Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 103030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
I can’t help it. I close the distance between us.
I reach for her and slide her across the bed until she’s tucked beside me. I’m not sure if it’s for her good or mine—or which one of us needs the connection more.
We lie together quietly. The only sound is the occasional hoot of an owl.
I rest my head against hers and give her the space I think she needs.
I also need a bit of time to try to rope in the emotions swirling inside me.
To be honest, I haven’t wanted to know—to really know—a woman in a very long time. I don’t even know that I wanted to know Kendra, really. I’ve had dates, one-night stands, but I haven’t wanted their thoughts. Their hearts. To know what makes them tick, what makes them smile. Yet I want all of this from Shaye. I barely know her.
That fact is not lost on me. In fact, it sits obtusely on my heart as I feel her try to maneuver around whatever wound she carries. A wound I don’t know. But as we lie together with nothing between us but the secrets we keep and the sheets on which we sleep, I understand that I’ll never truly know Shaye until I know the scars on her heart.
I wanted men in the room tonight to know that Shaye was with me. Now I want Shaye to know that she has me.
“It’s a bit of a messy story, so I understand if you don’t really want the specifics. If you don’t want to know, Oliver, it’s fine. I won’t burden you with—”
“No. I do want to know, Shaye. I … I want to know you. It’s just not the pretty pieces of our lives that make us who we are.”
I give her a gentle squeeze and think about how my relationship with Kendra helped make me who I am … and who I might want to be someday.
“I’d love to hear anything that you feel willing to share with me,” I tell her.
She reaches up and places her soft hand on my bristly cheek. Smiles at me. God, she’s beautiful.
“Okay.” She gathers her courage. “Things … declined. With each step, he … repositioned himself. I lost a little bit of my autonomy every time. When I moved in. Joint banking. When we got married.”
I squeeze her tighter.
“It’s not all his fault because I let it happen,” she says, her voice cracking. “I wrote everything off and made excuses for him. The affairs, the debt, the abuse …”
My body stills. I’m afraid to move. I’m afraid to look at her or touch her or breathe too hard.
Did she just fucking say abuse? Affairs, okay, fuck him for that. But abuse?
It’s a good thing he’s already dead.
“He’d yell,” she says, sniffling. “He’d call me names. Made me quit my job because the boss wanted me—or so he said. He took away the checkbook because I didn’t know how to manage money, yet he was the one that took out a one-hundred-fucking-thousand-dollar loan against my mom’s house and made me sign the papers too.”
Her tears are hot and wet against my bare chest. Her body shakes as she lets loose what must be a life’s worth of pain. Her mother. Her bastard husband.
I hold her, biting back the explosion I want to spew into the room, reining myself in. I try to wrap my brain around what she’s telling me, but I know that if I do, I’m going to have so many questions. It’ll prevent her from talking … and that’s what she needs right now.
“I got you,” I whisper, moving us both until she’s on top of my chest. I wrap my arms around her and press kisses against her head.
My heart splits open with the weight of her words. The only bandage for me is that she’s here—trusting me with this truth. Even though I know that she needed to do this long ago, the fact that she feels safe enough to do it with me makes me feel more powerful than any deal I’ve ever closed.
Finally, she sniffles and wipes her face with the back of her hands.
“Are you okay?” I ask, leaning back to get a better look at her.
“Yeah.” Her voice sounds like it’s wrapped in cotton. “I’m sorry for this. I don’t know why I chose right now to break down.”
I smile at her. “I’m glad you did.”
She laughs and scoots off me. I hate to let her go, but I don’t know what she needs. Maybe it’s best to let her choose.
She pulls the sheets up around her. “I haven’t talked about things like that with anyone besides Lisbeth. I don’t like to let people see me cry.”
“You’re a pretty crier.”
Her smile stretches across her tearstained cheeks. “That’s probably not true but thank you for saying it anyway.”