Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Of course it matters. It matters if I want to be able to do normal things. It matters if I don’t want to be a selfish prick and have to ask someone to take care of me.
This time, the pull across the back of my neck is from not my injury but stress.
I grit my teeth and sit up. But as soon as my legs touch the ground, the left one goes numb. The only sensation in the lower-left half of my body at all is a tingle just above my knee. It’s as though a hundred knives are being pushed into my skin repeatedly.
“Fuck!” I stomp my leg to try to wake it up. “Come the hell on.”
It takes a full minute for the spasms to stop. I get up as soon as I can bear weight on my leg and walk around my room, limping for the first little while.
Needing a distraction, I grab my phone and pull up my email for the first time in a couple of days—and instantly regret it.
A red exclamation point sits boldly beside one subject line: Urgent—YourChart Update.
I stand in the middle of the guest bedroom, holding my phone like a ticking bomb. I don’t know whether to throw it or try to defuse the situation.
My breathing is shallow as I stare at the subject line. A bead of sweat breaks out across my forehead. My legs are weak and threaten to give out as I try to make sense of the message.
Do I click on it? Do I ignore it?
Ignoring it won’t make it go away.
But it could stop the uncertainty and let me fucking breathe again.
Or not.
“Damn it,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut.
The pit of my stomach—the dark, raw abyss that pools every fear that I’ve been too scared to admit—churns with this information.
The results are in.
I toss my phone on my bed. It’s as if somehow losing the weight of the phone will release me from the burden of the message.
My skin is too tight. My clothes too clingy. I need a shower and a run and to vomit—preferably not in that order.
I run a hand down my face and talk sense to myself.
Just open the message, read the report, and then it’ll be done. You’re still here, which is a blessing. You can sit down with Mom and Dad and go over things with them.
I drop my hand to my side as a bubble of bile creeps up my throat.
How will I tell Mom?
I’m getting ahead of myself. I know that. I need to calm the fuck down and wait and see what the email says.
Instead of doing that, I pace to the other side of the room and sit on a wicker chair that Mom restored from a garage sale.
The room is much bigger than it was a few minutes ago. It’s spacious and cold and altogether lonely.
I’m lonely.
I’m lonely because I’m alone. And it will probably always be this way.
The bitterness of that fact washes over me like a cold rain.
I close my eyes and see Palmer’s sweet smile.
Last night plays out like a movie—one that’s infinitely better than the comedy we watched at her house. I can taste the cinnamon on her lips and feel the heat of her breath. I melt into the familiar energy of her home and the comfort of her gaze.
Why can’t all that be real?
I open my eyes and sigh.
Palmer Clark is a unicorn. There’s substance behind her beauty, a humbleness behind her swagger. She’s kind yet confident and has a vulnerability that eats at me in ways that it shouldn’t. She’s funny and also fierce, and watching her with her son pulls at something soul deep.
She triggers something inside me that makes me want to protect her. Hell, I volunteered to coach a bunch of kids just to be near her.
I’m not sure what I thought this was going to be. How did I think it was going to end up? Did I expect that the woman who captured my attention from the moment she walked into Fletcher’s was going to lose my interest?
Surely I wasn’t that stupid.
But what do I do now?
I tug at my hair and let the war raging inside me continue.
Do I try to walk away from Palmer? I don’t want to. I have no interest in doing that. The thought of walking away makes me want to call her, just to prove to myself that she’s still there.
Do I open that fucking email and then decide? I’m not sure that it really matters. Sure, it would matter if Palmer and I were serious, but we aren’t. And she’s made it very clear that she wants something long term. How can I be long term if I’m in California? And how can I do something with my life in Ohio should I get a wild hair up my ass and decide to relocate?