Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, touching soft fingertips to his face.
“Don’t be,” he says in a rough voice. “This is my fault. All of it. I’m the one who should be sorry. I was trying to be better, to handle this the right way for you and me and Sprout, but…” He shifts his tortured gaze my way. “I can’t. I’m not strong enough. And I’m…” He swallows, his throat working. “Your mother was right to look at me the way she did yesterday. Nothing good will come of this. Of you and me. That’s why there can’t be a you and me.”
Tears spring into my eyes. “No, you don’t get to make that decision, not without me. What about that kiss, Seven? Are you just going to ignore how right that felt? How perfect?” I fight to keep my voice from wobbling as I add, “Kisses like that don’t happen every day.”
He sits back on his heels with his head bowed and his hands fisted in his lap. He looks like a penitent in front of some primal god, one who demands his worshippers show up covered in mud and pain.
This is hurting him, too. He’s hurting us both so much, and for what?
Why?
This is obviously about more than the age gap. But before I can try to get through to him again, another uprooted tree slides down the embankment. The rain is slowing, and the tree isn’t moving fast enough to do either of us any damage, but it’s enough to put the moment behind us as Seven grabs our packs, and I haul myself to my feet, hobbling after him toward a pond not far away.
By the time we’ve cleaned the mud off our clothes as best we can with leaves and silty water, Seven’s walls are up again. Gone is the man who looked at me like it was killing him not to hold me. In his place is the man people meet at the bar when he’s standing in for Bettie’s usual bouncer on summer concert nights.
He looks hard, unreachable, even a little dangerous…
But I’m not scared. I never have been, and I never will be. Seven isn’t a danger to good people.
At least, not to anyone but himself.
Is that the real reason he’s fought this thing between us tooth and nail? Because he doesn’t think he’s good enough for me? Because he thinks my mother was right to look at him like a wad of gum stuck to her shoe?
If so, that’s…insane.
And heartbreaking.
Because this man silently shrugging both our packs onto his back and shifting the straps until he’s managed to take on the load of two people without a second of hesitation, is so much better than “good enough.” He’s a devoted father who would do anything for his baby girl. He’s a son who’s always there for his mother, and a brother who drops anything to help when Nolan’s old Mustang is on the fritz or Greer needs an extra pair of hands to finish a roof installation on schedule.
He’s the hardest worker I know, driven as hell, and excels at anything he puts his mind to. He’s also the kind of friend who brings chicken soup and ginger ale when you’re sick, supports your dreams like they’re his own, and can’t rest until he knows the people he cares about are safe in their beds after a night on the town.
I live for his “Home safe yet, Trouble?” texts.
Maybe it’s crazy, but those four little words make me feel more loved than soliloquies from men I’ve dated before.
Seven is twice the man they were and so much better than “good enough,” but now isn’t the time to try to convince him of that. Now is the time to get moving before we lose anymore daylight.
“I can carry my pack,” I say, doing my best to hide the hitch in my step as we follow the curve of the pond around to an easier route up to the top of the ridge.
“No, you can’t,” he says, his words as distant as his expression. “You’re favoring your hip.”
“It’s just bruised, not broken or sprained. I just need to walk it off. I can—”
“No,” he cuts in again without so much as a glance my way. “If you add weight to it, you could make it worse, and you unable to walk is the last thing I need. Two packs, I can handle. I can’t carry you and our supplies, and there’s nothing at the camp. I’m planning to stock some canned goods for the winter, but I was waiting until the kitchen renovation was done in the cabin. There might be a bag of marshmallows and chocolate from the last time Sprout and I made s’mores, but that’s it, and we can’t survive on that for three days.”