Total pages in book: 212
Estimated words: 207966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1040(@200wpm)___ 832(@250wpm)___ 693(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1040(@200wpm)___ 832(@250wpm)___ 693(@300wpm)
I’d gotten extra close with Jojo who was right now very, very pregnant. I’d go as far as to say Jojo had become my best friend. The bestie I’d never had but always wanted. The bestie Kailey didn’t have it in her to be.
My mom went away after that scene in the parking lot. Daddy regularly tried to get in touch, but I did not engage. I’d decided I’d give it a year and then invite him to dinner and see if he mentioned money. If he did, I’d be done. If he didn’t, I’d consider letting him into my life. Six months to go for that.
I liked my job. I got along great with my coworkers and my bosses. I loved my man. Desperately loved him. My dream of hearing my songs on the radio had come true. But I wasn’t sure what the right next step would be here.
I heard the door and turned to see Jesse coming in and hanging his cut on a rack by the door. His eyes coasted over me the way they always did. He always made me feel so seen. So appreciated. I watched his beautiful smile appear on his handsome face.
“Hey hostage,” he greeted. He was holding a brown paper bag. “Get the fuck over here and kiss your man.”
“I picked up Chinese food from downstairs,” I told him as I walked his way, wondering what was in the bag.
“Yeah? Haven’t had Chinese food in… how long?” Light danced in his eyes.
It was a running joke that their menu was thankfully big enough and with enough gluten-free items that I rarely had to cook for him. They also gave us a twenty per cent discount. I did make occasional lunches for him, though. And I always put love notes in them.
“Chase called. Hostage hit number four on the charts,” I said.
“Heard it in the Circle J this morning, then again tonight at the liquor store when I bought this.” He pulled a bottle of champagne out of the bag. “You still haven’t kissed me.”
I put my hands to his face. He set the bottle of champagne down and lifted me up by my hips as our mouths connected. He set my hiney on the kitchen counter.
“So fuckin’ proud of my girl,” he said against my mouth.
I took in his scent. I filled my lungs with it. I could swear it might be possible for me to live just breathing that scent. It made me feel so alive, it made me feel like anything was possible now for me where I used to feel so damn hopeless all the time.
I hadn’t intentionally cut myself since the night I made that promise to him. I knew that was a dealbreaker and not only was I not risking losing him for anything, but I also honestly didn’t feel the urge anymore. I threw the purple caboodle out when we moved here because the sight of it and what it represented was something we didn’t need a reminder of.
The day we moved into this place, just before I got rid of it, I’d gotten a bad papercut and put a bandage on my finger. I saw Jesse flinch when he noticed it and I felt the need to say, “Paper cut,” immediately. I then burst into ridiculous girlie tears and had to explain that I didn’t want him to worry about it, hated the times I’d made him worry about it. He comforted me and since that day, any Band-Aid that he’s seen on me, he hasn’t questioned. I also haven’t explained unless I felt it necessary to bitch about a boo boo. He trusts me. And that means everything.
I have two tattoos now. I got them put on when Jesse got his brotherhood patch. My tattoos are two little semicolons, each with a letter J under them. One on each inner bicep. They cover the spots I most often took blades to. When I look at them, I get a visual reminder of how far I’ve come and of what I have. My JJ.
I noticed Deacon has a semicolon tattoo on his arm, too. A big one. Seeing someone that strong, someone larger than life who also struggled with or intimately knows dark thoughts though loss? It’s therapeutic. And though I don’t know his story, I know he saw me, saw deep when he caught me staring at it once about three years ago and looked at me curiously. I lifted my arm so he could see mine. He gave me a sweet smile and squeezed my hand, then pointed to his ear and tapped it twice, which I took as meaning he’d lend an ear if I needed it. He’s a good man. Ella is a lucky girl.
Jesse carried me to our room, then put me on my back on our bed. “So fuckin’ proud of you,” he repeated.