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)
CHAPTER 21
Coen
I hadn’t meant to spill my guts like that to Tillie, but she kept pushing. A rush of air whooshes out of me, and I am completely drained.
This is the point where I expect her to cut her losses and run. Now that she knows the type of man she’s dealing with, she should head for the door a third time. I will let her walk away before she is truly hurt by me.
But she doesn’t.
She just stands there, facing me, empathy in those golden eyes. My body actually rebels at such a kind gift—empathy—and twists into knots. “Don’t look at me like that,” I growl.
“Like what?” Her voice is gentle, an attempt to calm me.
“Like you feel sorry for me.” Christ, I can’t stand feeling weak, and she’s making me feel that way.
“I don’t feel sorry for you. But my heart hurts that you’re hurting. It was a mistake, Coen.” Tillie’s voice is filled with urgency because she’s a true empath, and she knows I’m at the bottom of the barrel. “And that mistake is not on the same scale as the amount of self-loathing I’m seeing. It’s not proportionate.”
“I deserve the pain. But you don’t deserve to hurt on my behalf. You should go, Tillie. This thing between us is over.”
She shakes her head, her blond curls falling over her shoulders. “It’s not over. Because you’ve involved me now, and I’m not walking away from a person who would trust me with his pain.”
“That was a mistake,” I assure her. “Telling you. And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
I start to push away from the rail, but she’s now the one stepping into my path. All five feet and maybe one inch of her, tipping her head back to glare at me. “Oh, no you don’t. You don’t get to invite me over, have the gall to serve me shitty frozen hamburgers, act like an ass, feed a chipmunk nuts, and then trust me with that burden you’re carrying.”
I’m stunned silent.
“You haven’t shared that with anyone, have you? You’ve been carrying that around on your own for months and haven’t been able to work out how to deal with it, right?”
What in the hell is she getting at? I shake my head.
Tillie steps into me, her hands going to the waistband of my jeans. Her fingertips dip ever so slightly into the top, not in a sexual maneuver, but to anchor herself to me so I can’t walk away. She gives a tiny tug to get my attention, and my gaze meets hers.
“You made me a surrogate, and I accept,” she says.
I’m confused and my frown reflects that. “Come again?”
“You told me your story because you couldn’t tell Kyle. The one person you wanted and needed to tell—to apologize, to make amends to—but couldn’t because he died.”
“What’s your point?” I ask, feeling a bit hot under the collar because I sense she’s leading me into a trap.
Tillie lifts one hand and rests it on my chest. “You expected Kyle to be furious and probably disgusted by what you did. You expected him to hate you. But you needed to tell him because it would at least let you unburden and do the right thing. That was taken away from you, and now you’re stuck with the inability to do penance, which might alleviate this horrible guilt. You told me that story because you think maybe I’ll be disgusted and hate you. I’m the surrogate, and if I hate you and walk away, then you’ll get the absolution you’re seeking. But I’m sorry to tell you… you’re not going to get that from me. I’m not walking away. I can see your remorse and pain, and there’s nothing you can say that will get me to run from you.”
It’s like someone pulled the plug on a drain of ugly emotions I’d been swimming in. They swirl, round and round, washing over me. I want to punch my fist through a wall and at the same time, I want to pull Tillie into me. I stare into her eyes, unyielding, refusing to look away because she believes wholeheartedly what she just said.
And then, all the ugliness starts to fade. I’m not sure if it’s the liberation of sharing the self-loathing or maybe that I gave her every reason to look upon me with revulsion, but it’s kindness and understanding I’m getting.
Whatever the hell is happening at this moment, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, and it breaks me out of my stupor. I wrap my arms around her and pull her in close for a hug.
I just fucking need it right now.
She doesn’t disappoint, turning her cheek to rest on my chest and circling my back with her arms. She squeezes me hard, as if to emphasize her support.