Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
She gives me a sad frown and squeezes my hand like she understands. "You're still stuck back there, January. And I think he is, too. Neither of you ever let yourself face what happened. You never let yourselves heal. You need to hear what he has to say, and I think he needs to say it. Until you do, you're always going to be stuck, unable to heal. So is he."
She's right. I know she is, but that doesn't make it any less terrifying a thought.
"You both deserve to be happy. Maybe that's together. Maybe it's not. But you'll never know for sure unless you work through this." She pulls me into a tight hug. "You're strong enough to do this. You just have to let yourself believe that."
"Okay," I agree, not at all sure she's right about that part. But for a chance at a future with Cade…I think I have to try.
"What in the world?" I mumble, staring through the windshield of my car. The front windows of my house—which Cade had replaced on Monday—now have ornate bars over them. So do the ones around the side of the house. I have a feeling the rest of the windows are exactly the same. I'm not sure if I want to strangle Cade for putting bars on them or kiss him for caring enough about my safety to go to such lengths to protect me.
"Before you kill me," he says from the couch when I step through the front door, "I can explain."
He actually seems nervous as he pushes a hand through his hair. His full lips are turned down into a frown, and his blue-gray eyes are locked on my face. He's dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. The cut on his arm is healing, and the stitches are gone…though I have a feeling he probably snipped them out himself instead of letting a doctor do it. His black t-shirt stretches over his broad shoulders and clings deliciously to the muscles in his upper arms and chest.
"You put bars on my windows." I set my purse down and kick my heels off, trying not to be distracted by the heat pooling low in my belly. Something beeps beside me, pulling my eyes to the wall. There's a little keypad installed by the front door. The scent of sawdust lingering in the air suddenly makes sense. "You had an alarm installed?"
"I can explain," he says again and swallows hard. He pushes himself to his feet and takes two steps in my direction, disarming the alarm. Once that's done, he shoves his hands in his pockets. His gaze darts away from me, settling on the floor at my feet before he finally lifts his eyes to mine. "I need to know you're safe when you're here. They were already out here installing security at Ma Lucia's house. I figured it wouldn't hurt to have them wire up your place, too."
"Cade, I can't afford all of this," I whisper, unsure if I'm mad at him for going overboard or if I'm disappointed that I have to disappoint him by telling him to take it back. There's no way I can afford whatever this cost. I don't teach in this neighborhood because of the pay, which is laughable. Even though I live alone, luxuries like alarm systems and constant monitoring are out of the question.
"You don't have to," he hurries to assure me. He takes another couple of steps in my direction, seeming more like his usual confident self. He stops in front of me and tips my face up with a finger beneath my chin. "I've got it covered."
"You can't just pay to put bars on my windows and install a security system," I tell him, trying to keep my voice soft because I don't want to fight about this. He was trying to help, and honestly, this is who he is. He's too damn sweet and a little bit obsessive and does what he thinks is best, whether I like it or not.
He's always been that way. I love knowing his old habits weren't smothered out by the life he's led since we were last together. But I can't just let him take over.
He studies me for a minute, something a lot like fear whispering through his expression before he manages to school it. "I can afford it, January," he says, speaking so quietly it's like he's whispering. "They're targeting you because of me. It's on me to take care of the problem. Besides, you're mine. That means I get to pay for shit like this."
"I am yours," I agree with him because I like saying it as much as I think he likes hearing it. And I think we both know the last seven years were an interlude, not an ending between us. "But I don't want you to feel like being with me means you have to pay for everything. I may not make much, but I can take care of myself. And Kaleo's targeting me because I refuse to give him this block. That's not on you."