Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“I trust your opinion.” I tap the counter, the urge growing stronger. “If you wanted . . .” What do I want to say here? “Fictitiously speaking, would you—” Fuck. Just say it, Faris. “That girl, the woman we talked about in Vegas . . .I want her back.” I stare, waiting for her to react in any way. Good or bad.
She doesn’t. She feeds each kid another bite, seeming to think about my problem. “How bad was the ending?”
“Not my greatest moment.”
Her mouth dips down in the corner. “I see. Detonation.”
“Yeah.” I can’t explain it away, so I don’t try.
“Well,” she starts, swiveling on the stool to face me. “You’re not the same person you were last August. And she played a part in that, even if she’s not aware of it. Apologies from the heart matter. Making different decisions now is important. And don’t hold back. If you love her, tell her. If you want to spend the rest of your life with her, make sure she feels it in her bones. Make sure she knows you will do anything to win her heart back. It will start with forgiveness. If she’ll give you the opportunity to explain, she’s open to that apology.”
I knew all this but struggled to put it into words like she has. She sounds like she’s been there and came out the other side, so maybe there’s hope for me yet. Tapping the counter, I say, “Thank you.” Nodding, I know what I need to do. It’s not about stealing Cat’s time for me to beg her for forgiveness. I need to prove to her I deserve it. “You’ve given me lots to think about.”
“What are we talking about?” Laird comes in yawning as he crosses through the living room. He goes to Poppy first, cupping her face and kissing her. Then he turns to the babies, planting one on each of their heads. When neither of us speaks, he shrugs. “What?”
Maybe it’s the second chance that I’ve been given . . . or that I forced upon my marriage. Or perhaps it’s seeing my cousin and his wife have this life that I wouldn’t mind having if I could get my fucking life in order.
I never wanted this life. I never wanted anything until I had it and lost it. Now I can see a whole life ahead of me. Wife. Babies. Rich in love instead of only money.
I don’t want a divorce.
I want to save my marriage.
23
Shane
Everything is ready, except me.
I’m dressed. The car has gas. The trunk is loaded. It doesn’t hold much, but I packed it full of food in coolers along with another for drinks. I bought flowers even though the last time I brought her flowers didn’t turn out so well for me.
I can go over every detail for the fifth time, but it’s not what I packed or planned that’s on my mind. It’s that she’s not even here.
It’s only been fifteen minutes since I arrived, since I checked the time to make sure I got it right, since I showed up at her apartment as we had scheduled through texts. Fifteen minutes, hoping she comes home. Doubts kick in again.
I’m wasting my time.
She’ll never forgive me.
I won’t get the chance to explain.
For all I know, the paperwork has already been signed, sealed, and delivered to her attorney, and I planned all this for nothing.
Is she blowing me off?
Busy with patients even though she supposedly was given the extra day off?
Did her car break down running errands and her phone died? She was in an accident? Or she eloped with a boyfriend that I’m not totally sure she doesn’t have. Millions of scenarios could keep her from going. She wouldn’t hold back from telling me if she had changed her mind. Not Cat.
I shake my hands to loosen the nerves free. This worked in the past. Performing in front of crowds of twenty, thirty, even fifty thousand screaming fans doesn’t faze me. A certain audience of one has me pacing her parking lot like the fucking stalker I’ve become.
“Waited long?” Cat asks.
I look over to find her standing behind her car, looking like sunshine on a rainy day in a yellow sundress and white sneakers. With a bag in one hand and her purse in the other, they swing in her hands as she walks toward me.
I almost open my arms, ready to catch her like I used to—to hug her to me, to kiss her neck and head, those pink lips, and every other part of her. I shove my hands in my pockets instead, but I’m so fucking relieved she’s here.
“No. Just got here.”
“That’s good,” she says, stopping in front of me. “I felt bad for being late, but since you weren’t here—”
“I arrived fifteen minutes ago.”