Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
She draws in a sharp breath, and I’m ashamed I just hurt her with those words, but I get so damned frustrated sometimes with how hard it is to chip away at her walls.
“I thought I’d done remarkably well over the weeks we’ve been together, letting you in,” she says bitingly, and that’s all true, but I’m well beyond giving her acknowledgment right now. All my stress is pouring out onto her and I don’t do a damn thing to take it back. “I’ve told you more about me than any other person alive. I’ve shared more of myself with you than I ever thought was possible.”
“If you say so,” I quip as I turn back to my closet to avoid the further look of hurt and anger I know will be evident. I have nothing left to grab out of here, so I just stare into the interior.
“Asshole,” she says so softly I’m not sure I heard her right.
I wait just a few seconds and then turn to see what else she might have to say to me, but she’s gone.
“Goddamnit, Stephanie,” I roar as I bolt out of my room.
I race past Simone, who is sitting on the couch with a worried look at the open doorway.
“Shit,” I mutter as I bolt for the door. I hit the screen so hard my hand punches a hole through it, causing me to yell, “Fuck.”
Making another attempt to exit, I hit the latch and practically lurch out onto the porch, seeing Stephanie halfway across the yard heading to her car.
“Stephanie!” I yell out to her. “Hold the fuck up.”
She ignores me and walks faster, her delicate hands curled into tight fists that I’m pretty sure want to knock my teeth down my throat. I barrel down the porch steps and across the lawn, and just as she’s about to step off the curb into the street, I latch on to her elbow.
Spinning her around to me, I growl at her, “What the fuck? You’re just leaving?”
“Let. Go. Of. My. Arm,” she says menacingly, each word bitten out with barely contained fury. She is dangerously close to flipping her shit, and an overwhelming wave of guilt hits me that I would bring this down upon her.
The mother of my child.
I release her arm immediately and watch her with worried eyes.
“I don’t deserve that shit from you,” she says softly, but still with an underlying fury that scares the crap out of me. She continues, “I get you may be stressed out, and fine…if that’s the way it’s going to be, then I’m just going to politely decline to be in your presence. It seems to be the best way to save your life, because I swear to God, I want to strangle you.”
“Fuck,” I mutter as I tip my head back to face the sky for a moment. I then bring my gaze back to Stephanie and let loose my own feelings. “I don’t need this shit today of all days.”
“Which means I should leave,” she snarls at me as she wheels around to her car, and I realize I’m a moron. That was totally not the right thing to say to an irate and aggrieved woman with pregnancy hormones racing through her.
“Christ, I’m sorry,” I blurt out as I jump forward and take her elbow again. “Please…just stop and let’s talk this out. I don’t know what I’m doing and I’ve never had to explain this behavior to anyone before.”
“You’ve explained it already,” she clips out, pulling her arm from my grasp, which I let go immediately.
“Fine, yes,” I admit guiltily. “I explained I’d be stressed. I guess I just don’t know how to temper myself with you. I just…I’m not sure what I’m doing.”
“You’re chasing me off, Luc,” she says softly, and I feel like she’s punched me in the gut. “You’re making me put my walls back up. For a woman who’s not had much conflict in her life because my parents didn’t care enough to even make conflict, I have to tell you I don’t like this feeling. I don’t want to deal with it, and one of the reasons that being alone is a benefit is that you don’t have to deal with these things.”
“You want to call it quits?” I ask hotly, my anger flaring again that she’d dare threaten me so blatantly.
“Of course I don’t want that,” she says calmly, and her rational demeanor settles me down a bit. “And while I can logically understand this is a very intense time for you, I’m not putting up with this bullshit. If you’re cranky during play-offs, fine. Call me when they’re over. Otherwise, learn to deal with it instead of taking it out on me.”
“In other words, mind my p’s and q’s around you?” I ask sarcastically, still driven by an anger I can’t seem to get under control, even though I know I’m digging my own grave.