Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
The line goes dead before I can wrap my head around everything he said.
Did I just lose him, too? Why is he saying all of this now when the shit hit the fan months ago?
I’m left wishing I was drunk and high those three years. It might make the guilt a little weaker.
I’m still pissed, livid enough to punch the fucking wall, but that doesn’t make what Davien and Fletcher said any less true.
I was a total dick. It doesn’t matter that I was scared, that all the shit I heard ad nauseam growing up about being gay kept me from just accepting what the public already knew.
Excuses or reasons… it doesn’t matter. All of this is on me.
What does it leave me with?
A fake relationship, a fake recovery, and nothing else.
I honestly thought I’d hit rock bottom already. I thought I was slowly but surely clawing my way back up. I had accepted that I’d probably never be back on the top like I was before, but I was okay with it. I didn’t want to be there any longer. Normal, that’s what I wanted. I wanted bland trips to the organic market. I wanted to be able to go out and not have to be swarmed by people with their own expectations of me.
I wanted to be boring, overlooked.
I may get all those things, but I didn’t expect to do it all alone.
Princess licks my hand, and I have to smile down at her.
“At least I have you, sweet girl.”
As if the world just wants to slap me in the face, she jumps down from the bed, her nails clicking on the hardwood floor as she leaves the room.
I can’t even be mad at the people I want to be. I can’t point fingers.
I’m right back where I was this morning before Brooks showed up.
These highs and lows are enough to drive me fucking crazy.
I climb off the bed and do the only damn thing I can manage, the very thing I’ve avoided since all of this shit started.
I pull out my notebook and I write. I jot down all my feelings about everything—my sadness, my regrets, my guilt.
I turn it all into songs, and when the sun sets, and I feel completely drained, I take that notebook and set it on fire.
Chapter 27
Brooks
I told myself I was going to stay away. I even went so far as to knock on Deacon’s office door first thing this morning to tell him I needed to be taken off this assignment, but when my boss looked up at me from his computer, I just couldn’t get the words out.
Whatever is going on between Archer and me is messy as hell, but I know I don’t want it to end even though it may be what’s best. He’s like an addiction I’ve formed. I’m desperate for his smile, his moans, his attention.
I’m a fucking fish out of water here.
Archer asked me to leave, and although he left the length of time open-ended, I lasted a day.
After walking into his house a few hours ago, I’m left feeling like I should’ve stayed gone.
He didn’t smile when he walked into the kitchen to find me standing there waiting for the coffee to finish. He didn’t maul me and try to pull out my cock.
He also looked like he hadn’t slept at all last night. He’s still in the same clothes he was in last night, and if I thought it would be a positive outcome, I’d force him upstairs into the shower and lift his mood with my mouth around his dick.
I get the feeling he’d tell me to get the fuck out and stay gone forever, and I won’t risk that.
“I’m almost done,” I tell him as the machine spits out the last few drops of espresso.
He remains silent.
“You have yoga today,” I remind him, fully expecting him to refuse.
“How long until I need to leave?”
I look down at my watch, swallowing down all the things I want to say.
“A little over an hour.”
“I’ll be ready.”
I know he came in to make coffee, but with his words, he turns right back around and leaves.
I don’t follow him, although everything in me tells me that I need to. If the man wants a little space, a little distance from me, then I have to give that to him. What I wouldn’t be able to handle is him pushing me away completely.
Archer is back downstairs just in time to leave for his yoga class, and his mood hasn’t changed.
We have a lot to talk about and getting him in the car where he can’t run away is the perfect plan, but I find myself avoiding it all on the drive.
“We need to talk about your security,” I finally manage when half the trip is already done.