Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“You didn’t have to say it. You trying to pay for everything speaks volumes.”
“It’s just fucking money,” he clips, dropping his fork into his open container.
“To you,” I whisper. “To you, it’s just money. To me, it’s a meal, a roof over my head, water, electricity, and other things that might not be totally essential but also are.”
“It’s also fucking useless,” he bites out, and I start to shake my head to open my mouth and tell him how wrong he is, but he gets there before me. “Believe me, Elora. I get that everyone needs money, but at the end of the day, having more doesn’t mean shit unless you’ve got something good in your life, something that makes this fucking world bearable.” He leans forward in his chair, getting in my space. “I’ve never had to want for a single thing in my life, but I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been truly fucking happy. Can you say the same?”
Oh God. My chest hurts as I shake my head. Even with all the things that happened with my dad and then with my mom, I’ve spent most of my life happy.
“I didn’t think so.”
“Rom—”
“So, I’m going to pay for your van because the money I spent getting it fixed doesn’t mean shit. What means something to me is knowing you’ll be safe and that I get another day of hearing you laugh and watching you smile.”
“Okay,” I whisper immediately.
“Okay,” he murmurs, sitting back and out of my space. “Now eat, and I’ll get us a ride to the shop so we can hit the road.”
I don’t want to eat. My stomach is a mess. His statement about how many times he’s been happy in his life plays over in my head on an endless loop. I hate that—hate the idea of him being unhappy when he’s made me happy over and over again. And not because he’s put a roof over our heads every night or food in my belly every day, but because his ship found mine when I didn’t realize I was slowly sinking.
I won’t say I wouldn’t have survived without him with me on this trip, but he's made a situation that should be unbearable bearable while dealing with his own heartache and loss. Without him, I doubt I would go to sleep and wake up each day feeling excited to be alive and a little lighter, even after doing something that made my soul ache.
“Why are you crying?”
Touching my cheeks, I realize they’re wet, and I shake my head.
“Elora,” he whispers, moving from his chair to squat in front of me, resting his hands on the tops of my thighs.
“I….” I cover my mouth with my fingers and sob. “Sorry.”
“Hey, what’s going on?”
“I…” Swallowing, I look at him as more tears fill my eyes, tears that are not for me, but for him, for whatever pushed him into driving across the country, for the loss of his brother, and for all the happiness he’s missed out on. “I just want you to be happy.” I hiccup, and his face gentles. “I hate the idea that you’re not, and I’ve been so selfish, dragging you with me while you have things you’re dealing with yourself.”
“Come here.” He falls to his bottom on the wood floor and pulls me down to straddle his lap. Cupping my face in his big palms, he smooths his thumbs over my cheeks. “I told you before there is nowhere else I want to be.”
“Your brother. You should b-be dealing with th-that. Not m-my… my stuff.”
“Each time you say goodbye to your mom, I force myself to do that with him, and it’s helping. It’s giving me the closure I didn’t get from his funeral.”
I bury my face in his neck and wrap my arms around his strong body.
“You’ve given me more than you realize, Elora.” He presses his lips against my ear and continues in a quiet whisper, “And one part of that is a feeling of happiness that isn’t mixed up with money or things. It’s pure and good, and everything fucking normal I didn’t know I was missing out on until you.” His arms give me a squeeze. “Tell me you get that.”
I do, but only because he’s given that back to me. I nod, and he lets out a deep breath. After a few minutes, I pull back enough to look him in the eye, then I press my lips to his before I get off his lap.
Once I’m in my seat and he’s in his, I force myself to eat so that we can continue with a trip I now know is healing not just me, but him as well.
“Elora,” Roman calls as his hand on my thigh squeezes. “Wake up, babe, or you’re going to miss it.” The glare of the sun without my sunglasses on makes it difficult to force my eyes open, but the moment I do, I’m met with a view that causes my breath to catch in the back of my throat. I never put much thought into why my mom wanted to see the Golden Gate Bridge. I figured it would be like any other bridge I’ve seen in my life, just bigger.