Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 138522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
abbie
Lies.
They cut like knives. They create wounds that don’t just bleed, they fester. I’ve been cut. I’m still feeling the pain and the sense of betrayal never to become trust. But Gabe is changing this, changing me. Someone is attacking me and my mother, and yet, I trust him. I trust him so much that when he says he’ll handle this, I believe him. That promise from him is what brings me down ten notches. It’s what gets me through my morning routine, as does him, by my side, shaving, and casting me concerned looks and well-timed smiles.
Still, I hurry through my routine, eager for answers, and dress in a lilac dress with a cinched waist. I’ve just pulled a black jacket over the top when Gabe steps out of the closet in a perfectly fitted gray suit and heads to the mirror to knot his tie. I pull on my knee-high boots and step between him and the counter. “Let me.”
“I don’t believe I’ve let anyone but my mother knot my tie.”
This pleases me, as does the possessiveness of his hands settling at my waist, under my jacket. “Now you have,” I say.
“Did you do this for Kenneth?”
I glance up at him, aware that he’s thinking of those years when I was another man’s wife. “No, I didn’t.” Because my ex and I didn’t have intimate moments like I do with you, I want to add, but I’m feeling rather vulnerable and exposed right now.
“Then how did you learn?” he asks.
I glance up at him, the knot frozen in my hand mid-pull. “One of the only memories I have of my father living with us was him putting on his tie in the morning.” I finish the knot and pat his chest. “All done.” When I would scoot away, he tightens his grip on my waist.
“How did you learn to knot a tie?”
My lashes lower and then lift. “I begged my mother to teach me to impress him.”
“Did it work?”
I shake my head. “The night I was going to show him I could do it, he didn’t come home.”
“And the next night?”
“There was no next night. He ran off with his girlfriend.” Just saying that cuts like a freshly sharpened blade.
“How did you handle that?”
“Better than you might expect because my mother didn’t. She cried so much I thought the tears might kill her.”
“Did you cry?”
“Yes. For my mother. Not for my father.”
“And for yourself when your ex cheated?”
“No. I didn’t cry for myself. I didn’t cry because of him, Gabe. No man who cheats deserves my tears. I will never cry for a man like my mother cried for my father.”
He studies me several thoughtful moments. “Nor should you.” He speaks those words almost vehemently. “No cheater is worth anyone’s tears.” He kisses my forehead. “We need to leave. You finish up. I’m going to confirm the dog walker.” He sets me aside and I can almost feel the wall slam down, not necessarily between us. More so around him but it’s different than in the past. Like there’s a door cracked and waiting on me to enter, but he isn’t ready to open it just yet. And I understand. I really do understand. No one reacts the way he just reacted unless he’s cheated or he’s been cheated on. I’m not sure if that’s guilt or pain he’s hiding from. I just know that he doesn’t believe I can handle it. Maybe he hasn’t handled it and that’s the problem. He’s wounded and he’s far from healed.
A few minutes later, with my purse in hand, I find him in the living room and he’s not talking to the dog walker. He’s standing at that window, looking out at that view he claims as his escape. The place where no one can touch him and I don’t miss the fact that he’s doing so alone but I’m not leaving him that way.
I waste no time joining him, and at the sound of my steps, he rotates to face me. I wrap my arms around him, tilting my chin up to look at him. “I promise you, I will not lie to you. I will not cheat on you. I will not judge you. I will not blame you. I will not—”
His fingers tangle in my hair and he drags my mouth to his. “A promise is nothing but words. Words aren’t enough for me. You need to know that.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Your truth, my truth, is in what we do.”
He’s right, of course. My ex made promises. Those promises were lies.
“One day you’ll trust me and I’ll trust you,” he says. “It’ll be a good day.”
The doorbell rings and he strokes my hair, a tender gesture that is somehow reserved. “That will be our ride to Reese’s office.” He releases me and heads for the door, his front door. The other door, the one in his wall, slams shut behind him.