Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Jesus, Jo …” Dad runs a hand through his hair before trying to wring out his clothes. “Watch her,” he says to Colten. “I have to go get my boat and take it to the loading dock. Bring her home, please.”
Colten nods while trudging to the end of the dock next to me.
“What are you doing here?”
He scrubs his hands over his face, letting them flop to his sides, tugging his shoulders down a couple inches. “Why did you do that?” He ignores my question. There’s a world of anguish in his words.
Why did I try to kill myself?
“I told you. I wanted in the water.”
“You can’t swim.”
“I can swim.”
“You use a walker. I doubt you can swim.”
“I’ll have you know I don’t use a walker anymore. And I most certainly can swim.”
“I’m tired of pulling your lifeless body out of the water.”
I wince, and instantaneous regret covers his face. Resting my hands on the side of the dock, I hang my head. “You shouldn’t have saved me the first time,” I whisper. “And I wasn’t drowning this time, but even if I were …”
“I should have let you drown? Let you die?”
I nod.
“That’s …” He turns his back to me, stabbing his fingers into his hair. “That’s fantastic, Josie. So fucking fantastic! I save you, but you don’t want that. I try to marry you, but that wasn’t right either. I find you, but now I’m not supposed to want you.” He turns back to me, letting his hands slide to the back of his neck. “Whatever I did to you eighteen years ago? It’s over. Debt paid. Time served. I let you go, but I didn’t fucking let you believe I died. I didn’t let you mourn me for months. And I sure as hell didn’t hide from you. Just say it. You were never coming back to me.”
I shake my head, tears in my eyes. “I was,” I whisper.
“NO!”
I jump.
Colten’s shaking. Hands fisted. Jaw clenched. “I don’t believe you. I don’t trust you. And I don’t feel your love anymore.”
I visibly jerk my head, his words kicking my chest, cracking ribs, and bruising my heart. “Colten …” I blink, letting go of my tears.
“You keep pushing and pushing and pushing … just … pushing me away. And I’m exhausted. I feel like a fool for coming back.” He laughs a little, shaking his head. “I did this when we were young. I was the boomerang that always came back to you when you held out your hand. I willingly, anxiously came back every single time because I knew you always wanted me. I knew the game. The hoops. The secret. It was simply us.
“But I don’t see us anymore. I don’t feel your open arms. I no longer know the game. All I feel is unrequited love. The darkest fucking hole. And I’m so very sorry that you’ve had these terrible things happen to you. But if you can’t let it be me who helps you through this, then I’m done. I’m done waiting. I’m done hoping. I’m just … done.”
Curling my lower lip between my teeth to keep it from quivering, I swallow as many of these suffocating emotions as I can. Colten blurs on the other side of my tears.
He scoops me up, his motions almost robotic. And he carries me to his vehicle. No words are exchanged. He doesn’t even look me in the eye. Nothing between us has ever felt this final. When we get to my parents’ house, he disappears inside the house, leaving me without anything to assist me to walk into the house. My dad’s truck is still gone. He must have returned the boat to the marina. And Mom is grocery shopping.
I guess Colten could have left me on the dock. Still, this feels like a silent, although gigantic, fuck you.
When nobody comes to get me or bring me my cane, I open the door and find my wobbly legs. Taking a deep breath, I move one foot forward. My hands fly out to the side, but there’s nothing to grip. Still, I’m still on my feet.
Another step.
And another step.
My legs tremble. Unsteady. Unsure.
I use the rail to climb the four steps to the front door. Three more jelly-legged steps to the door. Grabbing the handle, I press my other hand flat to the door and catch my breath. Sweat beads along my brow. When I open the door, I don’t hear anything. I follow the wall, using it to steady myself to the stairs.
It’s a mountain. My Everest.
One.
Two.
Three.
By the seventh stair, I ease to my knees, resting my forearms two steps above the one at my knees—head bowed, breathing labored. After a few seconds, I lift my head and climb to my feet again.
Eight. Nine.
Ten.
Eleven.
Oh dear god … I’m dying.