Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
I supposed there’d always been that small disconnect between him and the rest of his family on Giulia’s side. His cousins spoke Spanish—or, the ones on his dad’s side, didn’t live nearby and were busy with their own lives. He loved them all and got along with them very well for get-togethers and holidays, but they didn’t have that kind of dynamic where they met up for a beer after work or called each other in the middle of the week. Alberto was the exception, except…their relationship had primarily revolved around the kids the past few years.
With the O’Sheas and Murrays, it was so different. This life had become part of Alfie’s identity.
But I still know him. I see the man I married in there. I know what every smile means. I know what makes him tick, what drives him, and what he likes for breakfast. I know his ticklish spots, his favorite meal, and what he wants when he cuddles closer and buries his face against my neck.
I cracked open a new beer and chugged from it.
The song was over, and I was losing it.
Was I fooling myself? Anyone who asked would know his favorite meal. It was like knowing someone’s favorite color. It didn’t mean shit.
As the men jumped off the stage and the music blasted from a stereo again, Alfie glanced my way, and I caught his smile. One of the many I knew the meaning of. He was happy, a little nervous, hopeful, and somewhat drunk.
More than that, I felt the connection between us blazing like wildfire. And there it was. It was our history. Nine years of everything. Falling in love, sharing everyday moments, fighting, laughing, making plans for the future, bickering, reading each other, being there, more fighting… Countless memories flicked past, leaving behind echoes of laughter from when he’d almost burned down the kitchen, groans from hot nights of heavy fucking, the sensation of his fingers digging into my shoulder blades, the scent of the body wash we’d shared in LA, the sound of his quiet sniffles when Noelle had become ours, and the feel of his fingers in my hair when he’d admitted to wanting a second child.
Alfie had been desperate for me to believe him when he’d said everything had been real, at least up until we’d left LA. After that, he’d started slipping because he hadn’t known how to act, and…and I trusted him. But what we’d shared once we’d moved back here had been just as real too, because otherwise, it wouldn’t have hurt so damn much.
I watched him bump fists and shake hands with other Sons, and I watched him laugh with Liam. And somewhere deep inside, things settled for me. I never wanted Alfie to fake anything in order to fit in somewhere ever again. I wanted him happy and at peace with his own decisions.
If this was his world, regardless of how I felt about it, regardless of how small my part would be in it, I had to accept it. Just like he’d done with mine.
No one could ever accuse him of not trying to fit into my universe.
I felt like I lost some tension in my shoulders with this last beer.
Alfie glanced over at me again, and I managed to return his smile this time. Then he excused himself and started making his way toward me.
My smile widened automatically, and it hit me how badly I wanted some alone time with him. Perhaps we could find a quiet corner or step outside for a moment. He deserved to hear how fucking amazing he’d been onstage, which I’d robbed myself of embracing completely with my mental gymnastics.
He walked right up to me and set an empty bottle on the table, and I couldn’t help but slip a hand to his side. We leaned closer at the same time, and once I realized he was going to say something, I kept my mouth shut.
“Wanna sneak out for a smoke?” he asked.
I nodded right away. That was precisely what I wanted.
I followed him through the crowd, probably staying much too close to him, but he didn’t complain. Or he didn’t notice. Either way, I could blame all the criminals we were surrounded by.
The second we stepped outside, I took a deep breath and was so certain I’d feel relief from the fresh air. Instead, it was somewhere around eighty degrees, and Center City smelled like a dumpster.
“Urgh—I was hoping for a chill to cool me off,” Alfie said.
I rubbed my ears quickly, not used to the silence.
The alcohol had affected me more than I’d originally thought, and I wanted to lean against something, so I waited until a couple cars had passed before I crossed the road.
“You found parking here?” he asked incredulously.
“It shocked me too,” I replied. I unlocked my car and opened the passenger’s side door to grab my cigarettes from the glove compartment. “Can we just make a deal right away that the children never see us smoke?”