Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
I drag my lips from his with effort. It feels unnatural, and everything in me rebels against withdrawing from Jack. Because all I want is to let him devour me, wipe out my memory of fear and blood and replace it with closeness and connection, deep physical satisfaction.
I want to weep with frustration and grief because he’s right here, his mouth less than an inch from mine, the taste of his whiskey still on my tongue. I would beg, crawl, do anything to stay with him. Except put my child in the path of danger. My love for Jack made this baby, and I’ll protect him or her no matter what it costs me. Even if it costs me the only happiness I’ve ever known.
God, I’m going to miss him—I almost falter, almost change my mind because I quail at the thought. The raw need in my body, the love I have for him that will go unspoken, unfulfilled. I can’t give him that love, not without giving his rivals a shot at our baby as well. Never, the word reverberates up my spine like it was shouted from deep in my soul.
Whatever the cost, I remind myself.
I take another step back. Steadying myself with a hand on the back of the chair, I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Jack. I appreciate everything you’ve done to help me, and the time we shared,” I damn near choke on the words.
This is the last thing I want to do. But I have to make him believe it. Even though it will break my heart.
“What are you saying?” he says. “You want to leave? Never see me again?” His mouth hardens and he seems to realize that he’s shirtless, that the sutured cut pulls painfully when he moves. Still, he comes to me, takes me by the shoulders. “Let me change your mind. Give me a chance.”
I open my mouth but cannot find words to speak. This proud, powerful man begs me to give him another chance. He loves me, and no other man could ever love me the same way. My chest hollows out and a devastating mix of sadness and shame choke me.
Let him think I am spooked by his injury, that I can play in his world but when it gets real, I run off. Let him think me faithless, disloyal. Only don’t let him realize I’m pregnant. That is the only important thing, I remind myself. If he hates me, that’s probably better. The voice in my head screaming for me to defend myself, to explain, to tell him I love him—that voice is stupid and self-destructive and doesn’t get a vote.
I grab a water from the mini fridge and chug about half of it just to clear my throat enough to speak. “Leave your stitches alone even when they pull. Don’t overdo. Take Tylenol for pain and if it starts bleeding or opens up, see a doctor,” I recite as coolly as I can. “I’m sure you can get a ride from here, so I’m going to take off.”
“That’s it,” he says flatly, disbelief making his face look younger and vulnerable.
“I guess tell Foz I said thanks,” I say, and I hate myself so much that I dig my nails into my palm as I speak the words.
“Yeah, and what do I tell myself?” he says, bitterness creeping in.
“That I had a good time,” I say. I can’t quite make myself shrug even though I know it would drive home the callousness of what I say. My shoulders won’t cooperate. Like even my muscles and joints know this is bullshit and won’t participate.
I grab my keys and walk out, and I don’t let myself look back.
16
JACK
“What the fuck did I miss?” I demand.
Foz shifts his weight uncomfortably.
“I knew she was pissed that I didn’t tell her about the fight, and I was late showing up at the diner… but this?” I feel like an idiot. I’m sitting on a stool at the saddest bar in the known universe spilling my guts to a guy who essentially works for me. Ronnie’s back in his office, and I’m trying to figure out what went wrong.
“Boss, the way I see it is, you never got dumped before, amirite?”
“Yeah.”
“So, it throws ya for a loop that some woman don’t wanna get with you anymore. You’re used to being the one that makes that call and leave her crying. Shoe’s on the other foot and it don’t feel too good.”
“You’re probably right, but that doesn’t help much,” I say.
“I’d get you another drink, but you haven’t touched that one yet.”
“I know. I’m not sure what to do with myself,” I confess.
“When you don’t know what to do, whiskey ain’t the answer, trust me. I seen enough guys try that and it don’t end very pretty. You ain’t gonna die of a broken heart, boss. Not today.” He chuckles, “You just wish you could.”