Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Ben got a woman pregnant. Ben is going to be a dad. Ben lied to me. Ben is a cheater. Ben made me a cheater too.
I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears, but they just keep coming.
I feel sick to my stomach. Sick to the tips of my toes. I want to crack myself open and cut out every trace of Ben. I want to make him disappear from my body. I want to erase every memory of him. I wish I could stand at the sink and wash myself clean of him. I want him out of me. I want to scream. I want to tear things apart and storm out of town. I want to do…something. And I can’t.
I’m on the clock, working.
I’m the only waitress at Dale’s and there are a dozen people waiting for me to help them with their breakfast. I can’t afford to lose this job. I can’t afford to feel in this moment.
I stand and double over, another sob racking through me before I flatten my palm on the bathroom door and steady myself, breathing deep. Please, I beg whoever will listen. Please stop.
I unlatch the stall door and take a hesitant step forward. My chest quivers and aches. I press a hand to my stomach and take another step. I make it to the sink and stare at myself in the mirror, and there’s no disguising what a godforsaken mess Ben has made me. Splotchy cheeks. Red, swollen eyes. Shaky lips.
I sniff and wipe my nose. I wet a paper towel with cold water and press it against my cheeks, trying to cool them down. Nothing works. Traces of Ben’s deceit live on my face and I’ll never forgive him. I walk back out of the bathroom. Blinding, fleeting memories race through my mind: soft brown hair woven between my fingers, his sharp dimple-framed smile, water raining down on us in my trailer’s tiny shower, skin sticky with sweat, hearts beating wildly, mouths colliding.
So this is what it feels like to have your soul crushed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Raelynn
I sit at Nan’s bedside, staring out the window with a forgotten textbook open on my lap. She’s asleep beside me. It’s not one of her good days. Not one of mine either, I suppose.
I watch a bird on the branch of an oak tree outside, hopping around. Flapping its wings. Trying to take off, it looks like.
There’s a knock on the door, and I don’t turn around to see who it is. Her care team filters in and out of her room all day, and they don’t need my attention to do their job. If I’m lucky, they’ll ignore me altogether.
“I was scared I wouldn’t be able to find you.”
Ben’s voice is so beautifully soft, I almost forget he’s a villain.
I stay looking out the window until I’ve conquered the shock of his arrival. Then I turn slowly and assess his presence near the door. He looks like hell. His white shirt is wrinkled. His hair is in disarray. There’re bags under his eyes and no hint of happiness on his handsome face.
I don’t greet him. I don’t say a word, in fact.
“I went to your trailer last night and again this morning. You weren’t at Dale’s…”
I’ve been here with Nan ever since I left work yesterday. It was excruciating to walk out of that bathroom and finish serving Shelby. I know her name now. Shelby. I had to bring her breakfast and smile politely and ignore her curious stares at my splotchy cheeks. She tipped me in cash and I still have it stuffed into the front pocket of my diner dress. I haven’t taken it off. I sit here, smelling like Shelby’s breakfast from yesterday, and I wonder how I factor in with this convoluted mess Ben has dragged me into.
I called in sick for my cleaning job yesterday afternoon and again today. Same with the diner. Three missed shifts already. My stomach is already grumbling, but it’s faint compared to the roar of blood in my ears, the thump of my beating heart. I look at Ben’s disheveled appearance and try to decipher the truths on his skin. I wish it were that simple.
His sad brown eyes plead with me to speak, so I do, and my voice isn’t cutting or cruel. It’s resigned and flat, very nearly indifferent. I’m not trying to catch him in a lie or needle the truth out of him with tricks. I’m too tired for all of that.
“The woman who’s carrying your baby came into Dale’s yesterday. I met her.”
His eyes narrow as he takes in that information.
So he didn’t know.
Interesting.
“Is it your baby she’s carrying?” I persist, needing to know.
A long moment of hesitation, an eternity of seconds, then…