Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Caleb’s glassy gaze dances between mine for several heart-clutching seconds before he halfheartedly shrugs, then he breaks the connection I’ve been searching for the past year by rolling off me.
I assume our conversation is over, so you can imagine my surprise when he rolls me onto my hip as if I’m weightless before he spoons himself with my back.
“I miss this, Jessie,” he murmurs against my ear after tucking his chin into the groove of my neck. “I can’t sleep without a hit, but I can’t sleep with it either. I’m fucked up.”
Most people would be confused by his riddle. I’m not. He needs gimmicks to shut down his brain, but they stimulate nightmares in adults prone to night terrors.
Steering clear of mind-numbing props is one of the first things my father teaches the men he counsels.
My voice is high with sentimental muckiness when I mutter, “You didn’t seem to have an issue sleeping when you spent the night at my place.”
“That’s because it was you.” I struggle to hear his last two words since they’re forced through a long yawn. “But it’s not the same now. Everything has changed.”
I wait to see if he’ll elaborate on his reply.
When he doesn’t, I ask, “Why?”
Several long minutes pass before I give in to temptation. I chance at glance at Caleb, smiling when I notice his unruffled expression and closed eyes.
He is sleeping peacefully—for once.
“So much for things changing,” I murmur under my breath while shuffling as quietly as I can to face him front on.
While taking how his long lashes fan his cheeks when his eyes are closed and the fact he didn’t inherit the rumbling snore from his cousin’s side of the family, I contemplate our brief yet filled-with-emotion conversation.
He didn’t directly say I ruined us. He placed the blame on someone he sees while looking at me.
Although who he sees should be obvious as the wail of a siren on a dead-quiet night, it isn’t. Our argument centered around my dad, but he met him previously and didn’t seem to have an issue. It was only after he…
My heart rate climbs as a disturbing fact smacks into me.
He only had an issue with my father after he picked me up for the sermon he hosts at a local church once a month. He even screamed his annoyance about him being a priest at the end of his last stripper performance.
But that doesn’t mean… he wouldn’t have been… that isn’t why he has a phobia of touch, is it?
With my mind a jumbled mess of confusion, it takes me a couple of seconds to realize it isn’t Octavia’s snores echoing down the hallway. She is calling my name.
“Are you okay? The vanity faucet can stick.” The blanket I covered her with drops to the floor before she adds, “Just turn it to full hot, then back to cold, and it should turn off.”
“Ah… yeah. Thanks. I forgot about your stupid faucet. I would have washed my hands with the cold water if I had known.” Caleb is clearly passed out. He doesn’t murmur a peep about my loud voice, nor does he put up a protest to me wiggling out of his firm clutch.
After a final glance at Caleb’s sleeping form, I tiptoe down the hallway with my shoulder butted against the wall so Octavia won’t see my shadow, then I slip into the bathroom, flush the unused toilet, and exit with the quickest flick of the light switch.
What? That saying ‘old habits die hard’ wasn’t made up on a whim.
Octavia peers at me like I’ve grown a second head when I leave the bathroom with a huge grin rising on my cheeks. I’m not smiling because I enjoy wrangling angsty confessions from belligerent men. I’m grinning about the faintest clap that came from the room one door down from the bathroom.
Caleb appears to have stepped back to his old ways, but I have hope for him because only the strong have a clear head during the darkest storm.
CHAPTER 27
JESS
THANKSGIVING, YEAR TWO
“Here is fine. Seriously. I don’t need you to drop me off at my door.”
My back molars crunch together when Dominic ignores my suggestion. He’s done the same thing multiple times tonight, and it has frustrated me to no end.
If he weren’t a close associate of my father’s, I would have introduced his nuts to his tonsils by now.
“Here we go. Right by the lobby.”
“That’s great. Thanks.” With my head still in Thanksgiving mode, I unlatch my belt then lean across to thank Dominic for the ride with a friendly, platonic hug.
Regretfully, Dominic reads the signs all wrong. Before I can move out of the firing zone, he latches his uber lips with mine, knots his fingers through my hair, and holds on tight like the air my lungs splattered out in shock is his only form of oxygen.