Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
I’m cold to the bone as soon as I yank open the heavy wooden front door and I’m breathing hard as I slam it shut again. I flee upstairs to my bedroom.
I slam that door, too, and shove rain-soaked hair out of my face as I start to yank at the collar of the stifling black dress, when I see it—on my white, virginal bedspread—a single red rose.
Just like the one I put on Mama’s casket. A crimson Heathcliff. Her favorite.
I slink out of the heavy, soaked dress so that I’m just in my silk camisole and slip and curl onto the bed, clutching the rose and fingering the delicate petals.
Who put it here?
It feels like a sign from my mother. A reminder of beauty and goodness when all I feel is pain.
There’s a knock at the door and I sit up. Did Dad actually come after me? Did he put the rose here? He’s barely tried to comfort me since she died. Hasn’t even tried to hug me. Is this his way of reaching out?
“Come in.”
But it’s not Dad who pushes open the door.
It’s Logan.
The disappointment at it not being Dad is only momentary because I immediately feel a rush of gratitude that Logan did come. Of course he noticed me leaving the funeral. Of course he came. He’s Logan.
He only proves the point when he nods towards the rose. “Looks like someone remembered the birthday girl.”
I look down at the rose in surprise. Oh my— He’s right. It’s my birthday. I’m nineteen now. On the day I buried my mother.
I double over as fresh rounds of sobs rack my body.
“Oh, hey, hey,” he says, immediately coming over and wrapping his big, warm arms around me. “Shhh, it’s going to be okay.”
But I shake my head. “No, no it’s not. That’s just something people say. But it’s a lie. Nothing’s ever going to be okay again. Not when—” I hiccup. “Not without Mom.”
He holds me tighter and I twist in his arms, burying my head in his warm chest.
And he holds me as I sob out my pain.
“Ouch,” I yelp as I shift several minutes later.
“What?” Logan pulls back, immediately alarmed.
I hold up a finger, pricked by one of the rose’s thorns, welling with bright red blood.
Logan grabs my hand and immediately brings it to his mouth, sucking on the finger. I don’t think he quite realized what he was doing, it was just an instinctual reaction.
But then, as if it hits him that he’s sitting on my bed with my finger in his mouth, suddenly his eyes darken as they lock on to mine.
And suddenly all I can think of is Mom making me swear that I’d live my life. Live the life that she couldn’t.
And all reason and sanity take a flying leap out the window.
I pull my finger from Logan’s mouth and pounce on him, wrapping my arms around his neck and trying to land my mouth on his.
But I’m not fast enough.
He shakes his head and grabs my cheeks, holding me back.
His chest heaves as he presses his forehead to mine. “I won’t take advantage of you, Daph. You’re grieving right now. You’re not in your right mind.”
Which is just fucking infuriating. Because maybe he’s a little bit right, but I still know what I want. “I want you, Logan.” It comes out pleading and breathy, but it's also one of the most honest things I’ve ever uttered in my entire life.
I’ve all but crawled in his lap and one hand moves from my face to curl around my waist as he drops his head to the crook of my neck.
“Don’t do this to me, Daph. Not right now. I can’t be another person close to you who lets you down when you need them the most.”
For a second, we just sit like that, me half on top of him and him clutching me like I’m a lifeline.
But then—and I swear I can feel his entire body shaking—he takes me by my waist and sets me off him.
The tears start up again the second I lose contact. “I’ve ruined it,” I whisper. “You’re going to leave now and I’ll never see you again.”
He pauses from where he’s standing beside the bed and runs a hand through his hair. “Your Dad wants me back in the lab right away…”
I nod and turn my face away from him. I must seem so pathetic. So sad and piteous, trying to kiss him and expecting him to feel anything back. Sad, pathetic—
But then I feel a weight on the bed behind me as the mattress dips.
“Daph, when was the last time you slept?” His voice is so gentle, it only makes it worse.
“Not since—” I hiccup when I try to breathe. “Not since the morning when I woke up and found her—”