Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“Unless what?” Mason asks so quickly he cuts me off. His reaction makes the pain that much deeper because I don’t have an answer.
I can’t give myself to him unless this is forever. Unless I can trust him but right now I can’t trust anyone. The harsh reality is what truly does me in. I don’t trust anyone anymore. I don’t want to love anyone anymore.
I can’t breathe as I take off my seat belt. My townhome is only a few blocks away. My shelter. My sanctuary and my grave. My hands shake as the seat belt pulls back, hissing and hating me just as much as I hate myself.
“I can’t,” I say. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
I unlock the door and push it open. A car drives by close, but I shut the door quickly, avoiding Mason’s reach for me. His fingers brush against my back as I get out.
“Jules!” Mason calls after me. I cross the lane, the other driver beeping and holding down his horn. Go ahead, hate me too.
The sound of a door opening alerts me to the fact that Mason is out of his car, leaving it parked in the middle of the road and already holding up traffic. “Jules!” he screams but I keep running. The horns don’t stop and it’s not lost on me that what I did was wrong.
I rush past the onlookers and ignore the dirty looks and stares. My shoulders rise with a heavy breath. I need to go home. Tears stream down my face. I need to take care of myself and figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life.
Tires screech and make my head throb as Mason drives alongside me now, slow and causing more traffic to build up.
I ignore Mason as I whip open the iron gate. I don’t stop until I’m safe inside my house, my back to the hard door, my body shaking and my heart hammering.
I hate myself for running from Mason.
But this is reckless distraction.
I cover my mouth as another sob leaves me, slowly falling to my knees on the floor.
He’s a good man and he deserves someone better than me.
Someone who doesn’t have all these problems.
Someone who can fall for him freely and be with him openly.
I sag against the door, letting it all out, still hoping he’ll come bang on the door and plead with me to explain. I can’t be this person, though. It’s better that he doesn’t.
It’s the way we both knew it would end. I envisioned it would be him leaving me though, not the other way around. I take a shuddering breath, feeling exactly how I should, like shit. Not that any of it matters.
It was never meant to be. That’s all there is to it.
Mason
Seventeen. I called her seventeen fucking times. It hurts worse knowing she left me for something other than the one reason she should. Knowing that I couldn’t keep her on my own. I held on too tight. It’s my own fucking mistake.
But I saw what I could do for her.
What I could do to her.
And that made me feel … something other than this. This fucking hate that I have brewing inside of me.
What the hell did I expect? I expected to keep her. For her to learn to love me. For that to cancel out what I’d done.
The ice clinks in my glass as I grab a bottle of Macallan single malt.
No reasoning or any amount of logic justifies why I feel betrayed and alone. Not a damn explanation can leave me feeling as though this is something that doesn’t need to be mended. The liquor sloshes in the bottle as I read the label, my fingers playing with the seal.
My father gave me this bottle as a gift when I started the company with Liam. When I told him I was going into business for myself, but still doing what I loved. I felt so much pride that day. My breathing quickens and my grip on the bottle tightens.
Relax. I grit my teeth, feeling an uneasy tightness settle through my body.
Jules was a sweet distraction; how fucking ironic. She pulled me away from reality. She made me feel like I had time. Like I had a choice.
I toss the seal onto my sideboard buffet, opening the bottle and not bothering to appreciate the rich scent before pouring it into the glass.
If my father were here, he’d give me hell for drinking it over ice.
“But that bastard’s not here,” I sneer under my breath. “No one is.” The last thought leaves my chest feeling hollow. I take a long drink of the whisky that flows so easily. Burning and traveling through my chest, down deeper and stirring in the pit of my stomach. My head still tipped back I take another and finish the damn thing, the ice frigid against my lips. I slam the glass down a little harder than I should and let the liquor hit me.