Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“Kittens turn into cats.”
“That’s why I want them. I could never have a pet growing up. We moved around too much.”
He returns to sit in the chair next to me. “Why is that?”
I shrug, something I generally do when people ask about my parents. It usually works to distract them, but he’s still staring at me like he’s genuinely interested. “Why did we move so much?” I repeat, giving myself time to determine whether I want to talk about this.
“Yeah, you never talk about them. All I know is you moved to La Jolla to live with your grandmother.”
“I was close to her. She had a lot of health problems that she didn’t take care of and passed away before she saw me graduate. That was hard because she encouraged me to go to college and inspired me to go into gerontology. If she would have had the support of a nurse or doctor, I know she would have lived longer.”
His attention doesn’t divert from me even when a bird starts singing from the roofline above us. “She’d be proud of you. I am.”
“You are?” My heart clenches. Swoons. I’m tripping over myself in love with this man, determined to protect what we have at all costs.
“Absolutely. You’re incredible and giving. You care about others and save lives.”
I reach over and cover his hand resting on the table. “I appreciate that, but you do the same in a different way. You may not realize it, but you do. You make people happy by creating music that touches hearts and helps people through hard times. Your songs are played at weddings and baby showers. Music is universal. It’s an art form for a reason. It evokes emotion.”
He covers my hand with his other. “I love you, Cat. It means a lot when people relate to the music, but I want to tell you something. It doesn’t always have to be even, fair, or tit for tat. It’s okay for you to shine your brightest without me needing the spotlight. You don’t need to take the credit away from you by giving it to someone else. You’re amazing. That’s a full sentence. Full stop.”
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. A tear slips free despite my objections. I tip my head and wipe it away. His words are healing, a balm I didn’t know I needed.
He trusted me with his secret. I can trust him, not only with my heart but with the past that shaped who I am.
“My dad walked out of my life when I was nine and never looked back. It’s like I never existed. Last I heard, he had a new family—two daughters and the son he always wanted—with a woman out in Yuma, Arizona. It’s been a few years, though, so I don’t know if they’re still there.”
The sympathy clouding his eyes is the last thing I wanted. “This is why I don’t like talking about my parents.” I attempt to pull my hand back, but he doesn’t let me. “It makes others feel bad for me, and I feel worse.”
“It wasn’t you, babe.”
“What wasn’t?”
“He left because he’s an asshole. You don’t need to keep dragging his weight around like it’s yours to carry. That’s on him. He’s an asshole, but someone else’s problem.”
“I understand I’m not to blame. I was nine, though. That doesn’t change the hurt I carry. He walked away because I didn’t matter.” I hate the shame that rushes my veins. Logic doesn’t lessen the pain. “I wouldn’t make a sound when he was home to avoid his temper. I had to be perfect because I understood the consequences.”
I take a breath to prevent the mix of anger and frustration from rearing their ugly heads. It doesn’t help. I say, “I’m not carrying that pain around because I want to, but it’s instilled and embedded into who I am. So I don’t talk about it. I don’t think about him or his family in Yuma, my half-siblings. I think about my grandmother who loved . . .” I choke on the grief as it comes rushing back. Struggling to swallow, I lower my head, needing out of his concerned gaze.
The feet of his chair grind against the concrete as he slides it back from the table. He wraps around me from behind, resting his head in the crook of my neck. “He fucking missed out on someone extraordinary. His loss.”
My throat loosens, and a breath finally enters my lungs. No reasoning ever helped heal the pain. It never did, but Shane does. I kiss the arm he’s tucked under my chin and then turn to look up at him. “Thank you.”
His nod is enough as he comes to sit down again, staying on the end of the seat and still holding my hand. Might as well get it all off my chest. “My mom got a job modeling in Paris when I was seventeen. She lied about having a kid and said she was twenty-five. She could pull it off since she had me at sixteen and looked young for her age.”