Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 51744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
“Say it,” I snarl. A feral need to make her mine all over again, for her to know she belongs to me, takes over.
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is.”
“Chance, I thought you hated me. Used me. That we—” She glances away. “That we had something special. That we would be together forever.”
I groan, and then I kiss her. Her mouth is soft and supple, yet fierce and needy, on mine. As if she needs this contact and connection as much as I do. I break the kiss because I need to say something. She needs to hear it.
“We will have forever. Again.”
11
AVERY
* * *
He didn’t write the letter. I believe him. The man I’ve hated for over a decade tells me one thing and I believe him.
I’m an FBI agent, trained to read people. He was surprised. Stunned. Furious. Sweet.
If he wrote that stupid letter, why would he come to me now? I was gone all those years, and even though I’ve returned, he could steer clear. Avoid me. Use his brothers as intermediaries or whatever.
But he hasn’t done that. I’ve seen him more than I’ve seen Austin and Miles. Sure, part of that is because they aren’t suspects.
Or because my mind always goes to Chance.
His hand is on my cheek, his blue eyes on mine. I see everything there. All the feelings we had fifteen years ago.
We may have only had one night together, but I’ve also had fourteen years of a constant reminder. Grady. We made a child that day from our love. Despite waiting a month after I got on the pill, it still happened. After I found out, I spent weeks trying to figure out if I’d missed a pill during that month, or if I’d miscalculated something.
All I came up with was that it just happened.
Sometimes things just happen. Those years after the letter—after we left Bayfield—are a blur to me in many ways. I existed, had my baby, and then I was forced to grow up.
Grady turned out to be the biggest blessing of my life—and also a minute-by-minute reminder of Chance Bridger.
I kept Grady away because I thought Chance didn’t want me. If he didn’t want me, he didn’t want a kid. But now?
I’m so lost. Overwhelmed.
“I… I don’t know what to say.” Instinctively, I lean my cheek into his palm, feel the heat and warmth of him.
“Say you believe me,” he murmurs, leaning down, his nose running along my neck.
Goosebumps break out on my skin. “I… I believe you,” I whisper.
He groans, as if something like anguish and frustration are being ripped from his chest.
“Why didn’t you come to me?” he pushes.
I step back then. Yes, we both know what has kept us apart was done by, most likely, his father. But there is so much unanswered.
“Because of the letter! Why would I confront you about something so cruel?”
“You trusted me with your body. Why couldn’t you think to push me on something like that? Something so wrong?”
“I… I—” I turn away, not able to look at him. Tears well and slip down my cheeks. “I loved you, and as you said, I trusted you with my body. Then the letter. I thought you used me, that you got to fuck me, take my virginity and then you had a laugh with your buddies in the locker room.”
“I should take you over my knee for even thinking something like that.”
I want to yell at him for such words, but the look of sheer anguish on his face prevents me from it.
“I was barely eighteen! It was so intense. So honest. And then the letter was also honest.”
“It was a lie!” He draws in a deep breath. “Why did you go to Arizona? I mean, that’s a big fucking coincidence.”
“My mom…” My mind goes blank. Why did we go? Mom got some money, and it came from… Where did it come from? Such a blur, that time. I was awash in heartbreak—young and pregnant and tossed away by the man I thought would someday be my husband.
“Your mom…what?” he asks, this time gently.
“A relative.” I search my mind for the memories. “A great-aunt died and my mom was the only living descendent. It was enough to start a new life somewhere else, for both of us to get an education. It was a godsend. At just the right time, too.”
“Right.” He rubs his forehead. “Just the right time. Doesn’t that seem a little too coincidental? I dump you in a letter and your mother comes into money to get you out of the trailer park?”
I whip my hands to my hips. “It does now. But I was a kid! A teen with a nasty Dear John letter. I wasn’t thinking about whether any of it made sense. I was thankful to get the hell out of this town.”