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)
I thought as much, but I don’t want to confirm it.
This is not the man I know, the one whose world seemed to brighten just because I walked back into it. I don’t recognize him in this form, but I need to acknowledge this is who he is—a rock star with an ego bigger than our flourishing love could ever be.
He sighs, and I can see the love leaving his eyes, the exhaustion returning to snuff out the ember I had lit. I know he wants to fight his rage to soften the blow, but I don’t think he’ll be able to save himself, much less the bystander he claims to love.
At a loss for words or words he doesn’t want to voice, he leaves the bathroom and me still standing in a towel. I put on my armor the best I can and follow him, knowing I would have followed him anywhere a few hours before unless it keeps me from paying my bills. That’s something that he doesn’t have to think twice about. One of many troubles he’ll never experience, if he ever did.
There’s no point in fighting because the battle has already been lost. I swallow my pride and walk around him to the door. Opening it wide, I lean against the edge holding the knob behind me. “How did it all go wrong so quickly?”
I’m not really asking. The signs have been there all along. But he still feels the need to respond. “It was never supposed to. It was supposed to be one night.”
“Another fuck to add to your scorecard, and then you’d be gone.” I nod, looking down. I can’t bear to hold my head higher with a knife stabbing my heart. “Got it.”
His feet don’t move, and he doesn’t fill the gap of silence with more hurtful words. All that exists between us now is the pain we’ve caused each other. It’s torture, but I won’t throw him out. When he leaves, I’ll know there’s no coming back from this. Though I’m pretty sure we’re already there.
I watch his feet step closer to me, stopping before he reaches the threshold of our ending. “Cat?” It’s only a breath of a whisper filled with the same turmoil I feel inside.
And then his phone buzzes in his pocket.
I release a long-held breath, disappointment wrapping itself around my aching heart. I don’t bother looking into his eyes. I don’t need to carry his pain with mine. “You should get that . . . outside my apartment.”
I start counting in my head, silently begging him to go so he doesn’t have to witness more tears of mine, especially the ones I cry over him. He leaves just before I reach nine, standing on the doormat for a few seconds longer, and then he’s gone.
I’m not sure how long I remain with the slight breeze slipping in, the air turning cooler with the later hour, or even when there are no more headlights to reinforce the hope that we could have a second chance.
He’s gone.
Shane Faris never looked back.
I won’t either.
18
Cate
Ten months later . . .
“Cate?” the receptionist calls from the front desk.
I look up from Mr. Rosen’s back and lower my stethoscope. “I’ll be right there, Misty.” With a quick nod, she returns to answering other calls.
Coming around Mr. Rosen, I sit down. “What were the changes you wanted to make this past week?”
“I was cutting out sodas.”
“How did that go?” I can already tell by his expression that things went off the rails. My life can relate.
His face, from his spikey gray brows to his jowls, hang with his frown. “I drank two more than usual and snuck one into my room after dinner service.”
“There’s something to be said about your honesty.” I pat his shoulder. “These are lifestyle changes. Maybe instead of cutting them out, you start with drinking a few less this week.”
“I’ll try. Anything else, doc?”
“Nurse.” I make a note in his file about what we discussed. “Yes. I’d like you to join the walking club.”
He stands up like he’s ready to take off. “I hate running.” He could have fooled me.
“That’s okay,” I say, standing as well. “It’s the walking club, not the running club. They do four laps on the track across the street four times a week and walk the parking lot twice in the morning and after dinner. You don’t have to do both, but I would like you to build exercise into your daily routine.”
“I have no choice if it’s the doctor’s orders,” he groans.
“Nurse’s orders.” The white coat and stethoscope throw everybody off.
Walking away, he tugs his pants up by the belt. That leather decided a long time ago that it wasn’t doing any heavy lifting, especially since he missed the loops when he threaded it this morning. “I better get out of here before you tell me to cut down on the fries.”