Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
I tell my throat to work, to let the words out and get her hands off me, but I can’t find a single syllable. The thought surfaces that she might not be here alone. That he could be with her. But he’s not in this aisle, and I can’t really imagine them grocery shopping together.
The thought of him turns my stomach and I finally yank my hand out of her grip.
I look down at the cart, my thoughts discombobulated. Do I have everything I need? I think the chocolate chips were the last thing.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
“You were sleeping with him the whole fucking time, weren’t you?” she demands furiously.
I shake my head, but then I stop myself.
I don’t owe her any explanations.
I need to get away from her.
“You expect me to believe you’re engaged now and you weren’t screwing him all along? I bet you were sleeping with him while we were together. That’s why he never wanted to sleep with me, he’d just go over to the next room and fuck my slut daughter instead.”
Bile rises at the thought of him with her.
Fuck it.
I grab my purse and abandon the cart, turning and practically running away from her. I’m panicked about her following me, but we’re in a public place. She won’t do that in public, will she?
I’m not sure. I fumble around in my purse for my phone as I make a beeline for the exit and fly out the door on shaky legs that can hardly do the job of carrying me.
I have Milo’s SUV since I don’t have a car of my own to replace the one my mother took out of the driveway. Milo has been looking at them, but we haven’t made a purchase yet.
I look behind me before I open the car door to make sure she isn’t following, then I fling myself into the automobile, pulling the door closed and quickly locking them.
My hands shake as I try to text. I get aggravated, so I push the microphone button and say, “Is Jet there? Could he bring you up here to drive me home? I just ran into my stupid mother at the store and right now my muscles are the consistency of jelly. I don’t trust myself to drive.”
The message registers as read and then my phone is ringing a second later.
“Where are you? Are you okay?” Milo demands.
“I’m fine. I’m in the car. I just… I think I forgot—no, not I think.” I shake my head, frustrated with myself for being so out of sorts. “I did forget all the groceries. They’re in a cart in the baking aisle. I should go back in, but I don’t want to run into her.”
“No, don’t go back in there. Jet and I will be there in a few minutes. Just stay in the car. If she comes up to the car and starts harassing you, call the police.”
I feel like an idiot hiding in the car.
I also have no peace.
The balloon of dread doesn’t go down until movement registers and I look up to see Milo standing outside my door.
Immediately, my stomach starts to feel less nauseous. I start to feel safe again.
The look on his handsome face is dark and thunderous, and it fills me with an even greater sense of safety.
I unlock the doors and he rips mine open, grabbing me and pulling me out of the car.
I go into his arms, sliding mine around him and holding on tight.
“Are you okay?” he rumbles, absently grabbing a handful of my hair and pulling me even tighter against his chest.
I nod. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I feel stupid, I just…”
He doesn’t let me finish. “You have nothing to feel stupid for.”
A chilly gust of wind blows past us, but I’m warm in Milo’s embrace. I feel him turn his head above me, then he asks Jet if he can run in and get the groceries I left behind.
“Of course,” Jet says. “Baking aisle?”
I peek out from the shelter of Milo’s chest and nod. “Thanks, Jet.”
“Come on,” Milo says, walking me back toward the car. “Let’s get you home.”
I feel Milo looking over at me as we drive down the road, but I’m quiet and unresponsive. My head is full, my heart is heavy, and I don’t feel like talking. All the energy I had as I thought about making Christmas cookies for the guys while dinner cooked is gone. My mother’s thorny words stick in the soft parts of my brain to haunt me later.
At the root of it is just the simple yet incomprehensible fact that she doesn’t care about me the way mothers are supposed to. That she never has. Even though logically I know it’s her that something is wrong with, I can’t quiet the faint voice at the back of my mind that whispers maybe it’s me. I must be unlovable if my own mother can’t even love me.