Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
I let him down.
I know he’d forgive me for being weak. For betraying him. For falling into Sarah’s clutches. But I wasn’t blessed with his clemency. He didn’t have the opportunity to absolve me of my wrongs, because he died, and that is entirely my fault.
Like Jake. Like Rosie.
All my fucking fault.
“No woman will accept you as long as we’re together,” she retorts, though there are threads of doubt in her words, and they are warranted.
“But we’re not together, Sarah. Never will be. You need to get your twisted, fucked-up mind around that,” I yell, and she flinches. Guilt eats me up inside, and I bite my tongue, holding back on hitting her with more scathing truths. She’s spent the past sixteen years trying to bend me to her will. Trying to convince me in one way or another that we need each other. Trying to make me see the devastation and pain we caused wasn’t entirely for nothing. It’s never been hard to resist her advances, or her fucking whip. But I’ve never lost my rag. I’ve always maintained my cool, laughed it off, shook my head in despair sometimes. Not today. Today, I’m done.
“Stop believing in something that has never been there. Wake up. See the truth. I am not yours.” I yank the door open and leave, closing my eyes when I hear the unmistakable sound of her sobbing.
Fuck!
John is on his way down the corridor toward me, and he pulls his wraparounds off, revealing his deadly glare. “What did you do?”
“Told her some home truths,” I snap, barging his shoulder as I pass. It wasn’t a conscious move, but his body is wide, and this corridor isn’t.
“Watch it, boy,” he warns menacingly, his threat palpable. “Don’t think I won’t kick your motherfucking arse all over this place.”
“I’m out of here.” I pick up my pace, itching to escape.
“Be wise,” he calls. He’s not talking about my lack of respect for him. Of course he’s not.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“I might not answer.”
He’ll answer. John always answers. I make it to my car and sling my suit on the back seat, before getting behind the wheel and revving the engine hard a few times, taking out my frustration, my fury, my hopelessness, on my car.
All I can hear is Sarah’s laugh. All I can see is her amusement.
Am I that laughable? That . . . beyond hope?
I rub at my forehead, lifting my arse from the seat to dig out my phone. “I’m sorry,” I say to myself as I message Sarah. I am literally all that woman has. And she’s scared. I get that. But she needs to face the truth and let me go.
It’s not the first time I’ve needed a woman to do that.
* * *
I’ve always looked at Lauren and wondered what goes through her mind. Now more than ever as she prances around her parents’ home, her belly swollen, my baby growing inside of her, looking like the most content girl alive. Ignoring my despondency. Ignoring my lack of affection or effort. Ignoring the fact that she lied to me about being protected. Trapping me. Every day, I wake up and take a few moments to register that Jake isn’t here anymore. Then a few more moments to register that in a moment of weakness, of pure stupidity, I accepted a bottle of vodka from Lauren, downed the lot, marveled at the numbness it offered, and then fucked her. At that moment, with drink dulling my pain and my dick inside a welcoming pussy, I was out of my body. Away from my grief. Four months later, I’m married to a girl I do not love. Hardly even know. Definitely don’t understand. Or trust. Or feel comfortable around. But it’s all I’m good for now, and doing what is expected of me feels . . . right. Especially after all of my wrongs. And yet, all I feel is empty.
I hear a horn honking outside, and I’m up out of my chair in a heartbeat, my spirits lifting. I see Uncle Carmichael pull up and get out, slipping his shades on. John is with him, the big burly bloke looking as foreboding as always. Oh, thank God. They’re here to get me away from this hell for the day. I head for the kitchen door, ignoring Lauren’s calls, but when I open it, I’m faced with her father.
“You can’t see him,” he says. “You’re a husband and soon to be a father. You should be here, looking after my daughter.”
“It’s our . . . it’s my eighteenth birthday.” Over a year without Jake. “He always comes to see me on my birthday,” I say, passing him, half expecting to be pulled back. I’m not. At least, not by him. But Lauren grabs me.
“Oh my God, Jesse!” she practically screams, and I turn to find her clenching her belly, her eyes watering.