Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
He let out a low groan and breezed past me. He sat down on the couch, planted his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head into his hands.
And then…he said nothing.
I stared at him in disbelief, an enraging case of déjà vu making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
I wouldn’t do it again.
I wouldn’t beg him to talk to me.
I couldn’t force him into that suit the day of her funeral any more than I could force him to be the man I needed—then or now.
He’d said he’d changed. I’d believed that he’d changed.
It hadn’t taken a full twenty-four hours for him to prove me wrong.
Turning on a toe, I started for the door, ready to leave the past where it so obviously belonged.
“Do you remember when we first got married and we were so broke we couldn’t afford to eat anything other than peanut butter and jelly for, like, two weeks straight?” he asked.
I froze, my hand on the door, a knot in my stomach.
“You were still pregnant, and I felt like shit because I knew you were having cravings, but we didn’t have the money for anything else. Remember that game we made up?”
Pressure mounted in my chest as I slowly turned back to face him. “Eggplant Parmesan and Veggie Tacos?”
He reclined back on the couch, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Well, for me, it was Burgers and Ribs, but yeah, that’s the one. You know how we’d take a bite of the sandwich and then get all loud and animated, describing something totally different until we convinced ourselves it was actually a five-star meal? We were still eating PB&J and we knew it, but to this day, those were some of the best ribs I’ve ever had.”
“What are you getting at with this?”
His face paled and he drew in a deep breath, holding it for a long second before speaking on an exhale. “She’s not dead.”
“What?”
“That’s what I tell myself. Instead of Burgers and Ribs, I play a little game of Kaitlyn’s Still Alive.”
My stomach soured, realization sinking in. “Oh, God.”
His knee bounced as he scrubbed his hands over his thighs. “Come sit down. I’ll talk, tell you anything and everything. Just please don’t leave.”
I closed my eyes. It was everything I’d ever wanted to hear from him. But after seeing that house, I wasn’t so sure anymore. My emotions were all over the place, from heartbreak and sadness to bitterness and anger. I despised that damn couch for a multitude of reasons, but no matter how hard I tried to resist, I couldn’t help loving the man sitting on it.
I walked over to him and slowly sank down beside him. His hand snaked out, landing on my thigh. I couldn’t be sure if he was tethering me to him so I wouldn’t leave or anchoring himself to me so he didn’t get lost. Either way, I had a feeling we were about to travel through hell together.
He drew in a deep breath and then finally tore down the eighteen-year-old wall he’d so carefully constructed between us. “It started a few days before her funeral, when I couldn’t take the pain anymore. You and I hadn’t been together for a few months, so I was used to her not being around every day, and… Well, I convinced myself she was with you. Out there, smiling and laughing, baking cookies, playing at the park, living an incredible life. It’s why I don’t leave the house. I’m not scared of the outside world, Gwen. I’m scared of the reality that she doesn’t exist anymore outside of these four walls.”
My lungs burned as I held my breath, praying this was all some kind of sick joke. I felt like my skin was on fire from just standing in that house, much less living in it for nearly two decades.
How had he made it that long, frozen in time, with no reprieve or end in sight?
“I don’t understand, Truett. Is this some kind of self-imposed torture like when you’d go to The Grille and sit in the booth?”
He let out a low hum. “No. Though I’m not sure you quite understand the full reason I go to that booth every Wednesday, either.”
Truett
Eighteen years earlier…
With hollow eyes and a beard I hadn’t bothered to shave in the three months I’d been home, I stared at myself in the mirror. “Who the fuck are you?” I whispered, my head spinning in a fury of panic and hatred. My teeth were clenched painfully hard, a fistful of pills in my hand. “You don’t fucking deserve to be here,” I snarled at the man staring back at me. “You had one fucking job and you missed the cell phone. They came home in coffins and now look at you, taking the easy way out. You fucking pussy. You fucking, fucking pussy.” I slammed my fist down on the bathroom countertop, splitting my knuckles wide.