Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I get up and drift toward the house instead of taking it out on my poor cellular device. I head into the house, into the comfortable air conditioning, and pause in the hallway leading toward the main stairs. I hear grunting, like someone’s angrily working on a punching bag, and walk slowly to the gym. I’m almost afraid to look inside, but peer around the corner to find Fynn lifting weights.
I nearly scream at him. “What are you doing?”
He looks at me, dripping sweat, and sits up. He rubs his thigh and I can only imagine the damage he’s doing right now. That’s way too much weight for him and much too soon after pushing himself hard the last week. He needs rest and time for his body to heal, not this stupidity.
“I’m working out.” He pushes himself to his feet and limps to another machine. “I can work out if I want.”
“Fynn, no, you really can’t.” I walk toward him, but the look he gives me stops me in my tracks.
“You still haven’t figured this out yet, have you?” His jaw works, and his anger is breathtaking. I’ve seen him pissed off, but never like this where the rage burns so bright it’s nearly blinding. “You don’t get to tell me what I can and cannot do. You can make your suggestions. You can complain about my choices. But I do not have to obey.”
I ball my hands into fists. “You’re such a selfish asshole, you know that?”
“Yeah, Mirella. You’re right, I am a selfish bastard. And so what?”
“All of this is about what you want.”
“What I want?” He nearly roars the words. “You have no idea what I want.”
“You want power and control. You’re injured from nearly getting killed, and instead of working hard and doing the right things to improve, you’re complaining and raging and shouting. You can’t do the simple things that will help you all because you’re too damn proud.”
He stares at me, seething, breathing hard before he snatches his cane from where it’s leaning against the machine on his left. He puts his weight on it, hand so tight on the grip that his knuckles turn white.
“Today Casso told me that I can’t be trusted outside of the villa. He didn’t use those words, but the implication was clear. The rumors are all over the city and they’re saying I’m vulnerable. Casso thinks I hurt the family by going to that damn meeting.”
I blink at him and let what he’s saying slowly wash over me. “That stumble? The little stumble at the end?”
“They noticed. That, combined with the rumors already circulating, makes me look worse than if I hadn’t gone at all. Casso isn’t angry, but that makes it so much fucking harder.” He slams the cane into the weight machine.
I go to him, but I stop before I get too close. He watches me, breathing hard, in so much pain. Not just physical, but emotional pain—he’s struggling to find his place in the family and it isn’t easy. All he wants is to be helpful and useful, to be the man he was before his injury, but there is no going back. You can’t have the past, only what’s now.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I wish I could’ve done more.”
His face softens a fraction. “It’s not your fault.”
“I feel like it is. If I were better at this, maybe I could’ve gotten you through those eighteen steps. Or maybe I could’ve talked you out of it entirely.”
“That wouldn’t have happened.”
“Either way, I feel like I let you down.”
“No, Mirella.” He comes to me then, limping with his cane, and takes a handful of my hair. Despite his injuries, despite his self-loathing, he’s still a strong, powerful man with a presence that sucks the oxygen from the room. “You’re perfect. You’re the only halfway decent thing in my life right now. Don’t you see that? You’re holding me together when all I want to do is break apart.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” His face is hard and his eyes are tight. “When I woke up from that coma and realized I couldn’t move the way I used to, there was a part of me that wished I’d never opened my eyes. For a few days, I wanted to die, Mirella. I was so angry with the world. How could I end up shot and incapacitated? How could I be such a burden on my family? And that feeling hasn’t dimmed. I’m dead weight no matter what I do.”
“You’re not dead weight to me.”
“And that’s why you’re the only good thing in my world. God, Mirella, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come here. No matter how angry I get now, I’m happy I woke up, because otherwise I never would’ve gotten to experience this time with you.”