Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
“But you are anticipating it.” His smug tone is absolutely infuriating.
“Not anymore. I just said it’s destined to disappoint. Why would I anticipate a disappointing kiss?”
“You realize now I have to wait until tomorrow. To prove you wrong.”
“If proving me wrong is more important than kissing, you’re definitely staying an enemy.”
“You are the most—”
Whatever I’m the most of, Reed doesn’t say. Instead he breaks off with a frustrated growl low in his throat—sounding a little werewolf-y, which is also good hairy. Then suddenly he’s over me, forearms braced alongside my shoulders and his hips wedged between my thighs. The feel of his stiffened length through the bulk of his snow suit steals my breath, though he’s not moving, not rubbing, not kissing me. His head lowers, but not mouth to mouth. Instead he rests his forehead against mine…or more accurately, since we’re bundled up, his knit cap against mine.
“It’s my turn to take care of you, Abbie,” he says, his voice roughened by the intensity of that declaration, his breath warming my lips. “And you told me that you’re never usually open. But you were ripped wide open today—and I won’t take advantage of you being vulnerable. I’d fucking hate myself if I did. If we kiss now and you regretted it tomorrow, we’ll be stuck in that cabin together, both of us feeling like shit for doing something we wish we could undo. So that’s what I want you to think about. Not the kiss, but whether you’re sure. You say no, that’s fine. I’ll understand. But if you’re sure tomorrow, I’ll kiss you. All right?”
I nod, my knit cap rubbing against his, my throat aching with emotion. Because here’s what I just learned about Reed Knowles: he’s not nice. He’s kind. Which is a million times better.
“All right,” I tell him. And for the first time in a long time, it actually feels as if everything will be all right. Maybe not this minute. But somehow, someday.
Maybe even soon.
Abbie
Abbie
After all that, barely another word passes between us on the way back. Me, because I’m utterly wiped out—emotionally, physically. Reed, because his leg is hurting him. Not that he says so. But he seems completely focused on reaching the cabin.
I’m not so focused. I’m drained, but my thoughts are all over the place. I’m also…lighter. Not like I was before, when I first stepped outside and it felt as if that heavy weight retreated for a while. This time, it feels as if I’ve left that weight behind. Maybe because I unloaded on Reed. But considering everything I discovered, shouldn’t I be sad and grieving? Or angry? My mom lied to me, betrayed my trust, and used me. But beyond the initial shock and hurt, mostly I feel relief.
I don’t know how or why. But maybe I’ll eventually talk to Reed about it.
Talk to Reed Knowles.
Who even am I now? I can hardly comprehend the one-eighty that I’ve gone through with him. Am I really such a sucker for a bit of kindness? I don’t think I am.
Regardless, I can’t regret anything I said to him.
I probably should have talked to someone about all of this before. Putting my experiences into words ordered so many of my thoughts and helped clarify so many of my emotions. The irony is, at work I see the benefits of counseling all the time. Yet I never considered it for my own situation. Whenever I articulated my complaints to myself, the issues always sounded so petty and ridiculous—and I feared being told that I was too sensitive or thin-skinned, especially when so many people have actual, serious problems. Because what would I say? I’ve got an older sister who picks on me. I’ve got a mother who volunteers too much. It seemed too embarrassing to describe to anyone else how much they’ve hurt me. Just like it was too embarrassing to ever tell anyone else how much I hate going home. So I never mentioned any of it to anyone else.
Yet I wasn’t embarrassed while telling Reed. And with my memories laid out for me to examine all together, the hurt didn’t seem so petty or ridiculous after all.
It also made me realize how much more hurt I am by Lauryn than my mom. Perhaps because I simply don’t have as many good memories of my mother. But my sister and I used to be closer. Lauryn wasn’t always so negative. Not when we were kids or teenagers. Then there was a period of about seven years—which included graduations and college, and me moving out of my mom’s house—when we didn’t see each other very often. Either Lauryn wasn’t as bad during those seven years or I didn’t notice how judgy she’d become because our meetings were so infrequent. It wasn’t until after she moved in that the endless negativity and criticism began wearing me down.