Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 127390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
“I’m gonna be honest with you, kiddo, there’s always a chance of getting hurt,” I told him softly. “Of something bad happening. But I promise you, caring about people, loving people. It’s worth the risk, okay? We were unlucky enough to have someone we loved very much leave us. Even though he didn’t want to. I need you to remember that doesn’t happen all the time. That isn’t normal, okay? I can’t promise you nothing bad is ever going to happen, even though I wish I could. I promise you right now, though. You’re going to be so glad you were brave enough to care about people. It’s going to make you into a better man. You’re already one of the best I know. Right up there with your father, who would be so darn proud of you.”
I reached out to ruffle his hair because it was straight up impossible not to touch my son in some kind of way in that moment.
He screwed up his face in that way boys did, but he didn’t pull away.
“I love you, kid,” I whispered, holding tears in through sheer choice of will.
“I love you too, Mom,” he said back, eyes glancing away. “I want you to be happy. I’m glad Kace makes you happy. I think Dad might’ve liked him.”
I smiled. Jack was totally wrong on that one. Ranger most definitely wouldn’t have liked the man who was sleeping with his wife, making her and her children fall in love with him. He’d kick his fucking ass. Maybe kill him.
But he wasn’t here for that. Which was the whole point.
“Yeah, baby. He would,” I lied.
“You okay, babe?” Kace asked, handing me another beer.
I was sitting at the breakfast bar with my laptop. Writing.
This book was almost done. That’s what it was now. A book. At this point, I could no longer trick myself thinking it was anything else. Then there was the fact that I had a publishing deal, signed and everything.
It felt weird. To have something like this happening. To be creating. To call myself an author. It made me feel vulnerable too. Because this book was full of my demons and grief. And, of course, I was surrounded by supportive and loving women who wanted to read it. Amy was the only one who had so far, but no doubt I’d get harassed if I didn’t let the rest of the women soon.
Not to mention Olive.
My mother was proud of me in her own way, which was demanding she get the first copy to read to make sure it was suitable for her church group (it totally wasn’t), squeezing my hand in hers for a second.
I hadn’t wanted to tell anyone about this, of course. Even when it became apparent I was going to get the publishing deal. I wanted it kept secret. Separate from my life. I was worried it might change who I was. Further still from the woman that Ranger had married.
Then again, she was changed irrevocably the second he died.
But still, I clung to the illusion of thinking that if I didn’t change too much, I was somehow closer to him.
It was Kace and Amy who gently—Kace was gentle, Amy didn’t know how to be—urged me to tell people. To be proud of myself. To feel entitled to shed the skin that didn’t serve me anymore.
So I did that. People responded with love, excitement, various alcoholic drinks. My advance was already in the bank, a hefty enough buffer that I wasn’t becoming a thief or stripper anytime soon.
I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Things couldn’t just happen this way. Tragedy had to strike again. It had my address, after all.
Kace had just finished doing the dishes. And he’d made dinner. Forced me to sit and write while he cleaned up. It wasn’t a terrible view. Not at all. I would’ve been completely content with it, now being comfortable with Kace being in our space, had this afternoon not still been weighing heavily on me.
I was so powerless to the situation, yet I still second guessed every choice I’d made since Ranger died. Everything I’d done. That’s what motherhood was, questioning yourself, wondering if you had done different, done better, could you have saved your child from hurt?
I’d done my best to cover up all of this throughout the night, which was made easier by the fact that Jack seemed back to his old self, warmer with Kace, if anything. The two of them had even been throwing a baseball outside before dinner.
It helped a little. But not enough.
And Kace was far too perceptive for his own good.
“I know you’ve been stewin’ on somethin’ all night,” he continued when I didn’t answer straight away. “And I’m not going to pressure you to talk about it if you’re still working through it. If you’re not ready. But something’s eatin’ you. Might not be able to help. But it might be nice to get it to stop doing laps in that beautiful head of yours.”