Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
“I’m… a friend of his.” She’s just as guarded as I am, eyeing me warily. I’ve seen that look before. It’s just that I don’t understand why she looks this way. Like he means something to her.
“You’re the girl living here with him, aren’t you?” she asks. Her voice has nothing nasty or accusatory, but my defenses go up anyway. Hell, they were already up.
“I am, but I still don’t know who you are.” Or what the hell you think you’re doing here. This girl has barely said anything to me, and here I am, wanting to claw her eyes out. And why? For what? Over him? What a waste of time that would be.
“My name is Becky. And I really would like to see him. Is he here?” She turns slightly to the left, eyeing the SUV parked next to the house.
Before I can come up with a lie, or even politely tell her to fuck off, footsteps ring out on the stairs behind me. Footsteps that slow dramatically before picking up again. “Becky. What are you doing here?”
I don’t have to look at him. I can hear it in his voice, and now I remember hearing her name at the lake when somebody commented about Becky. They were wondering why he hadn’t seen her yet. Nobody has to explain who she is or, better yet, was to him. It’s all in the tone of his voice when he says her name.
And it’s in the way her face lights up when she spots him over my shoulder. Unexpectedly, I feel like I’m intruding, and the idea makes me sick. If anybody belongs here with him, it’s me, not this chick.
Suddenly, his hand is on the door, and I might as well not be here. He only has eyes for her. But as always, there’s nothing on his face to show what he’s really thinking. How he’s feeling. Why would he want to do that? Why would he want anybody to know what’s going on in his head? It’s fucking infuriating.
“I figured if you weren’t going to look for me, I’d have to look for you.” It’s obvious she wants to say more, but her wary gaze falls on me and she presses her lips into a firm line. Message received. Wouldn’t want to speak freely in front of a stranger.
“Tatum… stay here.” He talks to me like I’m a child. Or a dog. Wouldn’t want to let me out on the loose, would he? This is pathetic. I’m sure he sees it in the way I snicker and shake my head before going upstairs, while he steps out onto the porch and closes the front door.
It might look like I’m throwing a temper tantrum or whatever he wants to call it, but not quite. If I can’t listen from the living room – where he would be able to see me, of course – I’ll listen from upstairs in the bedroom. No way am I going to pass up the chance to hear what they have to say to each other.
I tiptoe across the creaky floor, then ease one of the front windows and open a crack before crouching there, straining my ears and breathing as softly as possible in the hope of eavesdropping. This is what my life has come to.
“You can’t just show up here,” he mutters. He sounds like he does when he’s pissed at me, and sadly, it sort of makes me feel good. I’m not the only one who gets this crappy, dismissive attitude.
“Is that all you have to say to me? Ten years, and I have to find out you’re back in town from Dex? What the hell?”
That’s right, girl. I don’t love the way you looked at me, but give him hell.
“I have my reasons.”
“I’m sure you do, and I would’ve loved to hear about them.”
“Beck,” he sighs. “Don’t do this.” Damn it, I can’t see them. What does he look like? What is she doing?
“I just wonder why I don’t even get a hello. Hey, Beck, long time no see. Sorry I completely disappeared from your life. Sorry I never called. Sorry you could’ve thought I was dead – which I did,” she adds, fierce and bitter. I can feel her anger, and I feel sorry for her because I know what it’s like to deal with him. He’s always got his reasons, doesn’t he? He’s always got every excuse in the world for being the way he is, for shutting people out.
“I’m sorry about that.” He doesn’t sound like it, but I’m used to that.
“Do you know what would make me believe you were actually sorry? If you had given me the respect to come and talk to me instead of me having to seek you out.”
“Well, now you have. Now you know. This isn’t supposed to be some happy reunion. I’m here for business.”