Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Knowing all that doesn't make it any easier to walk up the stairs and tell her that it's time for her to go back to her own life.
Simply because I don't want her to leave.
However, it's selfish of me to keep her here under the guise of fear for her safety. I owe her a full explanation of what she's facing, and she's smart enough to know if the Cerberus leaders think she should be fine, then she should be, because they always err on the side of caution. It's how I know she'll be okay. If Kincaid thought for a second she was still in danger, he'd urge me to ask her to stay until he was certain.
Instead of going up the stairs and laying it all out, letting her make her own decision, I head to the kitchen and take the beer that's offered. There's always tomorrow to watch my wife walk out of the door and never look back.
Chapter 30
Kaylee
I waited, sitting on the bed for hours for him to come back inside.
I even peeked out of the bedroom, but I didn't get invited to the small party they all seemed to be having downstairs.
It hurt me even when I knew I had no right to feel any sort of way for being excluded.
This is why I tried to convince myself when I woke up this morning that last night was a fluke. Telling our life stories meant nothing.
It didn't matter that he wanted to track Troy down and punch him in the face for hurting me. The man is a defender of women, and Troy hurt me more than once. In Ellis's eyes, hurting the man who hurt a woman was just what he is supposed to do.
His not coming up and spending time with me or inviting me to join them isn't a way for him to hurt me, despite how it makes me feel. I know I have no right to their celebration, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
I'm not a stranger to being left out of things, but it's not on him to know that about my history, despite the confessions I made last night.
Instead of dwelling on it as much as my mind is trying to make me, I take a quick shower and get into bed.
The insulation in the house is so great, I know I can't hear what's going on in other parts of the house, but that doesn't stop my mind from creating situations where I hear laughter and voices.
When the bedroom door opens a few hours later, I pretend to be asleep, wishing that I cared a lot less and was actually capable of just letting all of this slide right off my shoulders.
I keep my eyes closed when he goes into the bathroom, but the sound of the shower running activates something more than the memories we shared there. My body aches for his, but I blame it on the residual insecurities of never really being touched in a loving way by a man who didn't cater to his own needs rather than mine. Even last night, he kept his distance, and other than touching my face twice, he kept his hands to himself.
I'm stock-still, breath shallow and as even as I can make them when he comes back into the room and wordlessly climbs into the bed.
He spends a few minutes lying beside me, but after what seems like an eternity, he lines himself up at my back and drapes his arm over my hip.
I know he has to feel me stiffen in his embrace because I'm absolutely floored that he's touching me at all, but he doesn't say anything.
I'm lulled into some skin-deep level of comfort, the warmth of his body behind mine almost like a balm on the itch I haven't been able to scratch since I met him.
It doesn't last long.
He pulls in a deep breath, and on the exhale, I can smell the alcohol on his breath. It's not an uncomfortable scent, and it doesn't trigger any sort of fight or flight. It does make me realize that I don't know him well enough to picture him holding a certain brand of beer in his hand. Does he like mixed drinks? Is he a from-the-tap-only kind of guy? Does he drink often?
I don't know the answers to any of these questions because I don't really know him other than the few things he shared with me this week.
"My boss thinks you're safe," he whispers, and I can tell by the low tone that he thinks I'm asleep.
He's speaking but I don't think he's expecting me to comment back or even remember in the morning. I don't think the man has said a single word that I haven't taken and locked away inside of me, knowing I'll pull them back out once I'm alone and missing him, despite how much I've tried to avoid doing just that.