Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
It was bittersweet that my father could be so good to him and shit to me.
“But it was nice. I wish I’d been stronger, for your sake. But what your dad gave me, I soaked up. It mattered to me, even when I knew what he was doing to you and your sisters. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all of that.”
“Stay here,” I said.
“Are you leaving?” he asked.
I shook my head. I could barely walk after what we’d just done. I’d need some Gatorade and some protein if I had to drive a car anytime soon. “I’ll be right back.”
Naked—which was kind of a big deal for me—I walked from the bedroom back into the living area where I found my purse on the kitchen island.
The watch was in my purse. I’d put it in there after the funeral. Because I didn’t know what else to do with it. I’d tucked it in one of the dumb outer pockets where no one ever put anything except their own cell phone when they wanted to make themselves crazy.
I grabbed the watch, sent up a quick prayer that I wasn’t making the mistake of a lifetime, and walked back into the bedroom.
Clayton lay there, above the covers like he had no shame and, really…why would he? The guy was perfect. A metabolic miracle. Tall and lean without trying too hard. I saw, in a sudden moment of clarity, the physical resemblance between him and Dale. A certain rawboned lankiness.
“Everything okay?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbow.
“I’ve been thinking,” I said, stark fucking naked at the foot of the bed. “About the difference between the truth and no lies.”
“Yeah?” he said.
“And no lies isn’t the truth. It’s the difference between vulnerable and protected. And I’m a big fan of protection. But if you’re always protecting yourself you can’t actually ever be vulnerable. And if you’re not vulnerable you’re not telling the truth.”
He sat up, his eyes wide, like he knew I was doing something…big. Something scary and real.
I pulled my hand out from behind my back and showed him the watch. “When I gave this to you five years ago, I was being honest. I was being vulnerable. And I want to give it to you again.”
“Veronica,” he breathed. He pushed himself up to the end of the bed. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” I said. “I know I don’t have to. But that’s what gifts are. They are the things you do and the things you give because you want to. And I want to give you this.”
I grabbed his hand and opened his fist. And he wasn’t fighting me, but he wasn’t taking the gift the way I’d expected him to.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I choose you.”
There. The words were out.
He grabbed me by the waist and pulled me down onto the bed, rolling us until he was over me.
“I don’t deserve this,” he said. “I didn’t deserve it then and I don’t now.”
“Well, probably not.” I tried to make a joke, but it didn’t register. Not even a little. “Clayton,” I breathed and touched his face. Cupped his cheeks with my palms, ran my fingers over my lips. “If we decided what we deserved you and I…we’d live on scraps. Because that is what we’re used to. That’s what our fathers have conditioned us to expect. They taught us with every breath that our love was never enough. That what we wanted didn’t matter. But…I want more. I know it’s not love. And maybe you won’t ever love me. But I want you to choose me. The way I’m choosing you.”
He kissed me. So fast and hard our teeth clicked together and my lip got caught in the middle. “I choose you, too,” he said, and it wasn’t love. But I wasn’t expecting love. This was better. This was safety and security. Love was a fallacy. A castle made of smoke and mirrors.
This felt like a promise.
“That night in the dressing room, when you gave this to me the first time, I didn’t know what to do,” he said. “Because I’d never been given a gift before.”
“You’re kidding,” I said, and he shook his head.
He still had my hand and I curled my fingers around his, the watch something we held together. A promise we were making.
For you. Forever.
He rolled me to my back, his lip curling in that smile that lit me on fire from the inside.
“I know what to do now,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Never let you go.”
21
VERONICA
We were still in bed. We’d been in bed for hours. There had been food delivered that we ate in bed and then more lovemaking. And then both of us did a little work—from bed. It seemed possible that we might not leave this king-size planet we were making. I was even taking calls from my sisters.