Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
With that he was gone, accelerating his motorcycle out of my neighborhood as fast as he could safely get out of there.
And I was left wondering why I just broke it off with a good guy who clearly cared about me.
But just thinking of Jessie made me realize that it would’ve never worked.
A man like Sean wouldn’t appreciate being compared to a man from my past, especially when he had absolutely no chance of ever living up to my teenage memories.
I pulled out my keys and walked into my house, grateful that I lived alone, because as soon as the door closed behind me, I burst into tears.
Chapter 4
Never underestimate a woman’s ability to make everything your fault.
-An actual conversation between men
Ellen
One month later
I got my first look at Jessie’s son, and I realized that he looked just like his father did at that age, despite the color difference of his eyes.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Linc said as he held his hand out to me.
I took it, refraining from saying that I’d already met him, and smiled at the boy-man.
He was already good-looking, and given time, he’d be breaking hearts left and right once he filled into that tall frame of his.
“Nice to meet you, too, Linc,” I said genuinely.
“How’d you know my name?”
My smile faltered.
“I heard it from some of the other members,” I lied.
His eyes scrutinized me for a few long seconds before he nodded once, turned toward the table that was groaning with the amount of food put on it, and gestured to the plate. “Hungry?”
Hopefully he didn’t catch on that I knew him way before he was able to remember that he did.
He eyed all of the food on the table and reached forward to grab some fruit.
I nearly laughed.
His dad would’ve done the same thing years ago. Given the choice between sweets, chips or fruit, he chose the fruit each and every time.
I turned away and surveyed the room as I waited for Linc to finish with his plate.
The moment he moved, I picked up my own plate, and my hands collided with another person reaching for a plate at the same time.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
Jessie didn’t even acknowledge me.
No eye flicker, no breathing heavier. No nothing.
He just looked at me so impassively that it made me wonder what I’d done to piss him off so badly. Why he’d left me without a word. Why he’d ripped my heart out, stomped on it, and probably laughed as he did it.
My hand burned where our skin had collided, and I idly wondered what in the hell I’d done to deserve this.
Everyone was mad at me. Sean couldn’t even stand to look at me. Tommy was pissed off that I’d hurt his fellow club member. Then there was Jessie. A man who I’d done nothing to, looking at me like I’d skinned his cat right in front of him.
I didn’t even know how to skin a cat!
I got my plate, hands shaking like an alcoholic’s looking for his next bottle, and took a seat at the far side of the patio.
There, I watched the crowd as they all had a good time.
Jessie was talking with his son and Big Papa, the president of this band of misfits, about some football game that had happened last week.
This Friday was, apparently, a huge game for them, and Linc, of course, was the star quarterback.
My stomach hurt.
Looking down at my plate, I realized that I’d eaten it all. I hadn’t even left a single crumb behind.
I threw the plate to the side, sickened with myself, yet again, for eating when I was so clearly in need of a goddamn run.
I should really, really stop stress-eating, but I couldn’t help it. My life, or what had become my life, wasn’t at all what I wanted.
I hated my job. Hated my house. Hated where I was living. And the worst part was seeing all these happy people around me while I was stuck in limbo.
I took one final look at Jessie, then I got up and walked out, choosing to go home to my crappy little house instead of staying here torturing myself.
***
Jessie
“Who’s the woman?”
I looked over at my son, just now realizing that I was staring after Ellen’s retreating form with worry etched all over my face.
As hard as I tried, I couldn’t wipe it off.
“Her name’s Ellen,” I murmured, glancing up at Sean as he watched me speculatively.
Shit.
“How do you know her?” my son asked at the worst possible time.
Kids did that, though. Asked questions.
There was one time when I took my then seven-year-old son out to get a Christmas tree, and he saw an old man with half an arm walking up to us. The man’s wife and grandchildren followed him, the two grandkids dragging the Christmas tree as they moved to the path where the tractor would pick them up.