Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“Lemon,” he says my name again. This time I hear the pain in his voice and imagine his hand reaching out to touch my shoulder. I turn my head slightly, in anticipation, but he’s not standing behind me. If he was, my knees would be weak from the scent of his cologne.
“I can’t.” I can’t even bring myself to say his name.
“I’m sorry,” he says with a slight huff from the doorway. “You have no idea how sorry I am for everything. I didn’t come for my hat or to upset you. I thought we could talk and give each other some closure.”
Closure? What the fuck is closure? Doesn’t he understand that as long as I have to see his daughter every day, I’m reminded of what happened.
I take a step toward my room and then stop. He doesn’t need his hat back. I can keep it. It means something to me even though I’ve had it buried in my closet for years. How come I brought it out today or all days? Shaking my head, I look down at the floor and then my toes. They’re painted pink. I’ve always chosen some shade of pink for as long as I can remember, and Wade always liked it.
He clears his throat behind me, startling me. My hand covers my heart, and I work to steady my breathing. Having him this close is not good for either of us. I know I should turn around and face him, tell him to leave but I can’t muster the strength. I don’t want to see his puppy dog eyes or the tilt of his head. He’ll flirt with me, to get me to bend to his will, and I can’t have that. I’ve done a damn good job at shutting myself off from him, at keeping myself a mystery and I’m not giving in how.
“Why are you truly here?” I ask without turning to face him. It’s better this way, then he won’t see how affected I am by his presence.
There’s rustling behind me and my heart races. Is he moving closer?
Shit.
“Lemon,” he says my name softly and it reminds me of when we were together, right before he . . . nope, I can’t go there. I pinch the bridge of my nose, take two steps forward, and turn around to face him.
“What?”
Wade jumps at my sudden outburst. On the inside, I’m laughing. Cackling even because I scared him. I work hard to mask my smile until I can’t, and an odd sound flies out of my mouth. Before I can stop it, I snort, and cover my face in embarrassment.
“Don’t,” he says as he pulls my hands away from my face. “Hearing you laugh is one of the best sounds in the world, Lemon. I’ve missed it.”
And just like that, the moment is ruined.
“You don’t have the right to miss anything I do,” I tell him.
“Okay,” he says, dropping his hands and stepping back. He’s so obedient. I want him to fight me. To yell and scream at me. He won’t though. I know this. He’s never been the type to yell at me. Other guys, for sure. Wade will stand up for my honor or the honor of any other woman out there, but he’d never yell.
“No, not okay. Stand up for yourself.”
Wade takes another step back. “As I said, I’m not here to upset you, Lemon. I don’t know what’s going on or why you said what you did earlier. Honestly, your words confused me. I thought maybe . . . I don’t know.” Wade shrugs. “The whole closure thing.”
“What on earth did I say that was so confusing?”
He looks confused and then finally says, “Something about how it’s your business when you have to look at her every day and don’t I care about how you feel.”
“I didn’t say that,” I lie like a rug.
“You did. Maybe not those exact words, but you did, and I started to wonder what you mean by them.”
“Nothing,” I tell him. “I think you—”
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on, Lemon.” Wade steps toward me. I inhale deeply, giving myself a moment to enjoy his cologne. As if on cue, my heart does this stupid little happy dance. Like it’s rejoicing that Wade is here and we’re miraculously going to make up.
I cross my arms over my chest and huff. This used to work when we were younger, but it doesn’t even faze him. I suppose having an adolescent daughter makes him immune to childish behavior.
“Lemon.”
I really hate and love the way he says my name.
“Can I ask you a question?”
I twirl my hand in the air for him to continue.
“Are you jealous of my daughter?”
Yes. Yes, I am.
I scoff and throw my head back to exaggerate my flippant attitude. “Come on. She’s a child and I’m an adult.”