Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“I’m not changing professions. I love my job.”
“Then lean into that. Are you back to work?”
I nod. “Today was my first day back.”
“And it went well?”
My gaze shifts to my plate. “It went … fine.”
“What’s that pause about?”
On a sigh, I glance up at him. “The chief ME hovered over me all day, making sure I was okay to be back at work. And I was. I did everything right. I didn’t need any help. But …”
“But?”
“Mid-morning, I had a mini breakdown or panic attack. I couldn’t get Winston Jeffries out of my mind. And then I started questioning if I should be back at work yet … or ever. I started to feel like a fraud. What would people think of me if they knew my secret?”
“This doesn’t have to be something you’re hiding. That implies you have accountability. This is something you’re working through. It’s nobody’s business but yours. No accountability. No need to feel like a fraud.”
I consider his words.
At the same time, I see naked girls, heads shaved, in a pile awaiting burial.
I was one sick fuck …
After dinner, I get Terry a cab, but I can’t go home.
How did I survive seventeen years without him?
When life hits an impasse, when the air gets too thick, when I can’t find my way, I navigate to him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Josie’s car is in my driveway when I get home just before ten-thirty at night. I make a slow trek to the door, wondering what’s brought her here. It’s been a long fucking day thinking about our silent interaction at the county medical examiner’s office. I was a little surprised to see her during my quick visit with one of the other MEs. I thought she had one more week before returning to work.
Has she read my notes? Kept them? Ripped them apart? Lit them on fire?
The door opens to silence. There’s a light on over the kitchen sink, but she’s nowhere in sight. When I reach the top of the stairs while loosening my tie, I see her curled into a ball on my bed, hugging my pillow.
I skipped dinner, and now I’m starving. I could use a shower, and my teeth need to be brushed and flossed. But I can’t make it past the bed. The floor creaks beneath me when I take a step closer, and Josie jumps.
Her tired eyes blink open after she sits up and rubs them several times. “Hi,” she whispers.
“Hi.” I sit on the edge of the bed, angling slightly toward her.
“My uh … psychiatrist …” She crawls toward me.
I grab her hips as she straddles my lap, dark hair stuck to her face that she doesn’t bother to address. She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at her when I know she’s not well.
“He told me to lean in.”
I nod slowly. “Lean in, huh?”
“Yeah,” she whispers, brushing her hands over the back of mine and interlacing our fingers while bringing my palms to her face. “Can I lean into you?” Her head tips to the side, leaning in to my touch.
My lips find hers, kissing her slowly. Her hands slide to my tie, removing it and letting it drop to the floor before working the buttons to my shirt. Our kiss grows stronger as she pushes my shirt over my shoulders.
One by one, our clothes get tossed aside until it’s just us, the sheets, and the rest of the night.
She leans into me.
And I lean into her.
This isn’t the body of a serial killer. My hands, followed by my lips, trace every soft curve. She makes the sexiest sound when I slide my tongue between her spread legs. Her fingers dig into my back, finding old scars and making new ones while I move inside of her.
The bedsprings offer a slight protest, syncing with our labored breaths and the occasional whisper of my name … of her name … of a god whose existence feels less likely every day.
I wish we could stay like this forever because it feels like the us we’ve been searching for since the day we met. When she collapses on top of me, gasping for her next breath, I roll us to the side. Pulling the sheets over our naked, entwined bodies, I drift off to sleep with the first girl who felt like the sun. The air. Gravity. And my whole world and reason for existing.
My alarm goes off at five.
No Josie.
But my sheets smell like flowers and spring rain … and maybe a hint of formaldehyde, so it’s a damn good morning.
I hope.
I slip on jogging shorts and a hoodie and grab my tennis shoes before heading downstairs. Josie’s not in the family room or the kitchen, but there’s a note by my coffeemaker.
Pilates. Shower. Breakfast. Work. Thanks for letting me lean in. XO ~J