Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“Sylvie?” I hedge, needing to figure out where her head is so I know how to proceed.
Maybe telling Slick I could handle this was overestimating my abilities. I know enough about trauma response to know I’m not even close to being qualified to handle this situation.
I just didn’t want anyone else around her. I wanted to be the one to hold her when she was upset. I wanted to be the shoulder she cried on, the man she clung to for comfort.
I follow the point of her finger to my duffel sitting on her bedroom floor.
“Make sure you grab your things from the bathroom as well,” she says, her voice a firm whisper.
I inch closer, confused, because my brain just won’t accept what she’s telling me.
“Will is no longer a threat,” she says, but her voice wavers.
We both know the man hit the mark like he intended. His words will cause more lasting pain than that knife he was wielding ever could.
“You don’t have to stay here any longer. I’m safe.”
Don’t have to isn’t the same as I want you gone, but at the same time it doesn’t feel like she’s leaving the choice up to me.
I have no clue which road I should take.
One leads to going back to the way things were, a predictable life I know how to navigate.
The other is unknown enough that it almost has me picking the first option right out of the gate.
But a life without her?
My chest aches just thinking about it.
I reach for her, wanting to assure her that I’m not going anywhere, but she stands, crossing the room before I can get to her.
I consider wrapping my arms around her until she understands how much she means to me, but the woman is calm, scarily so. She isn’t in a panic, waving her arms around and ranting about the things that were disclosed tonight. She doesn’t need the weight and warmth of me to reset her nervous system.
“I can come get my car tomorrow, or since I’m already dressed, you can drive me back and I can grab it tonight. That way neither of us will have to worry about it.”
She either can’t look me in the eyes as she speaks or is just refusing to.
God, I wish I knew more about women’s emotions.
I can’t tell if she’s giving me an out or if she really wants me gone. I get the feeling that no matter what I choose, it will be wrong.
I run my hands over the top of my head, frustrated and wanting to yell, but knowing that won’t help a fucking thing right now.
“Do you want me to leave?” I ask, because I’ll be damned if I’ll let something as simple as a miscommunication make me lose this woman.
A beat of silence, longer than when I stood helpless behind her when she opened the door to Will standing right in front of her, stretches between us before she lifts her head.
“Yes.”
The word is a gunshot, echoing around the room until it settles inside of me like a ten-ton weight.
I don’t argue or list all the reasons I should stay. I simply nod and begin to gather my things. My t-shirt and jeans feel like sandpaper on my skin as I dress, but the unfamiliar pain of what I can only identify as heartache hurts more.
I take my time walking back to the bathroom and hanging up my damp towel. I’m slow to pull on my socks and boots, but despite the time I’m giving her to change her mind, she never speaks the words.
She doesn’t reach for me when I shoulder the strap to my duffel bag and walk past her.
She walks a few feet behind me, grabbing her purse as I make my way to the front door.
“Give me your car keys,” I say, turning to hold out my hand in front of her. “I don’t want you driving in the dark.”
I care for you.
I want to protect you.
I wouldn’t survive if anything bad happened to you.
Those words go unspoken, and also undetected if I go by the blank look in her eyes as she hands over her keys without argument.
“Colton is going to want to talk to you tomorrow about what happened here tonight,” I say, but I don’t offer to take her to the police station. Walking away from her tonight is probably more rejection than I’ll be able to handle. I don’t need another confirmation that whatever we had is over.
The door closes behind me, the lock falling into place before I even make it off the porch, but I don’t immediately drive away after settling into the SUV. She doesn’t swing open the front door and rush down the steps to say she made a mistake, begging me to stay.
She turns off the porch light, casting the front of the house in darkness, a hint at how unwelcome anyone would be right now.