Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
I swallowed hard, and instead of answering her question, I told her a story. “When Mariah was about five, I made her a promise. She asked me if I was ever going to get married again and leave her behind, and I said no. Apparently, someone at school whose parents were divorced had been talking about their dad getting remarried and moving away to have a new family—it scared her.”
“Poor thing.”
“Anyway, I promised her that was never going to happen to us. That’s when she told me she likes that I wear my wedding ring. I think it reassures her.”
“Of course.”
“I thought she’d forgotten all about that conversation we had back then, but last year—this was when I asked you for a recommendation for a therapist—my mom was cleaning her room and found this letter she’d written to me but never showed me.”
Cheyenne tilted her head back and met my eyes. “What was in it?”
“A lot of things—questions about Trisha, about her death, wondering if she was to blame, wondering if somehow there had been a mistake and her mom wasn’t really gone.” I shook my head, my heart breaking all over again. “Again, she expressed her fear that she was going to lose me—either to an accident or another family. She described this nightmare that she has often, in which she wakes up one morning and I’m just gone. She’s alone in the house, and she realizes that everything I’ve said has been a lie—I did leave her.”
“Oh, Cole.” Her eyes grew shiny. “I’m so sorry. Did the therapist help?”
“Yes. Eventually, the therapist got Mariah talking about her fears, even about the letters she wrote but never sent. Apparently it’s healthy and normal, functioning sort of like a diary. A safe place to express her feelings.”
“That makes sense. Did she ever talk to you about what was in the letters?”
“No. And I didn’t want to confront her with what I knew because it felt wrong—like a violation of her privacy. But it also tore me up inside. I want her to know she’ll never lose me.” My chest grew tight. “When I brought her home from the hospital, I set my feelings aside and made a promise to her and to myself that I’d give her all I had. I’d be the best father I could. I’d go above and beyond to protect her, even if it continued to mean setting my feelings aside.”
Cheyenne smiled sadly. “You can’t get involved in anything that would hurt or scare your child. I understand.”
Knowing I had to let her go, I kissed her forehead and released her. “You’re one in a million, Cheyenne. And you deserve the guy who can put you first, give you all the nice things, and never let you down.”
She sniffed. “Ha. Does that guy exist?”
“Yes. And someday I will probably kick myself for not saying it’s me.” I cradled her face in my hands. “But I’ll always be here for you.”
She looked away, but not before a tear slipped down her cheek. “Thanks.”
I dropped my arms, feeling like the biggest dick on the planet. How had I fucked this up? A few minutes ago, we’d been laughing.
“You don’t have to stay,” she said, adjusting her dress and then her hair. “I can finish up on my own.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. I should probably just get it done without any distractions.”
“I understand. I’ll let myself out.”
“Okay, thanks.” She offered me a half-smile and turned toward the sink, and it took every ounce of strength I had not to wrap my arms around her again.
I was walking away from her when she called out to me.
“Cole, wait.”
I turned. “Yeah?”
“Your ring. You forgot it.” She came toward me, holding my wedding band in soapy fingers.
“Oh.” Shocked, I took it from her and slipped it on. “Thanks.”
Her smile was forced. “No problem. ‘Night.” She faced the sink again.
I walked out of the kitchen, wishing I could flip the dining room table on my way to the front door.
Ten minutes later, I got into bed with the scent of her still on my hands and in my head. Don’t do it, I scolded, as my fingers stole beneath the waistband of my boxer briefs. She deserves more than starring in your adolescent fantasies, I thought, gripping my swollen cock. She deserves someone who can give her what she wants, just like you said, I told myself, slipping my flesh through my palm. The more you think about her like this, the more you want her like that. And you can’t have her, I repeated silently as I worked myself into a frenzy, fucking my fist like I wished I could fuck her.
You can’t have her.
You can’t have her.
You can’t have her.
I exploded in a hot rush of fury and desperation and desire, agonizing that there was no way to be two men at once, to keep my promises and have her to myself.