Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
Cannon smiles wistfully. “Every day I watched her slip closer to death, I grieved. But I also was hopeful it would all be over for her soon. Because I was grieving her death long before she went, I was already well into the process. I imagine the shock of losing Adam so suddenly was incredibly painful to deal with all at once.”
“Yes,” I say, thinking of those who are left behind. Cannon’s story of how he lost a loved one through a slow death versus how I lost someone so quickly is a pointed reminder there’s no recipe on how to deal with any of it. “I want to ask a favor, and feel free to say no… but I formed a support group for the family members of the victims. We’re really connected via phone and social media because we’re scattered all over, but we have a monthly Zoom call to check in on one another. I’d love to have you talk at one of our meetings… about your experiences with grief. You’ve survived it, but I know some who are really struggling.”
“I’d be glad to,” he says easily and then stands from his chair. “And I hate to cut this any shorter, but I have a hockey team to run through a practice.”
I stand and walk with him to the door. “We should do this periodically. I want to make sure we keep you happy. I have a feeling you’re going to lead us to great things.”
“I can say the same about you,” he says, sticking out his hand.
We shake, and then he leaves after I make him promise us a win in tomorrow’s game. He winks, because we both know that’s not a promise he can really uphold on his own.
After Cannon’s departure, I settle back at my desk and immerse myself in work. It’s not hard to do. Like I told the coach, the escapism I find in work prevents me suffering the emotions I’d just as soon not feel.
The memory of Drake’s anger at finding me in his home in the early-morning hours flips my stomach unpleasantly. He made it right by apologizing and explaining, but the truth is, what happened today is the exact reason I drown myself in work. It’s to avoid complicated entanglements.
And things with Drake seem messy now. The fact that he hurt my feelings means it’s super messy.
I sigh and try to focus on reading emails so I can move them to their appropriate folders. Periodically, I forward one on for someone else to handle.
But Drake keeps popping into my mind.
I glance at my watch, noting I have another meeting in ten minutes. After that, I’m off to more Norcross meetings across the river.
Knowing that I’m not going to stop thinking about the complications of Drake McGinn and whether I should stay submerged within it, I resolve to put one matter to rest.
I grab my phone and flip to my texts. I reread the one Drake sent me at six fifteen a.m. and to which I have not yet responded. You could have at least woken me up to say goodbye. I would have waited with you for your driver.
Goddamn him. Why does he have to act sweet and caring? Why does he have to act like this could be more than sex?
It stresses me out so much because when it all boils down, I am more likely to truly fall for him than he is for me. Every time he does something contrary to our original agreement, it makes me feel like I’m walking on very thin ice over a dark lake of uncertainty.
I’ve been ignoring the text hoping the longer I did, the less I’d be inclined to respond.
Yet I can’t stop thinking about it.
With a growl of irritation—aimed at myself—I type back a quick, innocuous text. Sorry. Didn’t want to disturb you.
There. I’ve responded. I’m not being rude anymore, and he’s getting ready to start practice. He won’t see it for—
A reply text chimes from Drake. Little liar.
I’m stunned at how fast he came at me, calling me on the carpet. It’s not that I didn’t want to disturb him, it’s that I didn’t know what to say.
My phone chimes again. But that’s okay, I’ll give you a pass since I was a jackass.
You apologized for that, I text back, and I’m frustrated that I’m falling prey to his charm.
The little three dots blink, and I await his response.
Almost breathlessly.
Damn you, Brienne.
I was wondering… if Kiera is feeling better tomorrow… do you mind if I come over after the game?
This is it. If I want to end it, now is the time. I have good reason because I’m starting to have deeper feelings, and he has the ability to really hurt me.
But damn it. I don’t want to end it. I like him, and I like the time we spend together.