Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
A loud knock sounds at the door, and I jump. My eyes open wide, and there’s already a light shimmering of tears. I blink hard once, twice, three times, willing them to stay away, but the effort is useless. A golf-ball-sized lump is wedged in the back of my throat. I’ve waited long enough.
I make my way toward the door just as another knock sounds. Squaring my shoulders, I suck in a deep breath and slowly exhale as I open the door.
I freeze, seeing Ryder standing before me. It’s been two years. Two very long, heartbreaking, painful years. Not just for me, but for him. He’s grown a beard since I’ve seen him last. Not a mountain-man beard, just a nice, trimmed beard, and it makes him even sexier. Older, but I guess two years will do that to you. He’s wearing a black button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the tight fit across his chest tells me that those two years have been good to him.
“Ryder.” My voice cracks, and just as I suspected, all hope of hiding my emotions is washed away.
“Jordyn.” His low, deep voice greets my ears.
“C-Come in.” I ease back, giving him space to enter my room. He steps inside, his elbow rubbing against my chest as he does. Tingles race down my spine, but I ignore them. Just like I ignore the rapid beat of my heart telling me we’re finally home. This isn’t home. He isn’t home, no matter how badly I want him to be.
I take my time closing the door. Slowly, I turn to face him, but it’s his back that I see. He’s standing in the middle of my hotel room with his head bent and his shoulders stiff. I can’t tell if his eyes are closed, or if he’s staring at the patterns on the carpet. Either way, he’s not looking at me.
I stand frozen, waiting to see what he’ll do next. I know he’s angry, and he has every right to be, but I’m angry too. Just not at him. Whatever he does, however he reacts, I’m going to take his wrath, and his pain, because it’s my family who caused it.
Finally, he turns and his eyes find mine. I stand as still as a statue, only the rapid rise and fall of each labored breath causing my body to move and show signs of life. I feel as though I’m dead inside. If not for that simple movement, I’d believe I was.
“Jordyn,” he croaks. The emotion in his voice slays me. I close my eyes, fighting back the pain and the tears, and that’s when I feel it. Feel him. And his arms wrap around me. He holds me in his grip, as if he’s afraid this might be the last time.
He’d be right.
This is risky, coming home early in hopes of this very scenario, but I’ll take whatever punishment I’m given, as long as it doesn’t touch him or his family.
I tell myself to hold strong. To not hug him back, but my arms have a mind of their own as they wrap around him. My hold is much weaker than his, but the sentiment is there. We both exhale as our bodies melt into one another, and I feel as though this is my first real breath in two years.
I don’t know how long we stand like this. Could be seconds, could be hours, but when he pulls away, I want to scream for him to never let go.
Ryder steps back, pulls a chair out from the small dining table in the room, and takes a seat. “Start talking, Jordyn.” His raspy voice a tell of his emotions.
I nod and move to sit on the edge of the bed, putting some distance between us. “I’ve thought about this day, this moment, a thousand times. If I’m being honest, I wasn’t sure it would ever happen.” He doesn’t respond, so I keep going. “I’m sorry, Ryder. From the bottom of my heart and the depths of my soul, I’m sorry for leaving the way that I did.”
“Why did you?” His voice is gravelly.
“My mother.”
He tilts his head to the side, and his brow is furrowed. “Your mother? Come on, Jordyn, you can do better than that. I’ve been to see your parents since you’ve been gone. She’s been nothing but nice to me, welcoming me into their home.” He stands. “If you’re not going to be straight with me, then I’m out. You’ve wasted enough of my time the last two years, don’t you think?” Anger eclipses his tone, but the look on his face tells me that the words he’s saying hurt him as much as they hurt me. He’s standing, but he makes no move toward the door. He doesn’t want to leave, and I don’t want him to either. Not yet.