Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 92938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
She was a goddamn miracle.
How could I demand more? If I truly cared for her, and I did, God, I did, then I could not ask for more than she was willing to give. If I cared for her, I could not manipulate or plot, or try to control, the way I’d always done.
That was my fallback. Always. Manipulate. Position myself. And when I took a moment to consider this, I knew why. It was familiar and it made me feel artificially powerful because I was doing something to attempt to lessen my hurt. My feelings of being less-than. Second best.
Grasp. Hold. Attain for myself what no one else would give me, because I wasn’t worth the effort.
And it’d brought nothing but unhappiness. Loneliness. Even when a crowd of people surrounded me.
I shut my eyes, pain winding through me at the mere idea of just . . . letting go.
For her.
The way I’d done with Archer and that amendment, but harder. Infinitely harder.
The lessons just kept on coming, didn’t they?
Life testing whether I’d truly gotten it.
Archer’s words came back to me. She made me braver, and stronger. Because of her, I wanted to be the best version of myself. And that, I think, is what love does, if it’s really love.
The best version of myself wouldn’t try to force Haven to choose me. The best version of myself would let her keep her fear because, for now at least, she needed it. It was helping her survive, and only she got to decide when to let it go.
Bree had given Archer the time he needed to overcome his fear once upon a time. And I’d give Haven hers. Despite that it killed me.
I wouldn’t plot. Not with Archer, and not with her. Not with anyone. I’d made my case. I’d bared my heart and it was all I could do. All I should do. I laced my fingers, clenching my joined hands, because I’d thought it earlier, and I thought it now: old habits died hard.
My eyes remained fixed on the kid in front of me. He carried things too. And he was all she had. Whatever his reasons, he’d turned his pain outward.
I was no better, and probably worse.
“Go to bed, Easton,” I said, my voice thick. “You’re probably going to have a hangover in the morning.”
“Yeah.” He ran his hand through his hair again and pulled himself to his feet. He stumbled toward the doorway, stopping and turning his head back toward me. “Goodnight, Chief Hale.”
“Goodnight.”
I sat there for a few more minutes, letting the suffering wash through me, over me. And then I stood, making my way to my room and packing hastily. I left the key on the dresser and then I exited, looking down the hall at Haven’s closed door, longing to go to her, but resisting.
I walked quietly down the stairs, stopping only to write a brief note to Betty before I left.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Haven
My eyes cracked open, light seeping through the edges of the blinds. I was surprised I’d slept at all. I had been sure sleep would be virtually impossible, that I’d stare at the ceiling, the picture of Travis’s face front and center in my mind, the way he’d looked so broken as I’d turned and walked away.
My ribcage felt hollow, empty. I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
Have you considered that you really have no feelings for Gage and that’s why he’s safe?
I sighed, my shoulders sagging.
Have you considered that you’re using him to keep me emotionally at arm’s length?
Yes, of course he was right. I could see that now, all too clearly. I’d been using Gage to keep Travis at arm’s length. Because it meant my survival. I couldn’t risk it again, not now, just when I was finally feeling stronger, just when the sharpest edge of agony over that horrifying night had begun to fade, when finally, finally, the smell of smoke and ash wasn’t the first thing I swore I smelled when I woke.
I propelled myself off the bed, heading for the bathroom. I’d found peace out on the road, stopping only long enough to fund another stretch, forming no attachments, none at all. It’d been a relief. I couldn’t go backward. I didn’t have more heart to risk.
But right from the beginning, I’d sensed a kinship with Travis that defied words. It had scared me. Concerned me. And so I’d done what I thought I had to do to keep him in the box I’d carefully constructed for him.
Friends.
Then—though riskier—friends with benefits.
At first, I’d thought he wanted those things too.
How could he want more? His rebound status would ensure that he’d keep things casual. And in a way that had hurt, but in a way, it had also comforted me.
And so I’d let my guard down.