Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I sighed. “She wants to be there for me. Take care of me.”
“Are you comfortable with that?”
“No. Fuck no.” Frowning, I rubbed the back of my neck. “But if that’s what it takes …”
“If it were me,” Beatriz said, touching her tattooed chest, “that’s what it would take. Knowing that you were willing to let me see you at your most vulnerable. Because with you, she’s at her most vulnerable too.”
“Yeah,” I said miserably, picturing her sobbing into her hands after I told her I was leaving. “You really think letting her see me all out of it and half-bald and stapled together is the way to go?”
“Yes.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Because it says, This is the real me. Yes, I’m the big, strong tattooed hottie with the eyes and the hair and the chiseled jaw, the guy who makes everyone laugh and all the girls swoon and never shows a sign of weakness, but I’m something else with you. I let you see all of me, because I love you.”
“Damn.” I blinked. “That’s pretty good.”
“Thank you. Now go make it happen. You’re one of the lucky ones, Dallas. You found it. Don’t let it pass you by.” She reached for my hand and squeezed, her eyes misting over. “Then get better, and bring that girl back here so I can meet the one woman amazing enough to steal your heart.”
I took a breath. “I’ll try.”
I texted her that night.
Maren, can we talk?
No answer.
I don’t blame you for ignoring me. But if you have it in your heart to give me a few minutes, I’d really love to talk to you. Call me when you can.
I waited and waited and waited. Nothing.
It was late in Detroit, after midnight, so she was probably already asleep. Was she teaching an early morning class tomorrow? If she was, she’d be up within a few hours. I set my phone down, got ready for bed, and checked my phone once more. Nothing.
I plugged it in to charge and got in bed, but slept only fitfully throughout the night. Every so often, I checked to see if she’d written me back, but was disappointed every time.
By the following morning, I had to consider the possibility that she’d seen my messages and had decided against replying. After I finished packing and was ready to leave, I decided to try calling her. I got her voicemail. The sound of her voice on the outgoing message made my pulse quicken.
“Maren, it’s me. You’ve probably seen my messages by now. You haven’t called, which means you’re either too upset with me to talk or you need more time to think about it. I get that. I’ll be on a plane to Boston most of today, but you could reach me in the next couple hours or later tonight. I’ll be on your time zone by then.” I paused. “I don’t know if Finn told you or not, but I decided to have the surgery. It will be on Friday. I’d really like to talk to you before then, if possible. I … hope you’re well. I miss you.” Then I hung up before I started breaking down.
Two hours later, I was checked in and waiting to board the plane, and I still hadn’t heard from Maren. Frowning at my phone, I heard my zone get called, but I ignored it, wanting to stay at the gate as long as possible just in case she called. Finally, I couldn’t delay boarding any longer, and I was forced to get on the plane without a word from her, not even an acknowledgment that she’d gotten my texts. I reluctantly switched my phone to airplane mode and dropped it into the carry-on bag at my feet.
What was I going to do if she didn’t call? Keep trying? Leave her a longer voicemail telling her the truth about why I’d broken things off? It wasn’t the kind of thing I wanted to do over voicemail, but she might not leave me a choice. Or would the right thing to do be to leave her alone? If her silence continued, didn’t that mean she didn’t want to hear anything from me? At this point, she was probably thinking, Fuck him and his apologies. I don’t need them. How could I get her to listen?
I tipped my head back and closed my eyes. This hole I’d dug for myself was deep, maybe too deep to climb out of.
But I wouldn’t give up.
Twenty
Dallas
I arrived in Boston and spent the evening with Finn and his family. Seeing the kids cheered me up a little, but later, when it was just the two of us, Finn asked me what was wrong. “You seem upset,” he said, his expression concerned. “Are you nervous?”
“Yes, but it’s not that.” We were still at the dinner table, but Bree had taken the kids up for their baths. Finn said that he would take care of the dishes.