Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“I totally dodged a bullet with that one.” Ugh, even now, the thought of him makes me sick. “He tried hard to get me to change my mind with the usual flowers and gifts. Even sent me a singing telegram. But once I’ve made up my mind, wild horses won’t shift it.”
Doc’s eyes shimmer with a mix of empathy and mischief. “I’m beginning to learn that about you.” He gives me a wink, and I poke out my tongue at him, and the smile he give me is warm and inviting.
As a strong mountain wind picks up outside and rattles the windows, the hours inside the hotel continue to slip away with comfortable ease.
The topic turns to family, and before I can stop myself, I open up to him about Valentine.
“He was three years older than me. We grew up close, and I couldn’t imagine a better older brother. My mama said from the moment I was born, he never let me out of his sight. She had trouble getting him to do anything he was supposed to do whenever I was awake because he always wanted to play with me. Or show me something. Or teach me something. He was amazingly patient with me.” I take a deep breath.
“Over the years, he taught me so many things… even taught me how to drive. We had this old army jeep with a sticky clutch and a temperamental starter motor, and I just couldn’t get the hang of it. But Valentine wouldn’t give up. He kept showing me and showing me until I could finally do it.
“I remember how proud I was too. I know now if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t know the things I do. He gave me the confidence to know I can do anything if I try hard enough. ‘Never quit, Lily,’ he’d say.” Talking about him reopens the wound in my chest, and I feel the heartache spread through me.
“He sounds like a good older brother to have.”
“The best.”
“Where is he now?”
It’s a question I’ve asked myself every day for the past thirteen years, and one day I pray I will find the answer.
“When I was fifteen years old, he escaped. He knew what Max was, and he didn’t want any part of it. So in the middle of the night, he escaped.”
“And you haven’t heard from him since?”
I shake my head. “No.”
Sensing my grief, Doc reaches for my hand. “Hey, I bet wherever he is, he’s living a good life.”
“You think so?”
He smiles gently. “Yeah, I do.”
Somehow hearing Doc say it makes me believe it could be true.
A minute ticks by, then I finally ask, “When you leave, will you take me with you?”
The moment turns incredibly strange. Our gazes find each other and stick.
“If I go, you go.”
His warm fingers linger on the back of my hand, his touch intimate and kind.
But Doc suddenly pulls away, clears his throat, stands, and moves over to the counter to make more coffee.
DOC
What the hell is wrong with me?
I don’t touch people unless it’s absolutely necessary.
So, what the hell was that?
It was like my fingers had a mind of their own and reached for her hand without hesitating.
I shake my head and busy myself making coffee to avoid thinking about it. Because just like the rest of this place, it completely messes with my head.
Although, it’s not surprising. It appears Lily and I have more in common than I thought. In fact, if I was prone to bouts of romanticism, I’d call us kindred spirits.
Except, I don’t have a romantic bone in my body.
And I’m definitely not one to get carried away with sentimental bullshit.
But it seems I am powerless against the magnetic pull I feel toward Lily, and because she shared deeply personal things with me and maybe because of the fatigue fucking with me, I decide it’s only fair I do the same.
Rejoining her at the table with fresh coffee, I tell her about Christy. It’s the first time in eighteen years that I’m sharing the tragic details of her death with anyone. I haven’t even told my Kings of Mayhem brothers about her. I don’t know if it’s because of the shame and guilt or because I blame myself and find it too painful to talk about. But with Lily, the words tumble out with ease, and I find myself telling her everything. She listens quietly, her beautiful eyes full of empathy, her hands folded on her lap.
And afterward, when I stop talking, I feel like something deep inside me has shifted and changed.
“Is that why you pull away from touch?” she asks.
My gaze darts to hers. “Is it that obvious?”
“You flinch when I touch you, and whenever anybody gets too close to you, you’re quick to put some distance between you and them.”