Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
“I’m so damn sorry, Lenora.” Those words seemed so inadequate, so insignificant and tame in comparison to how I actually felt. “I regretted what I said as soon as it came from my mouth, as soon as I saw the hurt I caused you. I didn’t mean one goddamn fucking word I said that day.”
She wiped the remaining wetness off her cheeks and nodded, but she wasn’t meeting my gaze. “Why didn’t you ever reach out to me? Why didn’t you ever contact me if you were so sorry?”
I didn’t know what to say. But I couldn’t leave her wondering, couldn’t let that question hang between us. “Stupidity. Embarrassment.” I cleared my throat. “I picked up my phone so many times, Lenora. So. Many. Times. I wanted to call you. I’ve driven by your place more times than I can count, more times than I even want to admit. But in the end, it was fear that kept me away.”
She looked up at me then, and I saw the confusion on her face. “Fear?” She exhaled slowly, and I waited for her to continue, because honestly I had no idea what else to say. I didn’t know what to say or do to make things right. “Why would you possibly be afraid to reach out to me?”
It was my turn to exhale as I shifted on the couch and leaned against the cushion, putting a little bit of distance between us so she could breathe, so she didn’t feel like I was crowding her. “Because I was sure I had done irreparable damage. For the last six months, all I’ve done is think about what I said to you, how I looked at you. None of that was your fault. I projected my anger for your mother, the hurt I knew my father felt, onto you. I’d seen my father’s heart break, and because you were there, trying to reach out to me, trying to make things better… I just lashed out.” I felt so many emotions right now. So many they were drowning me. “And I’ve regretted it every fucking minute of every day since then, Lenora.” My chest hurt, my heart aching. I lifted my hand and rubbed my sternum, wanting nothing more than to pull her close and embrace her.
She felt incredible when I held her, and I wanted to keep that feeling, to bottle it up for when I felt like shit. I could draw upon it and feel like a brand-new man.
“But I was humiliated. I hurt you so deeply that I knew you’d never speak to me again, so when you called me, it was like fate was giving me another chance, like destiny had put us in each other’s lives once more.” I ran my hand over my hair, lightly tugging at the strands at my nape. I was frustrated with myself. I hated myself. “But that’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t have waited so long. I shouldn’t have been too afraid, too embarrassed to call you. I should’ve made things right as soon as I said that crap to you.” I looked into her eyes deeply, wanting her to see how true and genuine my words really were. “But listen to me, Lenora. Listen as closely as you’ve ever listened to anyone before.” My heart was in my throat, beating wildly, fast, and franticly. “Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do for the rest of my fucking life, I will make it up to you. I will make things right.”
I heard her breath hitch and wondered what she thought. She had every right to slap me, to curse me out. I wouldn’t blame her. I’d welcome it, because I deserved it. I deserved her hatred and her loathing, but God, I didn’t want any of it. I just wanted her.
So I just said it, laid my cards all out there.
“Because I love you, Lenora. I’ve loved you for years.”
The smile she gave me was soft, sweet. “I love you too, Beckham.”
I’d wanted—dreamed—of her saying those words to me, to say she was in love with me. But I knew the love she felt for me wasn’t the kind I had for her, that I fantasized about. And that was okay. Because I would take Lenora in my life anyway I could get her.
“Will you forgive me? Can you ever forgive me?” She was silent for a long time, so long that I thought maybe she’d never answer, fearing that when she finally did say something, it would be the opposite of what I desperately needed to hear.
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear for six months, Beckham. I should hate you, never speak to you again, but I can’t. I love you too much.”
We stared into each other’s eyes, and I didn’t stop myself from reaching out and pulling her in close, burying my face in the crook of her neck, closing my eyes, and just inhaling deeply