Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
This isn’t a love story.
It’s a story about obsession.
After experiencing a terrible loss, New York City psychiatrist Meredith McCall feels painfully adrift. When she crosses paths with a man with whom she has a tragic connection, she follows him, sparking an unhealthy obsession with Gabriel Wright. How is he doing so well while her life is in shambles?
But when Gabriel walks into her office as a patient, seemingly unaware of who she is, she knows it crosses all ethical and moral bounds to treat him. Yet, Meredith can’t bring herself to turn him away and becomes further entangled. With her life and career continuing to unravel, it appears that things could not get any worse…until they do.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1 Now
We used to look at each other like that. Before you went and messed everything up.
The man wraps a scarf around the smiling woman’s neck, then leans in and kisses the tip of her nose. I force my eyes from the store window and keep walking. Maybe another mile will do it—will clear my head so I can think properly. Figure out what to do with the rest of my day. The rest of my life.
Another block, then two. I stop behind a dozen people at the crosswalk. A woman checks the time on her phone, a child sways under the weight of his backpack full of books, a businessman in a five-thousand-dollar suit spews into his phone about some deal gone bad.
He’s angry. Probably needs therapy. Most of us do. Myself included.
Myself especially.
A teenage girl smokes a joint as she bops along to the buds in her ears. A twentysomething wearing baggy jeans and a T-shirt pretends he’s not freezing his ass off.
One thing stands out that makes them different from me—they all seem to have somewhere to go.
Then again, I probably look like I do, too. I’m good at pretending these days, aren’t I?
But soon they’ll be home with their families or their dog or their video game, and I’ll still be out here walking. Searching for something, though I don’t know what. I still have my wits enough to know that means I might never find it.
Maybe I should get a dog. That would at least give me a purpose for all this walking. Of course, I’d have to feed it. Drag myself out of bed early every morning to take it outside so it doesn’t ruin the carpets. Give it love and affection.
I swallow a lump in my throat. I’m not capable of committing to any of those things. Especially the last one.
The light changes, the wave of people surges forward, and I let it carry me across the street. I turn a corner at random, and seconds later I’m among brownstones. I slow my pace, and another walker brushes against me, hurrying. Another person with a place to be.
A breeze ruffles through the leaves, and the yellow and orange colors of a ginkgo tree rain down around me. We almost lived here in Gramercy Park, in one of these very brownstones. With a foyer painted in sky blue and an office window facing the city. If we’d chosen this home, instead of the apartment, would things have been different? Would that one choice have made ripples through our lives, and you’d be standing next to me right now?
I let myself imagine it. It’s the sort of neighborhood where people raise families. Maybe we’d have a baby by now. Maybe I’d have taken a year off. Maybe I’d have paid more attention and noticed how bad things with you really were. If you were still here, you’d probably be on the road right now—off playing a game in Michigan or Canada. My practice would be thriving, instead of crumbling. Maybe we’d have hired an au pair. Maybe… just maybe.
That breeze comes again, slicing through my open overcoat. I yank it closed, tie the belt tighter. I’ve been out for hours, and I should go home. But why?
Tree branches sway, and a fresh tide of leaves skims over my shoes. A rogue yellow one blows up and tangles into my hair. I reach up to pull it out and a cab rushes by mere inches away, creating wind that slaps me in the face. Shoot. I didn’t even see that red light. I step backward to the curb and bump into a person behind me, nearly falling.
“Ma’am? Are you okay?”
A twentysomething in a Burberry trench, a two-year-old on her hip in a matching jacket and pigtails, and another little one tucked into a vintage pram sucking her thumb.
A ripple, a glimpse of what could have been. What will never be anymore because of you.
I reach into my coat pocket and rub my keychain. Your keychain. The one that reminds me of all our hopes and dreams. It soothes me. As much as I can be soothed these days.
“Ma’am?” The woman I already forgot about steps closer. “Are you all right?”
I look away, her little family too close to my imaginings for comfort. “Fine. Thanks.”
I go back the way I came, walking faster now. Fleeing. Fleeing what? It doesn’t matter. I stare down at the gray concrete, then up at the gray sky. A shop window reflects back at me—a pale, narrow face, too much cheekbone, too much chin. Hollow eyes, once bright green, have gone dull. They look gray, too. I should get highlights, perk up my dishwater-blond hair.
A bell jangles over the next shop door, pulling my attention. A young couple sits in the window, all sheepish smiles and hands wrapped around paper coffee cups. I duck in, file into line, lost in the anonymity of the city once more.