Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
I falter, completely taken aback by the shards of raw pain slicing Maggie’s features.
“Thirteen hours. I waited for thirteen hours before the owner of the gas station finally called the cops, who carted me off to social services.”
The driver pulls the golf cart to a stop in front of our bungalow, and Maggie hops out without another word. I lean in to tip the man behind the wheel, then shove my hands in the pockets of my trousers and climb the porch with slow, heavy steps. Maggie is already inside by the time I enter the room, but I still have no idea what to say to her.
Her confession reverberates through my head. It brings a knot of sickness to my stomach, a tight squeeze to my chest, and for a moment I have to wonder how this perfect night I planned ended up in shambles.
I can’t wrap my brain around it. My own father walked out on me, but growing up with a warm, loving mother dulled the ache my dad’s desertion left in my heart. I can’t even imagine how Maggie must feel knowing she’d been abandoned on the sidewalk like a piece of trash.
“I lived in sixteen foster homes during the thirteen years I was part of the system,” she says, continuing as if we’d never been interrupted. She glances at me over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “I’ve been on my own since I was five years old, Ben, so don’t talk to me about connections and lasting relationships. In my life, there’s no such thing.”
25
Maggie
The Gulfstream jet cruises the morning sky at thirty thousand feet, heading back in the direction of New York. But I can’t decide if I’m looking forward to going home, or dreading it. Everything that happened last night still troubles me. Sonja’s harsh words, the blow-up with Ben that followed. He hadn’t tried to kiss or touch me after that, just slid into bed and went to sleep, while I lay awake half the night and thought about what I said to him.
My head tells me that relying on others is a mistake. But my heart speaks differently. My heart argues that I shouldn’t allow the past to affect my future. That sooner or later I’ll need to lower the walls I’ve raised and let someone in.
It’s funny, really. I tried to explain to Ben why I was keeping him at arm’s length, and in the process I ended up doubting my own convictions. I’ve always told myself I need to build my career before thinking about relationships and babies, but now I’m not so sure.
Am I using my goals as an excuse not to get close to someone? What about when I earn my degree and start that career? Will I finally open my heart and seek out love, or will I just find another goal to fixate on as a means of avoidance?
Those are questions I’ve never asked myself before, and I find it ironic that a cocky movie star was the one to spur this internal investigation. Celebrities are supposed to be superficial, preoccupied with material things and trivial bullshit, and although it shames me to admit it, that’s partly what attracted me to Ben in the first place. I assumed he’d get bored of me after a day or two and then be on his way. The fact that he’s still here is probably the most confusing thing of all.
Leaning back in my chair, I reach up to rub my temples, excruciatingly aware of Ben’s presence.
Sitting there in a black long-sleeved shirt and black jeans, with morning stubble dotting his chin and dark hair falling onto his forehead, he looks sexy and dangerous. Which only reminds me of how attracted I am to him. But he hasn’t said a word since we boarded the jet, and the silence between us has dragged on for so long I have no clue how to make it go away.
I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t know how I feel about him, and I’m not good with uncertainties.
“Gretchen was the other woman.”
My head jerks up. “What?”
“Remember I said my father ran off with another woman? Well, it was Gretchen Goodrich.”
I have no idea how to respond to that. So, as usual, I take the easy route. “Oh.”
Ben shifts in his seat, crosses one leg over the other and inhales deeply. He looks as troubled as I feel, and I resist the urge to lean over and kiss his troubles away. That would probably be inappropriate, anyway, considering the bomb he just dropped.
“My father was always looking for a get-rich scheme, according to my mom. And after she got pregnant, he searched for any reason to get away from her,” Ben says flatly. “Spending the rest of his life in Cobb Valley, stuck with a wife and a kid, didn’t appeal to him. So he made excuses to leave—phony business trips, visits to non-existent relatives. Apparently he met Gretchen during a trip to Vegas. She was nineteen at the time, vacationing with her family.”