Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
It never kept its distance.
It was just her waking up in the middle of the night with fire everywhere, nothing but Grant yelling her name and digging her out of the burning rubble.
I’m guessing it would’ve been a closed casket funeral if her parents burned to death so horribly. And I wonder, does Nell want to come with me because she knows what it’s like?
To have to say goodbye without anything to say goodbye to?
My heart feels so wrung out.
Maybe I’m reading too much into it, although she’s the smartest little girl I’ve ever met. She’s obviously got a crazy high emotional IQ.
But there’s something in her eyes when she looks at me.
Something that says she needs to come with me.
She needs to be there.
She needs to comfort me.
“Okay,” I say, and I tell myself I’ll march her right out if she can’t handle it for even half a second. “Okay, kiddo. We’ll talk to your uncle. If he says it’s fine, you can come. I bet my mom would love to meet you. Now, let’s go see what Grant made for dinner.”
To say things are a little tense around the house would be a mammoth understatement.
Yes, it’s my fault.
Grant’s quiet as always, yet gentle and warm, and if I catch him starting to reach for me now and then before he drops his hands with a firm glance, it only stings for an instant.
Mostly, it’s a painful reflection of what I feel.
I want to reach for him so bad, to hold him tight and never let go.
But I can’t ask him to carry the disembodied mess I am right now.
A walking piece of crap who told him to his face I can’t commit.
Jesus.
I only hope he’ll wait for me, knowing full well I don’t deserve it.
Also, I know ten years should be long enough for anyone to make up their mind.
I’ve been love starved and so has he, but my heart doesn’t care. It’s fallen into a vacuum where time doesn’t matter among all the feelings.
I need to get myself together first, to find my footing again, and then I can make it right.
Then I’ll hopefully be someone worthy of a hero.
We don’t talk much over dinner.
It’s paella tonight, and he followed the trend I set, making half of it spicy enough to kill us ten times over and the other half mild.
I’m a little surprised when he gives permission to let Nell tag along after some grave consideration. It’s a hard silent moment, dense thoughts clashing behind his eyes, that make me realize that no matter what happened between us, he trusts me with his little girl.
Ouch.
It’s beautifully painful.
Things feel a little more normal when I start the usual routine of wrangling Nell into settling down for bed, making sure she brushes her teeth, then sending her off with another story.
It’s The Velveteen Rabbit tonight.
Once she’s out, I kiss her forehead, slip out, and find Grant waiting in the hall.
He leans around the doorframe, peering in at the sleeping little heap of mischief with that slow, fond smile he only ever has for the ones he cherishes.
“She falls asleep faster for you,” he says with mock irritation. “Think she wants you to like her so much that she’s on her best behavior. Enjoy it while it lasts. When her little mask finally slips, you’ll meet the real four-foot monster.”
I laugh.
I can’t bear to think that I might not be here by the time Nell gets tired of suppressing her inner brat. But Grant seems to realize what he said.
He backs away a few steps, giving me an uncertain look in the dark hall.
My heart sputters.
It’s so hard to look at that powerful body gleaming faintly in the moonlight spilling in from a window. He’s extra mountainous when he’s tense, bare shoulders and the brute strength in his corded arms and massive hands.
Not so long ago I was pressed hot against that body, writhing in his bed, in his arms.
Now, we’re only a couple of feet away, but it might as well be a nautical mile. Close enough to catch the faint spicy scent of the oil he grooms his beard with.
But it feels like we’re looking at each other over a gulf.
The longing in those mocha eyes might kill me before anything else.
Grant looks away first, ducking his head and rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
“’Night, Ophelia,” he mutters gruffly.
“Yeah,” I answer, my voice hurt and hollow. “Good night, Grant.”
We stand there for another awkward second before he turns away with one last lingering look and slips into his room.
I linger alone in the pale moonlight, wondering if tonight was just a bad dream.
Wishful thinking.
God, this sucks.
Nell’s mask might be holding up, but mine’s falling apart like cheap plaster.
The tears come hot, heavy, and brimming with so much guilt.