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)
Will I ever see Fitz with all the puzzle pieces in place?
“I’m sorry.” I lift my gaze to the screen. “Still, you could change your mind,” I murmur.
He doesn’t argue, but the resistance remains etched into his handsome face. With a heavy sigh, he nods slowly. “Sure,” he whispers. “Anything’s possible, even if it’s highly improbable.”
I’ll take a 1 percent chance. He can hold on to his ninety-nine. Fitz has been the object of my affection since the day we met. I know the parts of him that he’s too afraid to see. We wouldn’t be us. We wouldn’t fit like we do if he weren’t meant to live—really live—this life with me.
“Maybe we both need to let go of the past,” I say, with a tone of surrender. “And maybe that won’t change the future, change who we are. But if we stay tethered to the past, how will we know if, in the future, we can fly?”
“Baby, I already know I can fly.” The beautiful hint of a smile steals his lips, and I know we’re good. For now, we’re good.
I remove my shirt again, and my bra.
His eyebrows slide up his forehead as I continue eating my soup.
“We’re done with the serious talk for tonight. Why don’t you rub one out while I finish my chili and make my online chess move? Melissa and I have been stuck on this game for a week.”
“Sucks being homeschooled,” he says.
I hear a noise while I stir my chili. “Is your hand back down your pants again?”
“Fuck yeah.”
I laugh. “I love you, Calvin Fitzgerald.”
He tips his head back, eyes closed. “I know you do.”
Chapter Forty
During my jewelry-making class, my phone vibrates with a call. It’s the private investigator I hired. Since I no longer care to pursue my search for Barbara, I don’t bother to answer and disturb the class. Afterward, I return his call.
“Nathan Moore,” he answers.
“Hi, Mr. Moore. This is Jaymes Andrews. Sorry I missed your call. I was in a class. Did you get my messages? I’m no longer interested in finding—”
“Yes,” he interrupts. “My apologies. I had a family emergency. I meant to contact you earlier with an update.”
“It’s fine. As I said in my messages, I no longer want to pursue this.”
“I understand. However, I think you need to know what I found,” he says with gravity to his words.
I sigh. “Okay. What did you find?”
“Can you come by my office?”
“Can’t you just tell me over the phone?” I glance at the time on my dashboard. I want to get in a workout and grab some groceries.
“I’d rather not.”
“If Barbara’s dead, you can tell me. I’ve never met her. I can take the news.”
“She’s alive. That’s why we need to talk.”
I massage my neck, regretting calling him in the first place. “I can come now.”
Nathan’s musty-smelling office feels more like the workplace of an NFL general manager. It’s jammed wall to wall with sports memorabilia: photos, jerseys in glass cases, and two signed footballs atop a bookshelf.
“Thanks for coming, Ms. Andrews.”
“Jamie.” I smile, shaking his hand.
“Please, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water? Whiskey?” He offers a veneered smile while stroking his hand along his nearly bald head like it’s a nervous habit.
“I’m good. Thanks.” I sit in a worn leather chair on the opposite side of his scratched oak desk while he closes his laptop and pulls a legal-size envelope from a desktop file sorter.
“I must say, once I started digging into this for you, it was impossible to stop. I’m used to looking into cheating spouses, identity theft, doing background checks . . . things of that nature. But this was quite the plot twist. So I did some extra work in case you need help connecting the dots.”
“Can I just interrupt you for a minute?” I lean forward, resting my hands on his desk and drumming my fingers. “I’ve decided the revelation of discovering Dwight Keane is my uncle is more than enough. In fact, I wish I didn’t know it. I wish I would not have taken this job in San Bernardino. I’m sure Barbara Keane, if that’s still her last name, has good reasons for cutting all ties with her father. I can think of a big one. But I’m done. That’s between her and Dwight. My mother went out of her way to protect me from this whole situation. I think I should trust her judgment and let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Ms. Andrews—” Nathan shakes his head. “Jamie.” He offers an apologetic smile. “I’m not sure what has changed your mind since you hired me, but given Dwight Keane’s history, I understand why you might want to distance yourself from the tragic situation. However, since you’re twenty-six, I think full disclosure of your past would probably be the wisest decision, should you ever need to know more about your family for health reasons.”