Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“Who wrote in permanent marker on the bottom of my shoes?”
“I’ll get to that.” I sit on the window ledge.
She frowns at the writing on her shoes for a few more seconds before dropping them onto her bag and giving me her full attention. She’s the best sight in the world, even in frayed denim shorts and a wrinkled white T-shirt. Not being with her has felt like a long trip from home.
“Is it . . .” My cowardly gaze drifts to my feet, and my voice loses momentum. “Is it okay if I need you? Or is it too late?”
She doesn’t answer, so I’m forced to look at her.
Shaking her head, she sits on the end of the bed. “No. I’m not what you need.”
God, she fucking slays me. “Why?”
“Because I require more than you have to give. And I know this because it’s been six months, and Will stole my shoes to get us in the same room. That’s not fate. It’s manipulation.”
“Maybe it’s fate.”
She scoffs. “You don’t believe in fate.”
“You don’t know what I believe. And I know this because I don’t know what I believe anymore. But I know sometimes you need to step back and distance yourself from the situation. Sometimes, you need to walk away to gain perspective and see things clearly.”
“Are you telling me you’ve had a recent moment of clarity?”
“Yes,” I say with unwavering confidence.
Her expression bleeds with uncertainty.
I shrug. “What do you need?” I’m dying. My need to touch her has me in knots, a suffocating rope around my neck while the ground beneath me begins to crumble. I rub my hands along my jeans.
She eyes my fidgety hands. “Everything,” she whispers.
“Everything,” I echo, nodding several times before standing. “Okay.”
She shakes her head as I take a step toward her. “If you touch me . . .”
I stop. “Then what?”
Her head continues to shake while emotion builds in her eyes. “Then you’d better be ready to accept all of me.”
Again, I echo her, “All of you.” Then I take another step.
She swallows hard and bats away the first tear. “You’d better be ready to give me everything.”
“Everything.”
“No. You can’t just repeat my words. You have to know what everything is.”
I shrug. “It’s everything.”
She tips up her chin, so brave and strong—so beautiful. And she’s everything I’ve convinced myself I don’t deserve.
But dammit, I want her anyway.
“Everything is a wedding where you cry when you see me in my dress for the first time. And it’s supporting my career as much as I support yours. It’s digging my car out of the snow and doing all the dishes when I bake for you. It’s not outrunning me on my skateboard.”
I can’t hide my grin as I take another step.
She holds out a flat hand and shakes her head. “It’s a trip to the urologist to reverse your vasectomy.”
I don’t move. Not a blink. Not a breath.
“It’s rubbing my back and feet while I grow our babies. It’s sending me texts to let me know you’re alive. It’s only taking carefully calculated risks with your life because it’s no longer just yours. It’s football games and trips to the beach. It’s being a part-time homeschool teacher because we both know our kids will do weird but awesome shit, like studying the moon cycles and poring over books about world wars and sinking ships.”
Just when I think she can’t stretch her neck any further or set her jaw any firmer, she does. She waits patiently (and guardedly) for me to disappoint her again.
“Can you do that, Fitz? All of that?”
Again, I open my mouth and start to take the final step.
And again, she stops me. But she can’t stop her tears. “And my f-father is dying.” Her lower lip quivers. “And I know that makes you h-happy.” She sniffles and wipes her face. “But it’s crushing me.” She bites her lips together and gulps more emotion. “And I need you never to say anything hurtful about h-him again.” She holds her breath and shakes her head, voice barely audible. “I’m truly sorry. I know he’s responsible for your family dying. And I hate that he caused you that kind of loss and pain. And I hate that he won’t live long enough to be of sound mind, because I believe if he really understood what he did, his remorse would be so heavy that his heart would sink to the bottom of the ocean. I hate everything about that fire he started. I hate that he did it. But I don’t hate him.”
She sniffles, lower lip still trembling. “I’ve grown to love him in a complicated way, but Fitz . . . I love you more. So. Much. More.”
I kneel before her, wedging my torso between her legs. First, I wipe her tears. Then, I rest the pads of my fingers on the back of her neck. “Everything,” I whisper, brushing my lips against hers.