Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 74022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
On the ground.
I know, I know even before I’ve run over and dropped to my knees, sliding across the dirt, that she’s gone. I know because of the mass amounts of blood around her head, and by the gaping hole in her forehead.
I just killed my best friend’s woman.
And his child.
I throw my head back and bellow in agony.
And shame.
And pure, raw, broken hurt.
Chantelle’s living room is dead silent once I’ve finished talking, but I’m not looking at her, I’m staring straight ahead, feeling sick to my fucking stomach at the memory of that night. I should have done more. Could have done more. I underestimated the desperation of a pregnant woman in love, and I didn’t take higher measures to stop her doing what she did.
“Boston,” Chantelle finally says, and I turn, locking eyes with her. I can see the pain, and remorse and genuine sympathy in her gaze. I almost hate that look more than anything, except coming from her, from her it seems ... real. “I know these words probably mean absolutely nothing to you, and I’m sure you’ve been told a hundred times, but it wasn’t your fault.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she holds up a hand, those eyes determined. She’s going to finish what she was saying, like it or not.
“No, seriously, hear me. Women, especially women in love, we’ll do crazy things in a situation like that. I guarantee you, if it wasn’t that, it would have been something else. She would have gotten away, because that was the sole force driving her. She wanted out, and nothing or no one was coming in her way. You have to understand that.”
“I could have cuffed her, could have kept her by my side, could have done a fuckin’ lot of other things once I realized she was uneasy and wanted out. Not just lock her in a fuckin’ room.”
“Wrong,” Chantelle says. “If she was a prisoner, you might have done all those things, but she was not. She was a pregnant woman, and the woman of a very close friend of yours. Which means you respected her. You were hardly about to chain her up like a dog, or force her to follow you. Locking her in that room, that was the kindest thing you could have done, but as I said, a desperate woman will do what she has to do, no matter the cost.”
“His woman is dead because I didn’t act right.”
“Wrong again,” Chantelle says, her voice strong. “She’s dead because she made a choice to get out, no matter the cost. That was her choice, and one way or another, I promise you she would have found a way out of that club. This is not on you. This, sadly, is on her.”
“She was afraid.”
“Yeah, she was. Terrified. But she still made a choice. And that choice is what got things to where they are. You did what you promised you’d do. Outside of chaining her up and treating her like utter rubbish, you did what you had to do.”
I stare at her, and she shuffles closer, reaching out and curling that soft hand over my cheek, holding my eyes. “One day, I hope you’ll believe that. Because you’re not a bad man, Boston, and you’d never let someone get hurt. I know this because you’re about to sleep on my sofa, instead of leaving me alone, to make sure I’m safe. I know that because Penelope is at your home, because hers got ruined, so you know she’s safe. You are not responsible for Nerissa’s death.”
Her words hit me like a fucking blow to the heart, but not necessarily a bad one. It makes me feel some sort of warmth inside, and it takes everything, every single piece of my willpower, not to scoop her into my arms and take her. Because right now, I can think of fucking nothing else. I want her, in this moment, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
And it is in this moment, I’m certain.
I care way too much about this girl.
And my feelings are going to fuck me up.
~13~
NOW – PENELOPE
He’s not home.
I know that is none of my concern. I know it is absolutely none of my business. But when I woke up this morning and his room was untouched, my mind went a million places, and I instantly felt shame. Shame because it isn’t my business to know where he’s going, or what he’s doing. It has absolutely nothing to do with me, at all.
He’s made it clear that we can only be friends, because of his feelings for both Chantelle and me.
So my obsessing over the fact that he isn’t here makes me feel pathetic. The ache in my heart makes me feel pathetic. The very thought that he could be with another woman makes me feel jealous and, therefore, pathetic.