cascading around her head against the flannel blanket. “Is that strange?”
“Not at all, sugar. You were forced to live in a state of defense for a long time. I think your brain and your body are just finally learning to relax.”
“I like how you put that.” She looks up at the clouds again. “I want to live in a place like this. Do you think New York is like this?”
“Not if it’s the city, but there are parts of New York like this.” I’ve always loved living here in this remote corner of the woods I’ve carved out for myself, but having her here lately has made it complete. She’s like the star on top of the Christmas tree—that final glittering touch that brings it all together.
“I hope I can relax there, like this.”
“I’m sure you will. Every day, you’re getting stronger. I can see it.”
“So are you.”
“Me?” I ask. “How so?”
“You smile more. You don’t seem as mad. You don’t hide your face from me anymore. And you talk now.”
“That’s because you’re like Boomer. I didn’t have much of a choice with any of it.” I say it teasingly, but it’s all true. She’s changing me.