Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
It breaks my heart into ragged pieces. “You don’t look okay though,” I say gently.
He drags a hand over his stubble, shaking his head, his green eyes brimming with frustration. He’s a man who’s mad at himself. “I’ve been better,” he says.
He’s deadpan as he delivers the understatement of the century, but it still shreds me. This is when he should feel the best he’s ever felt. Instead, everything has turned upside down thanks to my own bad decisions. I knew it was best not to let him—or anyone—see the truth of my feelings. The depth of them.
Romance has never worked out for me. Whenever you let someone see who you really are, they can walk all over you. Wilder might not be like my father or my ex, but look where my first big chance at love landed me—a fake romance that went tits up.
What happened at the gazebo an hour ago is proof that I’m terrible at choosing.
Not that Wilder is a bad choice.
I’m the bad choice.
Me.
I’m the problem.
“Wilder?” I ask carefully. Stripping the emotions from my voice ought to be easy. I’ve done it plenty of times before. But it’s hard now because everything I felt for him was so real.
But it was just a honeymoon, only a holiday romance.
“Yes?” he asks, his voice flat.
“We should…” It’s hard to say the next words. It’s like a door shuts on the sentence as it’s forming—we should stop.
I started this, and I need to finish it. I made the mistake, and I need to unmake it. I did a stupid, foolish thing for a stupid, foolish reason. I wanted to prove to my ex that I was over him. What a petty, unimportant reason.
In my quest to prove to Brady that he couldn’t hurt me, I hurt Wilder, Mac, Bibi, my sister’s groom, many others, and…myself.
Brady went and ruined everything because that’s who he is. And I am who I am—a woman who doesn’t have a clue how to have a healthy relationship.
I force myself to look at Wilder. His eyes are filled with regret, and I know what he came here to do. I don’t want to be hurt all over again, so I have to beat him to the punch.
“Fable, do you—”
I cut him off with, “Maybe we should cool things.”
He furrows his brow, but the confusion lasts only a second then he breathes out a noticeable sigh of relief. In his agenda item tone, he says coolly, “That would be for the best.”
Of course he agrees. He came here to break up with me. And I can’t let him think I’m truly hurt. “It was always supposed to wind up like this, anyway,” I say, forcing a cheery tone. We’re just moving up the deadline on what we’d always planned to do.
He nods tightly, like he understands me completely. “Right. Yes. It was. This is just…this is…I’m sorry.” He scratches his head. “I’ve been saying that a lot today. I thought I had a handle on things. I thought I had everything together.” He sighs, seeming resigned to this fate. “I was wrong.”
A tsunami of emotions slams into me, threatening to yank me under. But I won’t let the feelings drown me. I am the dam that holds them back. Chin up, I say, “We had a plan. We should stick to it. Tomorrow we can stand at the wedding as best man and maid of honor, and it’ll be fine.”
Except that little issue of Brady.
One thing I’ve learned from our faux romance is that I can’t fake my way through problems. Jerks are a part of life, and I have to face them head-on. I have to face my own hurt, my own shame, and my own feelings about how I should be treated.
I have to stop hiding.
This is the beginning of me really trying to change.
And that should start by me doing what I came to Evergreen Falls to do—stand up for my sister—not protect myself. “I really should go check on Charlotte,” I say, pointing to the door, but then my gaze strays to the bed. What happens later when we both want to sleep?
My gut churns with a whole new worry.
Will we do the bed/couch dance again? But like always, Wilder reads me instantly. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” he says, like it’s an order.
I don’t have any fight left in me. It will be beyond awkward to have him sleeping on the couch ten feet away, but sometimes life is awkward and you have to live with the discomfort. “Sure, that’s fine. I’ll get you a blanket.”
I get up to grab one, but he’s faster. Then he says, “I’ll be in the living room on that couch.”
Oh.
Looks like I got that wrong too.
He grabs some clothes and toiletries, then leaves. The second the door shuts, I am not fine at all. I cry giant, messy, sloppy tears. But they’re silent. Because I don’t want anyone to hear me.