Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 112069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
I’d been too busy thinking about how badly I'd fucked things up again with Gio.
My son’s angry words rang in my ears, and it was all I could do not to slap my hands over them in an effort to stem his accusations.
"Violet's asleep," Remy said softly from the doorway of my office, or rather, the hotel suite’s office. We’d arrived back from the hospital a couple hours earlier, but I’d pretty much ditched Remy and Violet the second we’d walked through the door. And if I were being honest, I'd ditched them long before that because we hadn't spoken at all on the trip home. Remy had tried a few times to engage in conversation with me, but I'd merely stared out the window and he’d eventually stopped asking questions.
I didn't respond to Remy purely for the selfish hope that he'd leave me be. I began flipping pages on the contract to make it look like I was actually reviewing the thing, but when there was movement from the doorway, it wasn't the kind of movement I wanted because moments later, the guest chair on the opposite side of the desk scraped softly over the hardwood floor.
I ached to look up at Remy, but I also wanted to escape him, to hide somewhere and lick my wounds in private. I knew I probably at least owed him an explanation about what had happened at the hospital, but I was too raw to even consider it.
"I never talk about it," Remy said quietly. I found myself looking up at him because I'd been expecting him to bombard me with questions about Gio. I'd been preparing myself for his voice to drip with pity as he offered up platitudes about how Gio would be okay, that we’d both be okay.
But when I looked at him, his eyes were on the ground and he had his hands pressed together. His right leg was tapping incessantly but there was no sound, so I figured he was barefoot. He’d changed his clothes and was now wearing thin pajama pants and a plain white T-shirt. His hair was damp, so I figured he'd just gotten out of the shower.
I didn't prod him to go on because I already knew what the "it" was.
A good minute passed before he continued on his own with, "Aleks has been saying we should talk about things, that it would help." Remy shook his head. "You think that's true?" he asked. "Do you think talking about things somehow makes them easier to deal with… or to forget, I guess?"
Pain spread throughout my chest. "I don't know," I admitted.
"Ask me any question you want, Luca," Remy choked out.
I didn't understand where he was going with all this and it pained me to see him struggling the way he was, but the selfish part of me didn't want to miss out on the chance to learn more about him.
"Why didn't you go home, Remy?" I asked. "After you escaped?"
Remy's foot tapping increased even more and he began rubbing his palms up and down his thighs. I also noticed him swallowing over and over again, like he was trying to rid himself of a bad taste in his mouth.
"I did," he responded after several beats. "What happened in that room today with Gio?"
Remy looked up at me as he asked the question. His expression was soft and understanding, like he already knew my answer, or at least wouldn't judge me for what I was about to tell him. But even so, I could feel heat enveloping me as the self-hatred threatened to consume me.
"I fucked it up again," I whispered. "He said it was too soon, but I didn't listen."
"Who said that?"
"Gio's doctor. I insisted on seeing Gio, but Dr. Taylor told me it was too soon. I thought…" I heard my own voice crack as I tried to continue.
"My family lives in Nebraska," Remy said. My stomach dropped out as I finally realized what we were doing. He wanted me to tell him things he knew were hard for me, but he was giving the same back to me as well. There was absolutely no reason that he had to tell me things from his past, but he was willing to do it.
I found myself getting up from my chair and going around the desk. I couldn't explain the need to touch him, I just did. I stopped by his chair and reached out my hand. A small half sob escaped his throat. He reached up and took my hand. When he stood, his body was nearly pressed to mine. But his head was still hung and I didn't try to force it up, even though I really wanted to see his eyes. We held there like that for a moment before I led him over to the small couch. If we were going to do this, I needed to be able to touch him, feel him, hear him.