Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 117408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“Did I… you know… do a good job?”
I already knew exactly what Jonah was so bashfully referencing. “Are you kidding me? You fucked my brains to Canada and back. Of course you did a good job.”
We broke into laughs. “All right, well, when you put it like that.”
“Seriously, Jonah, I think that was the best sex I’ve ever had.” I wagged a finger in the air. “Nah, fuck that, it was definitely the best sex I’ve ever had.”
“Really?” Jonah swirled his wineglass. “Same here.”
And then the glass wasn’t in Jonah’s hand anymore; instead it was flying down toward the hard concrete of my patio. A loud shatter followed by a loud curse.
“Ah, fuck, I’m so sorry.”
Red wine was spreading across the gray floor. I was already up, grabbing a roll of paper towel I had left out earlier when I was cleaning. “Don’t worry about it. Totally fine.” I dropped a barrier of paper around the wine to stop it from spreading and went to go get the broom and dustpan in the storage closet.
Jonah was tearing off more paper towel and using it to push some of the glass toward a central pile.
“Don’t worry, Jonah, you’re gonna cut your—”
A sharp intake of breath. Jonah shot up, putting his bleeding thumb up to his mouth. I could see the frustration in his eyes along with pain, but it wasn’t from the cut. He was close to crying.
It tore my heart apart. I set aside the broom and walked over to him. “You okay? Come, let’s wash it up.”
“I’m such a fuckup, Fox. I’m a mess.”
“No, you’re not. Stop saying that about yourself. Jonah, you’ve proven to be a man I can not only respect, but look up to. There aren’t that many of you out there, so stop counting yourself out. You’re not a fuckup. You’re not a mess.”
“I… I didn’t always feel this way. I mean… fuck’s sake, I was promoted as a cop faster than anyone. I used to have confidence… I used to, but it got worse after I was shot. I get trembles sometimes. You’ve seen. You’ve helped me… Sometimes I get shaky, and other times I just kind of lose grip control. Things slip out of my hands. It used to be way worse, but I had really great doctors. Good physical therapy.”
This was hard for Jonah. I could feel my chest getting tighter for him, seeing the raw emotion on his face, in his trembling hands, which were now fists at his side, a paper towel wrapped around his thumb and already growing red.
“I think my biggest fear really is of things getting worse… Doctors say it probably won’t, but… still. It’s not something I like to think about.”
“More proof of how far you’ve come. You’re a fucking warrior, Jonah.”
“Yeah, well, that’s just it… I’ve got this thing. I don’t like people seeing me as weak. I hate it. And, well… sometimes I can’t even hold up my cell phone. So yeah. I keep it as quiet as I can…”
I did something then that seemed to surprise him. I reached out, a hand on his arm, my thumb making small circles on his bare skin.
“Thank you for talking with me about it, Jonah. Just know, I don’t think you ever need to beat yourself up again. The world does a good enough job of trying to beat us up, let’s not make it easier, all right? You’ve got a shit ton of accomplishments to be proud of.” I put a hand under his chin, lifted his face so his eyes were on mine. “You’re a black-belt-wearing baby-food model, that’s impressive enough as it is.”
That got Jonah laughing, a little bit of that lightness coming back into the air.
“Come,” I said, “let’s wash that cut. Then I’ll clean up out here and we can head to bed.”
“Thanks, Fox.”
“I’m thinking you can crash in my bed tonight?” We entered my living room, and I tried to stay as nonchalant as possible even though what I was asking brought with it some big implications.
“Yeah, that’d be good.” I could hear the smile on Jonah’s voice as he walked behind me.
“All right, good times.”
I’m sure he heard the smile in mine.
27 Jonah Brightly
Four Days Later
It was a stormy day out, which was completely opposite to how I was feeling. The pregnant gray clouds rumbled with hidden thunder as they rolled over in fast, furious bursts from the ocean. The downpours had been sporadic throughout the morning but were more consistent as the day went by.
Currently, rain pounded hard against the car windows as Fox looked for a parking spot as close to our destination as possible, the windshield wipers working on overtime trying to keep the eyeline clear. A lightning bolt clapped against the sky, lighting up the entire area in a stark white light, the loud and crackling boom following seconds after.