Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 89228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
She didn't subscribe hope, but she refused to let herself slip by without a constant goal to work toward. Sitting on that bench, night after night, was a full-on confrontation with her fears. For an agoraphobe, that kind of courage was hard to come by. She collected her courage from every tiny advancement she made in her recovery, saving it up and making herself stronger.
If he never came back for her, she knew she was brave enough to continue alone.
Not a second went by when Van didn't question the choice he made that night. Every window, every speck of dust, even the bedside lamp was a painful reminder of what he'd given up. The most agonizing choices were the right ones, but acknowledging it didn't make it any less agonizing.
Six months had passed since he'd kissed her drug-slackened lips in a torturous goodbye. He didn't just miss her lips, but goddammit, he missed them so fucking much.
He missed the sound of her knuckles cracking, her little gasps of panic, and her constant bratty comebacks. He missed working out with her in the mornings and making love to her in the afternoon. He missed feeding her and whipping her and studying all the quirky nuances that made her blush and scowl and throw her head back with laughter. And he missed her in his bed, the firm curves of her body all tucked up against him.
The silence of the cabin was excruciating without her. Even the simple act of breathing was met with a hollow echo that left everything cold and empty.
Like most nights, he drove aimlessly up and down the streets of Austin, heading anywhere except back to the lonely cabin. The leather doll she'd made was a permanent passenger on the seat beside him, a reminder to not show up at her house and demand she come back. He held no doubts in her ability to recover. The doll beside him was a symbol of her strength. And he’d made her weaker. As long as he didn't interfere, she would find her tenacity again.
He turned onto a dark, narrow street. Austin didn't have ghettos, and certainly nothing as decrepit as his childhood shacks, but there were pockets that bristled with crime and broken families.
Up ahead, a small silhouette moved on the side of the road, bobbing and darting beneath the canopy of an abandoned gas station. He slowed the Mustang, motoring closer, the street empty and unlit. He turned into the lot, and the headlights flashed over the tiny features of a five- or six-year-old girl sitting against the concrete wall, legs curled against her chest.
Where was her mother? There was no one around, and she was way too young to be out alone at eleven o'clock at night. Hell, he'd spotted a prostitute just two blocks back.
He stopped the car and opened the door to the sound of her soft sniffles. Approaching her cautiously, he asked, “Are you lost?”
She hugged her legs and shook her head.
With a hand on his hip, the other rubbing the back of his neck, he looked around. Apartment buildings, dark commercial properties, and empty parking lots lined the street. “Where's your mom?”
She pointed at the apartment tower down the road and sniveled.
“What's your name?”
“Leslie,” she mumbled.
He crouched at her side. “Leslie, how about you head home? It's not safe out here.”
Tears burst from her throat as she shuffled away from him.
Fuck. He crossed his arms around his knees to keep from going to her. Last thing he needed was someone accusing him of being a pedophile. “Go home, Leslie.”
She shook her head in hard, jerky movements, the whites of her eyes glassy and wet in the headlights.
His skin tightened, and nausea hit his stomach. He knew that look, one bred of abuse and neglect. He forced himself back to the car and sat there for endless minutes, staring straight ahead, his eyes watering. What could he do?
He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. He'd gone through such a long period of feeling nothing, refusing to allow his miserable past to morph into a selfish need to run back to Amber. But his heart was growing frailer by the minute. He fucking needed her.
But he couldn’t just leave this little girl. If she were Livana, he’d remove her from her toxic home.
Kidnapping.
Okay, not an option. He snagged the doll and returned to the girl, dropping on one knee before her. “Whatever it is, Leslie, it's not your fault.” What else had he wanted to hear at her age? “It's okay to be scared. Your mother loves you.”
Jesus, he sounded like an asshole. But when he handed her the doll, she hugged it to her chest. Then she sighed.
It was a tiny thing, that sigh of happiness, but from it breathed a rush of wind that liberated him. He could return to Amber, not as a stalker and rapist but as an honest man. She could love him back or reject him because she deserved to make that choice. The choice he’d wanted so desperately as a child.