Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 143382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
“I know something about this,” I said carefully. “Lucia, our chef at SC, used to be like that. I wasn’t there when it happened, but I’ve heard she and her husband Mario had some issues and it got rocky there for a while.”
“Yeah,” Eric confirmed, his tone weighty. “Rocky.”
Cripes.
When he didn’t keep talking, I did.
“Lucia and Mario made a deal. She comes in at six to do the prep work and start cooking, but she leaves at three. Period, dot. Though, as a family, she and Mario and their kids tend her herb garden.”
“Well, Savannah wasn’t into making a deal like that. I understood in the beginning it was going to take some concentration, commitment and a lot of work. But four years into it, and her restaurant was a commercial and critical success, I wasn’t feeling her being dead to the world when I got up and took off for work, and having her wake me up at two so I could fuck her before she passed out when she got home.”
Well, that was honest.
“Yeah, that doesn’t sound like a fulfilling relationship,” I muttered.
“It wasn’t.”
“She wasn’t willing to compromise?”
“When I broached it, she told me that I was trying to force a double standard on her. I didn’t have a nine to five job, why did I expect that of her? She’s right. I didn’t have a nine to five job. But I also didn’t work sixteen-hour days, not pick up calls and completely ignore texts.”
“Yikes.”
“Mm,” he hummed.
“I shouldn’t have asked that question, Turner,” I said, feeling shit I’d made him talk about this.
“Why?”
“Well…I feel like shit I made you talk about it.”
“It isn’t a secret, Jess. It got messy. Then it got ugly. Then it was done.”
I shouldn’t ask.
I really shouldn’t.
I asked.
“How did it get messy?”
Again, no hesitation from Eric.
“She wanted kids. I wanted kids too. But, when I pointed out her life couldn’t be about the restaurant if we had a family, she’d get pissed. It went without saying she thought she could have our children and they’d get as much of Mom as I got from my wife. I wasn’t going to do that to my kids. She was furious, spouting all this shit about how men felt women needed to be the caregivers. Her answer to her schedule, as well as mine, was for us to get a live-in nanny. It’s the way of the world to need daycare or help at home with two working parents, but I didn’t want some person who wasn’t blood essentially raising our kids. I also didn’t feel like doing it on my own when I was married to their mother.”
“I can see that.”
“Yeah. The writing was on the wall. I asked for a divorce. She refused. I moved out and filed for divorce. Honest to fuck, she was shocked. Like she didn’t understand we had integral problems with our marriage.”
This was such deep denial, or narcissism, I couldn’t think of anything else to say but, “Whoa.”
“Yup,” he agreed. “She wanted to give it another go. She suggested counseling. I loved her, so I took her up on it. She went to two meetings, missed the next three because of restaurant shit, and then it was over.”
“God, Eric, I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not. She was smart, funny, talented. When it was good, it was fantastic. When it got bad, I got out.”
“You don’t feel like you wasted six years?”
“None of us have a crystal ball, Jess. We take the hand we’re dealt and cope.”
That was the truth of it.
“I don’t regret the time I had with her,” he continued. “I loved her, so I’d regret it if I didn’t give it a shot. In the end, it didn’t work out, but it worked out the way it should.”
That was aggressively adjusted.
“I think I got about fifteen questions with that,” I noted, bracing for his to come at me.
“Right,” he said softly.
“So it’s your turn to hit me.”
“Do you want kids?”
Something lovely and warm shifted in my belly, because that was not a you’re-my-new-lil’-sis type of question.
“Honestly? The concept scares me. I didn’t have great role models. But yeah,” I shared. “I do.”
“You’ll be a good mom,” he stated.
“How do you know?”
“Maybe you forgot, just two days ago when you strutted out of a homeless camp at two in the morning on the mission of finding your brother.”
That lovely warm thing shifted again, feeling lovelier and warmer.
I attempted to ignore it (impossible!) and prompted, “Question two.”
“What were you thinking when I lost you ten minutes ago?”
Oh shit.
I said nothing.
“Jess, we had a deal. No bullshit. No evading,” he pushed.
It was gentle.
But he was pushing.
And we’d made a deal.
Fuck!
“He’d be you,” I forced out.
“Pardon?”
“Or Cap. Or Knox. Or Liam.” I referred to other members of the NI&S team. “If Jeff didn’t have his illness, he’d be like you. He’d be strong and fit and confident. And he’d do things to help people. He’d have a job that was about honor. Respect. And he can’t do that. He can’t be all he should be. So he has to live with this illness, and live knowing he can’t have that. Instead, he lives thinking he’s a burden to—”