Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 156796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 523(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 523(@300wpm)
I watched, frozen. “How come you never told me?” I asked, my voice little more than a whisper.
She smiled. “Because, my dear, the pain was so great that if I uttered the truth, I was worried I might just fall apart and never find myself back together again.” She said the words lightly, almost casually, and that made them that much more painful to hear.
I leaned forward. “Grandma,” I croaked, wishing I could find something to say that would take away the pain on her beautiful face.
She waved me away. “I’m not telling you this for sympathy,” she said, almost dismissively. “I’m telling you this because that’s what pushed me to live. Really live. I know your father disapproves of the way I live my life. My carelessness, as he sees it. But my chaos is careful in its construction. Designed to ensure I make it through the day without falling apart. That’s what we’re all trying to do, get through the day. Sometimes the ones who seem to make life harder are the ones who make the days that much easier.”
She let her words sit, crowd the room, crack my heart. She wasn’t bothered by my silence, my inability to figure out what to say to that. I didn’t think she even expected me to say anything; what I had to say wasn’t what mattered.
She just sipped her wine.
And then she looked at me. “You know, honey, you’re not him if you want to have a sip of wine,” she said gently. “And this isn’t me pushing this on you just because I want a drinking buddy. I have plenty of those. It’s actually nice having a sure-thing sober driver, so it’s to my detriment that I’m speaking on this.” Her eyes twinkled. “But I will speak on it because it’s apparently the night for a purge. You’ve been too hurt to live your life because of how David’s ended.”
I tried not to flinch at the way the words grated against the air.
I was sure Grandma saw my reaction, but she continued. “I see there’s a man who will show you something more than fearing death. Who might teach you how to live. You might resurrect him,” she murmured, confirming that she saw everything on little more than a glimpse.
“David had an illness, honey. A chemical imbalance. And he had troubles. Bone-deep troubles that he saw as insurmountable mountains. And he found something to turn them into molehills. And it was his end.”
She paused, taking a huge gulp of her wine.
“It’s an illness you don’t have,” she said firmly. “You might have the mountains, honey, because everyone does in one way or another, but you’re willing to climb them. Fuck, I think you’ve found a man who would carry you over them. Who would walk through fire. But I don’t want him to do that. I just want him to show you that you can walk through fire. You can live.”
Again that heavy silence settled over the room.
“I think I might be starting to,” I whispered in response.
She grinned. “I think so too.”
And then, not long after that, Gage arrived.
Right on time.
He’d barely looked at me all night.
Apart from the way he’d devoured me with his carnal glare the second he turned up, yanked me into his arms for a brutal and closemouthed kiss, of course.
He’d done that in such a way that it seemed like it was beyond his control, like he was angry he was doing it.
Or maybe that was my overactive imagination.
I hadn’t been angry that he did it.
My lips had been craving his all day. Every single cell of my body had been. And my blood roared in response to his touch, his kiss, even if it was considerably inappropriate in front of my grandmother.
“Hey,” I whispered when he yanked his head back, glowering.
He didn’t answer for a moment, his eyes searching my face. “Will,” he murmured, tone deeply intimate and yet coldly detached at the same time.
I would’ve said such a thing was impossible before.
But with Gage there was no impossible.
Because he was an impossibility. His very presence. The ghost of his touch on my lips. We’d driven to dinner on the bike, him wordlessly shoving the helmet at me serving as him telling me as much. My grandmother had not made a tut of disapproval at that as my mother would’ve, or a load protest like my father.
No, she literally clapped.
With glee.
I was lucky I’d worn a motorcycle appropriate outfit, considering I’d stupidly hoped I’d need to wear one. I’d gone for my black capris, skintight, ending just above my ankle so I could match my light pink booties to them. The heel was higher than I normally wore, but it did something good to my legs. Which was why I’d bought them in the first place.