Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
My gaze worked its way up her legs. She had the best legs. Her dress. Her kissable lips. Her pretty hair. Under the wedge of moonlight finding its way between the trees, she looked ethereal.
Unexpected emotion caught in my throat, making my chest ache and my stomach roil with regret—or maybe it was too much beer. “I feel so b-broken.” My words cracked under the weight of guilt, under the weight of her perfect existence in my fucked-up world. It was an awful feeling to know that you were not good enough for someone, yet you selfishly wanted them against all sound judgment.
Josie stepped closer, forcing my legs out straight while she straddled my lap. Her hands slid around my neck, and she kissed my forehead, my nose, my cheeks. I didn’t deserve her. How did she not see that?
Her next words ripped a sob from my chest, and I hated her and loved her in equal parts for saying them. “We’re all a little broken. I’ll take you chipped, cracked, or shattered into a million little pieces. You’re my Colten. And I’m your Artemis.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
“Hi,” Colten says as soon as I answer. He says it before I answer with my own greeting.
“Hi.” I can’t help my smile while sitting in a chair, doing my physical therapy exercises before bed.
“How have you been?”
I chuckle. “I left Chicago yesterday.”
“And I already miss you.”
I don’t know how to respond. Of course, I want to scream the words, “I miss you too!” But I don’t because I feel like we’ve reversed roles. I’m the one feeling like I need to let him go for his own good. Only, I can’t find the actual words to say it to him.
“I called my mom and told her you’re alive. She’s dying to come see you. Don’t be surprised if she calls you. I gave her your new number.”
“I’d love to talk to her.”
He doesn’t say anything for several seconds. Have we already exhausted the small talk?
“Listen, Josie … what Reagan said to you—”
And here it is.
“Is it true?” I ask. “Did I cut off her ponytail before leaving you at the altar?”
“You didn’t leave me at the altar. We didn’t make it to the altar.”
“Colten …”
He sighs. “Yes. It’s true. She wasn’t mad. Nobody was mad. We were concerned. That’s all.”
“I …” My eyes close while I lift a bent knee. I’m slowly getting stronger … physically. Mentally, I’m struggling with who I was and what I did to get rid of the images of another lifetime. “I’m sorry.”
“I told you, Reagan’s not—”
“That’s not what I mean. I’m sorry for thinking this insane plan I concocted would work.”
“But it did.”
I laugh. “I can’t walk unassisted. I had a speech issue for several months. I don’t have a job. Everyone I loved thought I was dead. And now that I’m alive, those same people, who spent months grieving and moving on, have to figure out how to take care of me like a child. I’ve caused so much pain only to now be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden.”
“My dad is sixty-six, and he’s going to have to carry me to my bedroom if he’s uncomfortable with me sleeping on the sofa.”
“That’s why you should have stayed with me.”
Switching legs, I grimace because I’m pushing myself through another set of leg lifts. I don’t want to be dependent on anyone. “We can be friends. You know that, right? We were friends before we were more than friends. In fact, we spent our childhood being friends and then more than friends and back to friends again. If you move on, I won’t be mad. I’ll be happy for you. And that would be something new. I was never really happy for you when you had other girlfriends. This time would be different. I swear.”
“Can you just say that you love me too? Can you do that?”
I press my hand to my face and rub my eyes. “It’s late. I should go.”
“I don’t want to be friends, Josie.”
“Have a good week.”
“Josie—”
I end the call.
“You can’t avoid him forever,” Mom says a week later after I’ve religiously ignored Colten’s calls and texts.
“I’m afraid of giving him false hope,” I say on our way home from therapy. Today, I practiced using a cane instead of a walker. Now I feel eighty instead of ninety.
“False hope? Why would you give him false hope? He’s your fiancé.”
“Yeah …” I whisper while my blank gaze affixes to nothing in particular out the window.
“Josie, what’s going on with you? You’re alive. I feel like I’m the one who’s been given a second chance at life. It’s something so much greater than a miracle. Why are you so sad? Did Colten do something?”
With a tiny headshake, I release a slow breath. “It’s … hard to explain. When I was with Felix and Izzy, before anyone else knew I was alive, I felt the tiny improvements in my health. We celebrated every milestone. The world looked different. With Colten, I don’t see that version of myself. I don’t see everything I am or everything I’ve become. I see everything I’m not and maybe never will be. When I’m with him, I miss the old Josie, and I know there’s no way he doesn’t miss her too.