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)
I take a moment for myself after pulling into the parking lot of the care facility. Her car is here like I knew it would be, and just the sight of it ramps up the emotions building inside of me.
I consider that I’m possibly putting off heartbreak, but at the same time I could be postponing the best thing that will ever happen to me.
I climb off my bike, my steps sure but slow toward the front door. Wiping my sweat-damp palm on my jeans as I enter, I give the little old woman who catcalls at me a little wave before turning down the hallway leading to Sylvie’s grandfather’s room.
I’ve been in this place a handful of times with Cerberus because the organization does a lot of work in the community, but I’ll never get used to the smiles I see. I’ve always pictured these places as the embodiment of sadness, a place where some of the brightest stars of our history are left to wither away.
I hesitate, my hand raised to knock on the door. I almost talk myself out of it, worried I’m only going to find pain today. I’m not lucky enough for her to love me back. And if she does, it won’t be for long. Love doesn’t last forever. My own experiences have proven that in the loss of my dad as a teen and then my mother because her broken heart was just too much.
I know the pain Sylvie suffered when she found out the truth about her own mom. I know that the lie she lived with most of her life didn’t prevent her from feeling unloved, unworthy of a different choice when she was told the truth.
Although I’m not exactly suicidal, I know how easy it would be to choose not to go forward after losing someone so important. I understand my mother’s choice, her heartache after losing my dad.
As a man in love with a woman, I can understand the reasoning.
My heart pounds with my own choice, wondering how long I can continue to live in a world where Sylvie Davis isn’t mine, and it makes me want to turn around and sit down with Slick to have the conversation I’ve been avoiding.
Just as my hand lowers, decision made, the door opens.
“Shit,” Sylvie snaps at seeing me, her hand going to her chest. “You scared me.”
The grand speech, the declarations of love, disappear at the sight of tears on her face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my hands reaching out for her and then dropping to my sides as she avoids my touch by stepping back into the room.
“She thinks I’m dying,” Theodore mutters.
“That’s not funny,” Sylvie snaps, her head turning in the direction of her grandfather lying in his bed.
Exhaustion lines her beautiful face, and my first instinct is to wrap my arms around her in an effort to take all of it away.
“She’s also suffering a broken heart.”
“I am not,” Sylvie argues.
“I know a brokenhearted woman when I see one,” the old man says, his eyes glaring in my direction. “I warned you.”
“He’s feisty,” I say.
“And I’ll teach you a lesson, but first I need a damn nap. Think you can distract my granddaughter for a few hours so an old man can get some rest?”
Sylvie smiles, and I’d like to believe that it has more to do with me than the smile on his face. It’s clear he hasn’t been feeling well, and this may be the first time in a while he’s shown a little spark.
“I can do that,” I assure him before looking back over at Sylvie. “Can we talk?”
“Can we talk?” the old man mutters. “That excuse is as old as time, son. You’re going to have to do better.”
“Big Daddy,” Sylvie groans. “I’ll be back later. If I call and they tell me you refused lunch again, I’ll have to spoon feed you dinner.”
The old man narrows his eyes. “Bring that pretty friend of yours and let her do it.”
She sighs as he begins to cackle.
I follow her from the room, waiting patiently as she closes his door.
We walk in silence down the hall and then out of the front door.
“You wanted to speak to me?” she asks, her hands wringing together.
I don’t know if she feels even an ounce of the joy about seeing me as I do her, but a man can hope.
“What’s been going on with him?”
She frowns, as if giving me any personal information is a burden. My hope begins to fade.
“He’s had a cold. Nearly everyone has. It spread like wildfire, but he’s getting better.”
“That’s good.” I dig the toe of my boot into the pavement.
“You want to speak to me?” she prods again.
“The little girl… Max was able to find her mother.”
Her eyes widen, tears immediately forming on her lower lashes. “Really?”