Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
The latter discharged, he went about the morning plant chores, numbly ticking things off on Greta’s spreadsheet.
Then he stood in the middle of the living room with no idea whatsoever of what to do.
He still hadn’t cried. He felt stuck in the middle of the moment before crying, and he resented Ash for that too.
He replayed their conversation in his head. It had been habit that had made him capitulate quickly—after all, when someone told you it was over, it wasn’t like you could argue with them, right? You couldn’t convince someone to be with you if they didn’t want you. But…Ash had given no indication that was coming. He’d just…
Anger rushed in to fill the empty space Ash had left in him.
“What the hell just happened?” he said. “What the HELL! Did he just…how can he…and did I really…? Again? What the fuck!” Truman rarely said fuck, but he said it now. Then he shouted it.
A rare fury clawed its way out of him like he was an eggshell.
How dare Ashleigh fucking Sundahl treat him like he was appreciated, admired, enjoyed, and then throw him away like garbage? How dare he make Truman get attached, start to picture the future with Ash in it, have some of the best sex of his life, and then tell him they should just quit?
And how the hell had he just let it happen?
Now Truman was supposed to, what? Stay in Owl Island for the next two weeks, avoiding Ash, avoiding Julia—hell, avoiding everyone, since apparently the whole island knew about them?
“How did this happen to me again?” Truman shouted at the pitcher plants. “How the fuck did Ash abandon me just when he was starting to make me fall in love with him? Asshole!”
Then his words caught up with him, and he collapsed on the couch.
“God damn it, Truman.”
There was nothing for it now. He’d have to leave. He’d have to go back to New Orleans. Maybe he couldn’t stay at his house because Greta was there, but surely he could stay with someone.
At the holidays? People have plans, families, lives. Unlike you, who apparently just float around the globe, falling in love with assholes and then getting tossed away by them. Yeah, go spend Christmas in some shitty Airbnb in Metairie. Better yet, just go stay with Mom and Dad. They’ll be thrilled to see you.
Truman imagined the dreary trips to the mall to pick out Christmas gifts for his sisters, while his mother kept up a constant chatter about everyone he’d gone to school with as far back as elementary and their parents, siblings, and acquaintances.
Then Truman imagined driving a spike through his heart.
He couldn’t go home. No. No way. No way was he letting this happen to him again. And wasn’t letting the operative word? In every other breakup, he’d acted just the same. He’d never demanded that people explain themselves. Never asked Troy why it wasn’t working, never insisted Jason tell him what would make him happy, and never fought for the relationships that were being wrenched out from underneath him.
But no more. He was not letting Ash leave him without a real conversation. And he was certainly not letting himself off the hook without fighting for Ash.
“Nope,” he said aloud. “Nope, nope, nope. No sir.”
Then Truman pulled on his outerwear, stomped into his boots, and stalked to Thorn.
“Absolutely not, Ash Sundahl!”
It would’ve been a strong opening gambit had it been Ash standing behind the counter of Thorn. But it was Rayanne.
“Oh,” Truman said intelligently.
“Ash isn’t feeling well today,” Rayanne said. At least she said that with her voice. But with her face and her hands, she was very clearly saying (and pointing) that Ash was upstairs in his apartment and that he was sad.
But out loud, she only said, “Stubbs, a ginger cat, served as mayor in Talkeetna, Alaska, for twenty years,” and pointed upstairs again. Then she made a heart shape with her fingers and broke it.
“No, he broke my heart!” Truman shouted.
Rayanne put her hand to her heart and shooed him away.
Truman slammed out of Thorn and knocked on the door to Ash’s apartment. No one answered. Truman wasn’t even sure if he could hear the outside door from up there.
“God dammit!”
He went back into Thorn, the cheery doorbell tinkling his presence yet again.
Rayanne just pointed behind the register, and Truman headed for the stairway to Ash’s apartment.
This time, he didn’t knock. He yelled.
“Ash, we need to talk!”
It took a minute, but Ash finally opened the door.
His eyelids were puffy, his skin blotchy, and his hair even more chaotic than usual.
Truman’s anger deflated.
“Can I come in?”
Ash left the door open and drifted over to sit in the corner of the couch. When he settled, Bruce trotted into the room and jumped up to curl on Ash’s feet.