Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Pinching my lips, the mouse chases the cat to the porch and into the house.
“What did you do?” Maren eyes me while I shoulder my way through the kitchen.
I brush her off with a quick headshake.
As I start up the stairs, a scarecrow grabs me. I’m pretty sure it’s Evette. She points to the front door.
“Thanks,” I mumble, changing directions.
A few late arrivals make their way up the drive, illuminated with LED pumpkins. My cat is walking down the sidewalk.
I chase after her. “We’re two miles from the house. It’s cold. Are you really walking all the way in that getup?”
“I know I don’t pack out of fires with a hundred and fifty pounds on my back, but I’m capable of walking two miles in fifty-degree weather.”
“Can we talk?” I keep several steps behind her.
She whips around. “I don’t know, Fitz. Can we talk?”
I hold up my hands. “Is this just about what I asked you? How did we go from what happened in the shed earlier today to this?”
“Exactly!” She throws her arms in the air and nearly takes out my eye with her whip. “How can we have that kind of sex, that kind of passion, and hours later, you ask me that question? The tattoos. The surprise visit. The trip after I was assaulted. The invitation to come for this party.” She shakes her head. “How can all that lead to you worrying that I might want to be with you? Really be with you.”
My lips part to respond, and she holds up a hand.
“Before you say one word, I need you to know that I’m not saying I’m planning to move back here immediately. I do, in fact, have career goals. I do want to travel and make money to buy a house. I’m twenty-six and in no hurry to settle down into a life of marriage and family. However, it would be really fucking nice if the guy I love would at least pretend to want to be with me.” She shoves my chest.
“Goddammit! I do want to be with you. And I want my awful fucking past to disappear from my mind forever. I want a different life with a different set of circumstances. But I don’t want to pretend with you.” I rake my fingers through my hair and lace them behind my neck. “I don’t know what kind of cruel god would bring you into my life. Even if I deserve to see what I can never truly have, even if I deserve to suffer, you don’t deserve anything short of . . .” Shaking my head repeatedly, I tear at my stupid costume until I manage to escape its confines. “Everything.” My shoulders curl inward, ripped costume in one hand, my other hand balled into a fist. “You deserve everything, Jaymes. You deserve everything beautiful in this world. You deserve everything I want to give you but can’t.”
She wipes tears from her painted face, smearing it everywhere. “You’re right. I deserve everything,” she seethes. “So do the right fucking thing, and give it to me.”
Stepping closer, she bravely lifts her chin despite her trembling lips. “It was a car accident. It was tragic, but so many things are tragic. I don’t understand. You’re too strong. It doesn’t make sense. My dad suffered a stroke. That’s tragic. My mom died of cancer. Tragic. Life is tragic.” She wipes more tears. “Give me everything.” Her hand covers her mouth, and she swallows hard, swallows her sob, swallows the pain.
I’m her pain.
“Don’t love me like a martyr,” she whispers thickly, strangled with emotion. “Love me like a hero. Jump without looking back.” Her eyes pinch shut, releasing more tears while she inhales shakily. “Fight for me. Save us.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
JAYMES
Fitz has no idea how much I need him right now. I have an uncle I never knew about. A whole life I never knew existed. Lies that don’t make sense. The void I’ve felt for years, growing up without a father figure. So I desperately need something true in my life. Something—someone—I can call my safe place in this confusing world.
He’s already taken my heart; now I need him to do right by it.
“Let’s go home,” he murmurs, finding my hand and leading me back to the truck.
My heart’s hemorrhaging. Is this it? Are we at an impasse?
“I’m going to shower,” he says as we enter the dark house.
“Me too.” I follow him up the stairs.
He heads straight into his bathroom and shuts the door with no invitation to join him. It feels like the beginning of the end.
After my shower, I dry my hair and stare at my reflection in the mirror. Will I regret this? Why can’t I be like Maren and Will and respect Fitz’s need not to talk about his painful past?