Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
I looked through the glass for Laura, wondering if she would join me.
She wasn’t in the bathroom.
I scrubbed myself clean, got the oil out of my hair, and shaved the beard clean off my face. The gauze around my body took up my entire torso, like a boa constrictor wrapping its coils around me.
When I returned to the bedroom, Laura was sitting at the dining table where a tray had been placed. The silver lids were on top of the food to keep everything warm. She didn’t look at me even though I was naked. Didn’t watch me pull on my boxers and sweatpants. “Get in bed.”
“I’ve been in bed for four days.”
“Well, I have a tray for you.”
I moved to the dining table and sat across from her. “I don’t eat in bed.”
“You need to rest—”
“I’m fine.” I pulled the tray toward me and removed the lid. No more hospital food—thank fuck.
She watched me eat, having nothing for herself.
“You aren’t hungry?”
She shook her head.
I ate in silence, her eyes barely on me. She was there for me, but it seemed like she didn’t want to be in the room.
When I finished, I stared at her.
Her mind seemed to be elsewhere because she didn’t notice my stare.
“I’m sorry about your father.”
“You already said that.” She looked at me, her eyes dead.
“Because I am sorry.” I’d wanted her to pick me over her father, but not in that scenario.
“I have no regrets, so don’t feel sorry.”
I studied her face, seeing a woman deeply disturbed.
“If you aren’t going to rest or accept my help…then I should go.”
Her hands moved to the armrests, and she prepared to rise from the chair.
“Sweetheart.”
She stilled at the tenderness in my voice.
“I’m done.”
Her features didn’t change at all. She either didn’t understand—or didn’t care.
“I’m ready to walk away from that life.”
Indifference was bright in her eyes. “I’m glad that you’re ready to move on. You deserve more out of life than crime and bloodshed.” She rose from the chair then came to me, like she might kiss me, but there was no passion in her eyes. She leaned down and kissed me on the cheek—and then walked out.
Days passed.
I spent time at home, slowly recovering, getting better every single day.
She didn’t call. She didn’t text.
After all that…we’d gone right back to what we were.
There was no chance she didn’t understand my intentions. She simply didn’t want me.
Was there someone else?
It hurt. It hurt a lot more than being stabbed.
I was a proud man, and if I was ever rejected, I took it without objection. Didn’t pine. Didn’t beg. Just accepted defeat with my head held high.
But I couldn’t accept this—not without an explanation.
So I went to her apartment, the nice one I’d bought her, and knocked on the door. I’d stopped surveilling her a long time ago, knowing she had the right to live her life without my intrusion, so I didn’t know if she was home. I didn’t know where she slept at night. I didn’t know if a man would open the door.
Thankfully, it was her.
She was barefoot, in jeans and a top. She wore the same look as the last time I saw her, not the least bit happy to see me.
We stared at each other for a long time, the threshold between us.
I broke the silence. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah…sure.” She moved out of the way.
I stepped into her apartment, tones of gray, black, and white. A classy place that only the rich could ever attain. I moved into the living room, which had floor-to-ceiling windows that showed the city below.
She followed me, arms crossed over her chest. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” The pain of my wound didn’t compare to the pain I felt when she walked out.
Cold. Distant. Empty. That’s all she was.
“Do you regret your decision?”
Her eyes lifted and found mine, narrowing in silent protest.
“Because it seems like you want nothing to do with me.” It hurt to say those words out loud, because I was afraid she would agree. She should have let her father kill me. She couldn’t carry the guilt of her actions. She couldn’t look at me and not hate herself.
“Of course I don’t.”
“Then why?”
“Why what?”
“Why don’t you want me?”
She didn’t say anything.
I gave her more time, but nothing was forthcoming.
“Is there someone else?” I didn’t want to imagine it. Some other man having my woman because I was too late.
“No.”
“Are you lying?” The question tumbled out, more aggressive than I intended.
Her eyes widened at my ferocity. “No.”
It didn’t make any sense. “I said I would walk away from everything. That’s what you wanted.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
She didn’t speak.
“Before what?” I repeated, raising my voice.
“You’re only doing this because of what happened to you. If this hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t have seen each other again.”
“You think I haven’t been miserable without you every fucking day? You think I’ve forgotten you while buried in someone else? I’ve been drinking to forget, but no amount of scotch, gin, or vodka can make me forget you. I’ve been celibate, because a woman would only make me miss you more, not less. This conversation would have taken place, regardless of what happened.”