Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 200280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1001(@200wpm)___ 801(@250wpm)___ 668(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1001(@200wpm)___ 801(@250wpm)___ 668(@300wpm)
So of course I was on board.
I was eager. Panting, writhing, begging.
But then he said something else too, which at last snapped me out of my erotic and happy daze.
“Let’s see how much he likes it when I knock you up. His fucking sister but my Firefly. Mine.”
Those were his exact words.
Exact.
And suddenly everything became clear in that moment.
Crystal clear.
It was like I was waking up after a very deep and long sleep, and finally could think clearly.
Why he was there. Why he came to me then and not before.
Who I was to him.
It wasn’t love that had brought him there, it was revenge.
I wasn’t the girl he was in love with. I was still his rival’s little sister, and that night he was finally going to use me as a pawn against my brother. Who had just gotten his sister pregnant. It was an accident. An extremely unfortunate one at the time because like me Callie was in high school, a reform high school, and there had been some talk about expelling her. We’d only found out about all of that a few days before and I guess that was his way of exacting revenge.
Reed had gotten his sister pregnant so he was going to do the same to me, Reed’s sister.
Meaning all this time, all along, that was how he saw me.
That was all I’d been to him.
An object. A chess piece. A pawn.
And nothing more.
All those little signs that I’d seen — his sweetness, his jealousy — meant nothing at all. They barely had been signs to begin with. It was me. I imagined the whole thing. I made it all up in my head.
I didn’t need to give him time to realize that he had feelings for me.
What I needed to do was finally get over my love for him and move on.
Because this was toxic.
What I’d been doing was toxic. My love was toxic. He was — is — toxic.
Isn’t he?
He’s the guy made of thunder and thorns.
He doesn’t know what love is when all he’s ever thought about is revenge and all he’s ever known is anger.
And it’s better that we stay away from each other.
“Isn’t it, bestie?” I say to Halo, breaking my thoughtful silence.
She’s strapped to my chest again in that pale pink sling and we’re in Callie’s and my brother’s kitchen. They’re enjoying a rare night out, something that I suggested that they do, and I’m on babysitting duty. Meaning, Halo and I are making cupcakes.
Well, I’m making cupcakes. Halo is kicking at my ribs and gurgling while I describe each step as I do.
And every time I look down at her, I can’t help but notice how she looks like Ledger.
It’s something that I know I do subconsciously. And when I notice that I’m doing it, I’m able to thrust it aside and put a lid on it.
But tonight my subconscious is more overt and the lid is nowhere to be seen.
I’m blaming all these stupid encounters with him over the past couple of days. Not to mention, the talk I had with Ezra yesterday. We never got to finish that talk, by the way. Because after I came out of the restroom, all frazzled, he was already gone. He’d paid the bill and told the waiter to tell me that he was going back to the office.
In any case, Halo looks mostly like my brother and Callie. My brother’s dark hair — my hair too — and Callie’s blue eyes. But her nose is his. Completely. Also her forehead. It’s stubborn and broad-ish like his.
And tonight I can’t help but think, imagine, what our babies would’ve looked like.
Would they have his forehead too?
His nose.
His dark eyes.
Maybe they’d have his stubborn streak or —
The doorbell sounds, startling me a little.
“That’s weird,” I tell Halo, frowning.
She’s sensed my mood — God, babies are so intuitive — and is watching me with wide eyes.
But I smile down at her, rubbing her cute bottom. “It’s okay, honey. Maybe Mommy and Daddy forgot something. Let’s go see, okay?”
I kiss her forehead and walk out of the kitchen, rubbing her back and patting her little warm body, trying to keep her calm. As I turn the corner of the kitchen and come out into the living room, my feet come to a halt.
Because I can see who it is.
Clearly.
Through the glass door.
And he can see me too.
In fact, his dark eyes are pinned on me so thickly and intensely — as if he knew I was going to be here and he was just waiting for me to turn the corner so he could see me — that my legs start to tremble.
My legs start to feel heavy, made of lead.
My entire body feels like it’s made of lead.
And the very first thing that comes into my head is my own voice.