Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74291 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74291 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Allen stops the car to look back at me. He cups my shoulder gently with understanding. If anything good has come out of this whole mess, it’s that Allen and I have grown close.
“He doesn’t know about the baby, Ana. I promise you. You are needed. You’ll understand when you see him.” I swallow, unable to hide the panic on my face. “I promise that I will take you back home the moment you ask me, Ana. Trust me.”
I bite my lips, but shake my head yes. There’s little I can do about it now.
“I’ll be outside for an hour, Ana. Just come out if you need me,” Allen says a little later when he opens the front door.
“You’re leaving me?” I ask, nearly choking on the fear.
“I’ll just be outside, sis. I promise.”
I close my eyes as the shutting of the door sounds so final. My nose wrinkles at the musty smell of Roman’s house. It always smelled like fresh outdoors and pine. Did his cleaning crew quit? I walk through the darkened foyer, my hand automatically feeling for the light switch on the wall because the house is completely dark. Fear swamps me. I pull the coat more towards my front, doing my best to hide my baby-bump. Was Roman in an accident? Did something happen? Is that why they wanted me here?
“Roman?” I call out, my voice little more than a whisper. When I hear nothing back, I take a breath and try to strengthen myself. “Roman?”
I stop and listen. I hear the faint sound of someone coming from Roman’s den. I make my way there, turning on the lights. What I see in the main living room stops me in my tracks. There are empty liquor bottles everywhere, Styrofoam containers that, from the smell, now contain left-overs of moldy take-out. I pull one back just to be sure and instantly close it when I take in the green and white remnants of what I think used to be a half-eaten hamburger. There’s empty soda cans and pizza boxes too. The once pristine white carpet will probably never be clean again. What the hell has been going on here?
I make it to the den, my hand stalling on the doorknob as I gather up what little courage I have. I open it, my nose curling in disgust. The stench is even worse in here. The room is completely dark. I flip on a lamp that’s on a table by the door. The room floods with light and it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust. Even then, it takes me a minute to understand what I’m seeing. Roman is laying on the floor, his hair grown out ridiculously long for him, the dark bangs lying haphazardly over his eyes. He’s wearing a t-shirt that I think is supposed to be white, but has obviously been through a war with beer and pizza—and lost. He has on gray jogging pants that are riding low on his hips and he’s staring straight at me, his eyes bloodshot.
“Roman?” I ask, because God’s honest truth, I can’t be sure. The man I’m staring at is nothing like the Roman, I know.
“The bitch who haunts me,” he slurs. “What are you doing here, pet? You’re early. You’re not supposed to haunt my dreams until I pass out.” He holds up a half empty bottle of whiskey, shaking it at me. “I still have some to go before I get there.”
Dear Lord. “Roman, what happened to you?”
“As if you didn’t know. You poisoned me,” he growls, and I have no idea what he is talking about.
“Roman,” I start, but he interrupts me.
“I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t even fucking breathe without you in my head, your taste on my tongue, your fucking scent filling my lungs. I told you to leave, Ana. I told you to get the fuck away from me. Why can’t you leave me alone to die in peace?” he growls at me, except it’s not at me. I get the feeling he doesn’t think I’m really here.
I rub my palm across my forehead. Of all the things I expected, this wasn’t it. There’s no talking to Roman like this. I don’t even know what this means. The only thing that is clear is that he’s missed me. He’s been as miserable as I have. If I hadn’t had the baby to think about these months without him, would I have been in much the same shape? Probably.
Roman might not realize it, but we’re made for each other. I pick up the phone and dial Allen’s cell.
“Sis?”
“You and Bruno need to come help me sober up the father of my child.”
“Sis?” he asks again.
“You got me here, Allen. Now help me,” I order him, hanging up. I look over at Roman who is snoring now, and I can almost smile.