Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Right.
The fourth ring sounded, and my thumb hit the green button instead of the red. Oh holy hell. What could I possibly say to her?
“Hey, Paisley.” Good start.
“Morgan? You actually answered!” Her voice was a mix of relief, wonder, and worry.
Yup, I was a bitch.
“Yeah.” It was all I could get out as anxiety dug her scaly claws in me, tightening my throat. How could I be out of words for the one person who had learned them with me in the first place?
“How are you? Where are you? I called your mama, but she said you moved and if you wanted to tell me what was going on, you would. Then she said I’m supposed to convince you to go back home.”
A small laugh burst through the lump in my throat.
“Yeah, she’s been on my case.”
“Hold on a sec.” She was quiet for a few moments. “Sorry, had to grab the baby monitor. Peyton decided to take a morning nap, and I didn’t want to drop the phone on the hardwood and wake him up. Done that before. Never again.”
“Of course.” I forced a smile, like she could see me. Peyton Carter Bateman. Her son was named after Will and her sister, Peyton. Because in her mind—hell in everyone’s—Will had always been Peyton’s to love. Paisley’s to grieve.
Never mine.
That sick feeling I’d done everything to avoid slapped me in the face, and I felt a rending in my heart, the meticulous stitches I’d been sewing since I got here popping one by one, ripping chunks of my soul out to bleed anew.
“So, where did you move to? What’s going on?” She sighed. “This hurts something awful—the rift I can feel between us—and I don’t know what I did, or what I can do to fix it.”
“I’m fine. We’re fine,” I lied.
“We’re not! You haven’t picked up a single one of my calls since Sam’s wedding, and that was three months ago, so don’t tell me that nothing is wrong, because I can’t remember the last time we went three months without speaking.”
I could. It was after Will’s funeral, but I wasn’t about to go there. Lies. Fake smiles. I was so sick of it all. She was my best and oldest friend. I could do this. I could ask her for what I needed, but it was impossible not to hurt her in the process.
“I bought a beach house in Cape Hatteras. It’s a wreck, but so am I, so we fit rather nicely. Will—” My throat tightened, and I reached for my coffee, taking a quick swallow before starting again. “He left me a secondary life insurance policy and his truck, among some other things.”
Her indrawn breath—just shy of a gasp—made me pause.
“I…I didn’t know he did that.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t know everything.” The little sarcastic laugh flew past my lips before I could stop it. This was going to go to shit if I couldn’t rein in my mouth.
“I never thought I did,” she said softly. “You know, Cape Hatteras is only a drive away—”
My anxiety hit the panic button.
“Paisley, I love you, but I need some time and space. I have a therapist, and Sam’s staying until I complete this program. Please understand. I’m so glad that you called—”
“Program? Are you in rehab?”
“No.” I let a self-deprecating laugh slip. “Nothing like that.”
“Wait, you have Sam there?”
Shit. Now I’d gone and hurt her feelings, which was the opposite of my intention.
“The therapy I’m going through is for something called complicated grief, and as much as it hurts you to hear this, you are a giant trigger for me.” Just talking to her had the vise tightening around my throat.
“I am?” Her breath left in a rush.
“Yeah, and the treatment requires a support person. That’s why Sam is here.”
Sam gave me a reassuring smile.
“Are you okay? I didn’t even know you were struggling. We’ve never kept secrets from each other,” Paisley murmured.
“I kept one from you,” I corrected her. “Remember?”
She paused, and I could almost see the gears turning in her head, the way her green eyes would shift side to side when she was trying to work something out.
“Will,” she said softly.
“Will,” I confirmed. I’d never told her I loved him when it could have mattered. I didn’t tell her until she’d decided she didn’t want him anymore, and even then, it had been by accident. I’d never wanted to hurt her.
“Complicated grief…is it over Will?” she asked. “Honey, if this is about him, why can’t you talk to me? No one knew him better, or knows you better—”
“Oh, stop it!” I snapped. That facade I’d maintained around Paisley since he’d died—hell, since I’d fallen for him—shattered like glass. I was done having my feelings marginalized or being talked to like I’d been some fifth grader with a crush.