Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
I stumble a little, but I catch myself before I fall flat on my face.
I deserve to fall on my fucking face for hurting Autumn. It killed me to let her go back to that bedroom alone, but I had to. I knew if I followed her, I’d try to ease her pain, and since I’m the one who caused it to begin with…
It was better I stayed away.
Better for her.
Maybe she’ll start to hate me, but that will be better for her than loving me would.
Only one of those can end up getting her killed.
I make my way down the stairs and glare at the Christmas tree as I walk past it. I’d like to hurl the damn thing out into the back yard, but I settle for scowling at it as I walk out of the room.
Tom’s wet bar is downstairs. I’m drunk enough, but what the hell? I stop and pour myself one more shot. I throw it back, but I’m so far gone, I can’t even feel the liquid in my mouth. I’m sure it’s supposed to burn as it makes its way down my throat, but the only twinges of pain I’m aware of aren’t physical ones.
Autumn.
If I had any decency, I’d sleep on the couch tonight and let her have the bed. We’re planning to leave in just a few hours, so we’ll be gone before anyone wakes up. They’d never know I didn’t sleep in the bedroom with her.
Doesn’t matter if they did, I guess. They’ll never see her again.
That hurts more than it should. I’m already surly as hell about it as I walk toward the bedroom, then my eye catches on that little red truck.
I walk over and snatch it off the shelf, glaring at it accusingly like it’s the toy’s fault it reminds me of her.
I carry it with me into the bedroom, but I have to stop to adjust to the dark. I figured she’d be asleep, but some part of me hoped she’d still be awake, too.
I close the door behind me and walk over to drop the little red truck into my duffel bag. I approach the bed quietly, my gaze seeking out her shape in the dark.
She’s curled up on her side of the bed, as far away from mine as she can get. Her back faces my side, and she’s got the blankets wrapped around herself in a cocoon, like she needs it to protect her from me.
She definitely needed protecting from me, but a goddamn blanket was never gonna cut it.
I should let her sleep. She probably hates me now. I saw the resignation on her tear-streaked face when she left me on the couch. However she felt about me this morning, it’s not how she feels about me now.
I should definitely leave her alone.
I should behave for once in my life, turn my ass around and go sleep on the couch.
I should, but I don’t.
Her body shifts as I climb onto the mattress. Even in sleep she tries to pull away from me, curling closer to the edge of the bed.
That irritates the living fuck out of me.
Sober, I’d possess more tact.
In my current state, I grab her shoulder and pull her over onto her back.
Autumn startles awake, bleary-eyed at first, disoriented for a few seconds after.
Her confusion clears when she looks up and sees me hovering over her.
Before she has a chance to respond, I climb on top of her, straddling her in case she has it in her mind to try and get away.
“Jasper, what are you doing?” she demands groggily.
What am I doing? I don’t fucking know. I know I wanted her to be awake with me for every one of our last hours together, and that’s where my thought process ended.
“What time is it?” she asks, trying to sit up.
I’m straddling her hips, so she doesn’t get far.
Her eyes narrow at me when she realizes I pinned her there on purpose. “Get off me.”
“I can’t sleep,” I tell her.
“Have you even tried?” She sits up a little and takes a whiff of me. “You’ve been drinking.”
“I have,” I verify.
“Perfect. You’re supposed to drive us back to Chicago in just a few hours.”
I ignore her comment. I don’t like it. I don’t like her tone, the way she uses irritation as a shield to try and make it seem like she doesn’t have fondness for me anymore.
“Don’t speak to me that way.”
Her eyes widen, a flash of white hot anger momentarily piercing her cloudy detachment. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not Brady or any of those other guys you fucked with. You can’t dismiss me like that.”
“I can do whatever I want,” she informs me, eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’m not yours, remember?”
I know it’s not a challenge, but it feels like one. I know she’s mad and hurt, I even know she has a right to be, but I’m so used to sweetness from those lips… I really fucking hate the venom.