Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Gage’s head whips my way. “Really?”
I nod toward the trees, which are nothing more than dark shadows now. “Neighbor just over that way.”
He sits up in his chair and angles toward me. “Okay… start at the beginning.”
It’s a testament to how much I’ve changed. And maybe to the beers. I tell him most everything, from the moment I met Tilden on the trails until our last meeting in the grocery store three days ago.
I leave out a few things. Like the intimate details of our times together. I’ve never been a kiss-and-tell kind of guy.
I also don’t tell him that I’ve gone over to her house every night around ten o’clock to see if her porch light is on.
It hasn’t been, and that bugs the shit out of me.
“Wow,” he says, settling into his chair. “A neighbor who pisses you off but you’re attracted to.”
“And we’re embroiled in a legal battle,” I remind him.
“You sure like to complicate your life.” He chuckles and then sips his beer.
He doesn’t ask any more questions. Shows no more curiosity. He’s being respectful of my boundaries, and it makes me squirm because I feel like there’s more to discuss regarding Tilden, and he’s going to make me ask him for advice.
Scraping at the label on my bottle, I say, “She’s a complicated woman.”
“I bet,” he replies.
I wait, but he’s content to enjoy the silence if I’m not filling it.
“It’s confusing to her.”
Gage rolls his head my way to indicate he’s all ears.
“She says we can’t be fuck buddies because you should generally like the other person. I’ve been an asshole to her, and I don’t like her trying to cut down my trees.”
“Oh, imagine that,” he says caustically. “A woman who wants to feel like she’s more than just a piece of meat.”
“That’s not how I view her,” I growl, sitting up in my chair. “There’s actually plenty I like about her. Stuff that attracts me in ways other than just getting my rocks off.”
“Then why don’t you tell her those things?”
Such a fucking simple question with what should be an easy answer. I slump back in my chair. “Because at the core, I’m still not a nice person, I guess.”
“You see,” Gage says, rising to face me. He holds out his arms, one hand clutching his beer bottle before moving to the cooler to grab two more. “That’s what I don’t get. Why are you an asshole? You weren’t like that before the crash. You were known for your easygoing ways and your charm with everyone. Was it just the crash? Because if so, I’m telling you that you need to get the fuck over the whole survivor’s guilt thing and get your life on track.”
He’s hit the nail on the head, but only if it were as easy as it just being about the crash. Gage returns with two beers, and I down the rest of the one in my hand before accepting his offering.
When he settles back into his seat, I contemplate doing something I would’ve never considered doing before I met Tilden.
Before she started twisting up my insides with fucking feelings.
“It’s not just about the crash, although that’s the major part.”
Gage sits forward, angling toward me. In the glow of the torchlights, I stare at my beer bottle rather than look him in the eye. “I did something horrible to a teammate—Kyle Ralston—but he didn’t know about it. I was going to tell him the morning the team left for Columbus, but I had the flu and couldn’t make the trip. I didn’t get a chance to make it right before the plane went down. I didn’t get a chance to earn forgiveness, and somehow, I survived… yet I’m the one who shouldn’t have. It’s all so fucked up and twisted in my head. The guilt of what I did to Kyle and the guilt of surviving. It’s too much, and the only thing I know is that I don’t deserve anything good.”
“You said those words to me before—that you aren’t deserving—and I wondered what you meant,” he murmurs, and my eyes rise to meet his. “But Coen… sometimes it’s not about forgiveness from the person you wronged but forgiving yourself.”
“I can’t.” My words come out in a hoarse croak.
“You can,” he says firmly.
“Don’t you think I’ve tried?”
“I don’t know. Have you?”
I glance toward the darkened tree line. “Maybe that’s what I’ve been trying to do with Tilden. She’s the first woman…”
My words trail off. That won’t make any sense to him because he doesn’t know what my sins are. I’m so fucking ashamed of what I’ve done, the thought of revealing it makes me sick to my stomach.
Instead, I say, “I can’t bond with anyone on the team because I wronged a teammate. I don’t deserve to be on that team because I can’t be trusted. There isn’t a penance that will obviate it, because the only thing that would have worked was for me to make it right with Kyle.”