Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
-Millie
What the fuck? What’s wrong? Jesus, did something happen to her last night after she left the bar? Is she hurt? An image of my girl hurt, in a hospital bed, flashes through my mind, and I’m now stone-cold fucking sober.
I head off toward Millie’s apartment. I’ve never been inside, but I’ve been sure to know everything there is to know about my wild rose over the past eight years.
I’ve simply done it from a distance.
Taking the stairs up to her apartment two at a time, I pound on her door with the back of my fist.
There’s no movement inside as I pace back and forth outside of the door, so I bang again.
Where is she? Shit, I could call the hospital. I can’t call her brothers; they wouldn’t tell me. I’m lucky they didn’t kill me eight years ago. They would have, if Millie had confided in them.
Finally, I hear the deadbolt turn, and Millie opens the door, looking sleep rumpled, with messy hair and a crease down her cheek from her pillowcase. She’s wearing a silky pink robe held closed by just a small silky belt.
I’ve never wanted anyone as badly as I want this woman.
“There is not enough coffee or fucks for this.” She scowls and scratches her head. “What the fuck are you doing here? Wait, is this a nightmare?”
The door next door opens, and a gray-haired woman pokes her head out, scowling at me.
“Hi, Hazel,” Millie says with a forced smile. “Everything is fine here.”
Hazel gives me the stink eye before she closes her door.
“Well?” Millie demands. “What do you want?”
“Can I come in?” Every nerve ending is on high alert. Do I want to go into Millie’s place, where I’ll be consumed by her smell, her essence? No. Not really. It’ll be just another slash to my heart.
But I have to talk her into helping me. For the sake of my sisters, I don’t have a choice.
“That would be a fuck no.” She moves to close the door, but I prop my hand on it, stopping her.
“Please. I just need ten minutes, and then you can kick me out on my ass.”
She rolls her eyes and steps away from the door, walking barefoot through her living room, wrapped only in that robe sent from heaven.
But I stop just inside the closed door and scowl.
The living room is full of moving boxes. There’s no furniture in here at all, just the boxes marked Kitchen and Linens and Lingerie.
I linger on the lingerie box for a second and then focus on the woman in the kitchen.
“Where the hell are you moving?” I demand, watching as Millie pops a coffee pod into her coffee maker and presses a button. My voice isn’t raised, but even I can hear the steel in it.
“Nunya,” she says with a yawn and pulls some cream out of the fridge, giving it a little shake.
Nope. Not acceptable.
I march through the small living space until I’m on the other side of the island from her and lean on my hands.
“Where. Are. You. Going?”
She keeps that bland look on her beautiful face, but I see her pulse pick up in her neck as she turns, and her eyes find mine.
“Holden—”
“Goddamn it, Millie, answer the question.”
“Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but I’m moving into Polly’s old place a few blocks away. Jesus, I’m not going anywhere. Calm yourself.” Her coffee finishes brewing, and she turns to pour some cream into it, takes a sip, and closes her eyes. “Someone should be here in about thirty minutes to pick up my bed. Sold it.”
“You sold your bed?”
“Hmm.” She takes another sip. “I only want to move boxes. Now that we’ve had this charming early-morning conversation, would you please explain to me what you’re doing here, waking me up at this ungodly hour on my day off?”
“I thought someone was coming to get the bed in a half hour?”
“Holden.”
I’ve reached the end of her patience, so I hold my hands up in surrender.
“Okay.” I blow out a breath. Jesus, I didn’t practice what I was going to say. My stomach is suddenly in my throat, and every word I know has vanished from my brain.
“Whoa, are you in trouble?” Her voice has softened, and she’s watching me warily, and I feel like an absolute asshole.
I don’t deserve her. I don’t deserve for her to agree to help me. I don’t deserve even one word of kindness from her after the shit I did to her.
But I have to ask her.
“Kind of,” I admit and start to pace in front of the island. “Listen, I don’t know how to do this, so I’m just going to lay it all out on the line, tell you everything, and hope to God you don’t try to cut off my balls.”