Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
I groan in annoyance. “You’re in la-la land. What was I supposed to do? What if you decided you were going to try to make it work with Shelby so Caleb could grow up with his parents together?”
“That was never an option,” he says, coming toward me.
I back up on instinct. “Well I didn’t know that! It’s common enough. You loved her at one point and you love your son, and I didn’t want to stand in the way of that.”
He hovers over me in the dark. “I was already too far gone, Birdie.”
His declaration sends a shiver down my spine.
“I still am,” he continues.
It’s not possible. This can’t just suddenly…work. That doesn’t happen for me. I’m the kid with flaky parents, the one raised by her grandmother. I’m the quiet girl in school who the boys looked right over like I wasn’t even there. I’m the one who wasn’t all that good at sports, the one who read and read and read until all I knew was books. I’ve kept up that relationship, truly the only one I can depend on now that my nan is gone. It makes no sense that Ben could be into me as much as I’m into him. This hope feels so good, too good, scary good.
“Ben, we’re just getting our feet wet. We’ve barely spent any time together—”
He suddenly sits up and takes my hand, tugging me out of the bed and into the dark. I trip over my feet and nearly pitch forward, but he has a good hold on me. We’re walking quickly, cutting through his bedroom and out into the hall like we’re on a mission. I can barely keep up with him. We fly through his house until he suddenly comes to an abrupt stop outside of a door. He whips it open and flips on a light, motioning for me to enter. I walk tentatively into his study, taking in the rich dark decor. I wonder why he’s brought me here. Yes, sure, the room is beautiful. The desk itself is tidy, just like the rest of the house. Impatiently, Ben steps in and rotates me until I’m facing the wall across from his desk.
Immediately, my mouth drops. There, hanging on the wall, spanning at least five feet in either direction is a glossy painted reproduction of the Hubble Ultra-Deep Field, the same image I had hanging in my trailer, the same one I have by my bed back at Caltech. The painting is as tall as I am, detailed and intricate. The artist did such a beautiful job recreating the iconic photo, but before I can step closer, without a word, Ben takes my hand again, whirling me back toward the door.
I’m laughing now, begging him to let me go back.
“I just want to see it up close. It looked like wet ink…the way the artist painted it. Was it resin or something?”
He doesn’t answer any of my questions. He’s too busy leading me away.
“Where are we going?” I ask, laughing more.
Back near his bedroom, there’s a closed door that leads to another dark room. Unlike in his study, he leaves the light off as we walk inside, and as my eyes adjust I see it’s likely because of what’s on the ceiling: hundreds of glowing stars. They’re not the stick-on kind from the dollar store; these look like they’ve been painted by a careful hand. Among them, there are swirling nebulas and twinkling constellations. An entire universe lives on the ceiling of this room. A room I would have loved as a child. Through the shallow darkness, I see the spaceship blankets neatly tucked in on a twin-sized bed, the framed photo of Buzz Aldrin on the moon over a dresser, the telescope by the window.
I turn slowly back to Ben, and he looks so frustrated, at an utter loss as he asks, “Do you see now?”
Chapter Thirty
Ben
I’m lying next to Raelynn in my bed while she sleeps. It’s early morning, predawn, and I’ve tried to close my eyes again and rest, but my brain won’t comply. My body is hyperaware that Raelynn is in my bed, and I barely slept a wink all night. At this point, I’ve given up trying in favor of watching her. She’s snuggled up beside me, lips parted, cheeks flushed and freckled. Her hair dried into wild curls after her shower last night, and a few of them splay across my chest, the pale golden strands tempting me.
She hasn’t stirred once and I’m glad; she was exhausted last night. I saw what that spectacle outside the club did to her, how quickly she clammed up, nervous and on edge. She seemed so brittle in the front seat of my car, barely breathing as I drove us away from the mess of paparazzi.