Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“I don’t know. It was kind of a dick move. It was his appointment. Not mine.”
“But that’s proactive. That’s wise to ask a doctor. It’s wise to think about it now,” she says, and maybe she’s right. But what’s done is done.
“Anyway, he told me there are no guarantees. There’s no cure. But if he could offer me any advice for brain health it’s that the three keys are ‘exercise, socialize, and memorize,’” I say as I cruise along the street, climbing a slight hill. “Of course, that’s just hopeful advice, he’d said. There’s no medical proof that anything can prevent memory loss, but those things could possibly help. I figured I’ve already got the exercise part aced, so it can’t hurt to keep working on my brain,” I admit, telling her something I don’t really reveal to anyone.
“I’m sorry about the loss. And what he went through. And you,” she says with sympathy. “That must have been so hard for everyone.”
Apparently now that I’ve started sharing I can’t stop. A valve has loosened in me, so I add, “And maybe this makes me a selfish dick too, but what happened to him? It’s my greatest fear,” I admit. Maybe even more so than trusting someone else. The only person I know for certain I can trust is me. But what if I lose myself someday? The thought makes me shudder. “I hope I can have a different fate. A different future. So that’s why I try to do those things.”
“Socialize?” she asks with a quirk in her lips, playfully busting me. “You like to socialize?”
“With friends,” I say sternly. “Don’t get any ideas about me being a social butterfly.”
She holds up her hands. “I would never. The memorize part though. Does that mean you do the class, memorize the info, and then take tests?”
“Yep,” I say with a laugh. “I take a quiz every week. Like I’m in school again.”
She’s quiet for a beat, perhaps absorbing that as I near Filbert Street. “Max,” she says softly.
“Yes?”
She sets a hand on my biceps. That simple touch from her is almost too much for me to handle as I drive. I do my best to focus on the road as she says, “I do know that some things are personal. I don’t want to use everything. I don’t want to use most things. I wish you’d see that.”
I wish I could too. “I’ll try.”
“Thank you.”
We’re a few blocks from her home. She lets go of my arm, sighs, then says, “Lucas was my physical therapist. I was in the hospital for a while from the car accident. It was pretty bad. I had some surgeries. Some injuries. I needed rehab. He was one of the people who helped me a lot.”
There are so many questions I want to ask her. So much more I want to know. But mostly I take what she’s said for the gift that it is—a piece of her after I gave her a piece of me.
“I’m really glad he helped,” I say, meaning it as I pull up on her block, sliding into a spot right outside her townhome. I turn off the engine, then shoot her a cocky smile. “But I’m glad, too, you don’t like him. Fucking knew he wasn’t your type.”
She swats my arm, but she’s smiling. “Can you ever just let a nice moment be?”
I scoff. “You know the answer to that, sunshine. And it’s no.”
“It sure is.”
“Like you’d want it any other way.”
She rolls her eyes. And this? This banter, this needling, this energy? It’s a million times safer than sharing these intimate pieces of ourselves with each other.
I nod toward her townhome. “I’ll walk you up,” I say, then get out of the car. As I stride around the front of the vehicle, I remind myself to behave. I’ll escort her to the stoop, then say goodbye. Watch her as she goes up the steps, unlocks the front entryway, then disappears safely inside.
That’s the plan as I open her car door.
She steps out, and her brown eyes hold mine. But hers are full of curiosity. “Are you doing this on purpose?”
“Doing what?”
She tips her forehead toward the nearby steps. “Walking me home when I’m ten feet away. Showing me what you think a man should do on a date.”
“I am,” I say, owning it.
“Why?” Her tone is a touch desperate, like she has to know what’s really going on with me, and she pushes for it, asking, “Because you want to keep proving that Lucas is wrong for me? Max, you already won that battle. Why are you doing this?”
That’s a great question actually. A fair fucking question too. I could say it’s the right thing to do. I could say I’d do this even if I wasn’t borderline obsessed with her. I could say that even if she were a friend I’d walk her up the steps. That’s all true. It’s what a man should do. But instead, I step closer, because the gravitational pull of Everly is too strong for me to resist. “Like I said, because that’s what I’d do if I were out with you.”