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)
“Want me to fib or tell the truth?” She grins. “Boone told me to come over.”
I snort, shaking my head, and lead her into the kitchen.
“He said he was worried about you,” she says.
“He needs to worry about himself.”
Mom puts her purse on a chair and leans against the island. Her eyes are filled with concern. “Maybe he does. But it’s my job to worry about you so it’s a good thing he alerted me to a worry need.”
“A worry need? I think you have enough of those on your plate right now.” I open the refrigerator. “Bottle of water?”
“No, honey. But thank you.”
I take one out for myself and close the door.
My stomach growls. The last thing I remember eating was a handful of cashews for dinner last night. Despite the obvious need for fuel, the thought of eating anything is unbearable.
I miss her. God, I miss her.
“Sit, Oliver,” Mom says, taking a seat at the table.
I situate myself across from her and take a drink.
“Your father called this morning. I don’t know how because it’s against the rules, but he did.” She smiles. “It was good to hear his voice.”
“How are you doing in all of this?”
“I’m okay. Really, I am. It’s almost a relief, in a way …” She plays with her necklace. “So many problems in life aren’t fixable. War. Terminal illness. Losing a child. It’s a relief that our marriage can be fixed if we choose to.”
“Will you choose to?”
She gazes into the distance. “I’m not sure. We’ll take it one day at a time. But I’ve invested decades of my life into this marriage and into this family and I’m not about to let something rob me of that without a fight.” She looks at me again. “I love your father. He’s a flawed individual, but aren’t we all?”
Wow.
“I know I’m not perfect,” she says. “And if I would have, or do, I suppose, fallen down the wrong path at some point, I would’ve hoped your father would’ve rallied beside me. I’ll show him the same grace I would want for myself.”
I just look at her. How can she take this in stride? She was separating from the man days ago and now she’s willing to fight?
“What changed, Mom?”
“What do you mean?”
“You were leaving him and now you’re not.”
She smiles. “I was leaving him because I had done everything in my power to love him and he didn’t want my love. I’m not saying we’re not separating now but he’s sick. He wants to try to help himself. I know the man who he is, the man who he was. And I know he can be that man again if he chooses to. It might be hard,” she admits. “But you give love a fighting chance.”
I sit back in my seat, her words washing over me.
“You give love a fighting chance.”
Did I give up on Shaye too easily?
As if someone grabs the corner of my mind and spins it in a circle, I suddenly consider Shaye and me in opposite roles. That she walked into my office and one of the women from the gala had come to see me unexpectedly. What if one of them had kissed my cheek? What if one of them had sent me a gift?
I would know that their gift, their kiss, meant nothing to me. I’d know that the only one whose presence meant anything was Shaye. But she would not. She’d look at what she saw … and have every right to jump to the wrong conclusion.
The knot in my stomach tightens, especially when I remember the fear in Shaye’s eyes. And then … the resignation.
She’s used not to having a voice. Feeling walked over. Which is precisely what I did.
Fuck.
“Are you okay?” Mom asks.
“I think I fucked up.”
“Well, despite your abhorrent language, I’d like to know why you think that.” She grimaces. “I also know everything that you told Boone, so you can skip all of that.”
That little shit.
I stand and pace around the table. “It was like seeing Kendra and Charles, you know? I felt played. Humiliated. Like I couldn’t trust her.”
“That’s all very fair.”
“Right? Tell my brothers that. They’re saying—that it’s Blast’s fault. Holt said without saying today that I’m overreacting. Boone thinks they’re siblings now and has basically written me off.” I huff. “Why don’t they understand?”
“That’s simple. It’s not their heart that’s bruised.”
Mom stands, her chair scooting against the floor. She walks up beside me and lays her hand on my arm.
“Emotions are funny things, Oliver. They influence so much of what we think and do.” She pats me and then removes her hand. “Remember what I told you about following your gut?”
I nod.
“What does your gut say?” she asks.
I know the answer. I know exactly what my gut says.
My gut says to go find her, grab ahold of her, and kiss her with everything I have. My gut tells me to fix things. That my brothers are right. That my fear is misplaced and that she’s not given me a reason not to trust her.