Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“I’ve been a complete fucking wreck ever since I left the hospital, for one.” He laughs bitterly, looking like he’s winging it, though knowing Dexter, I’m sure he’s had this whole conversation planned out. “My mom practically made me stay home under armed guard. Doctor’s orders, laid up with this oversized papercut, and it’s given me a lot of downtime to think.”
“Dangerous,” I say before I can help myself.
“Right. Idle hands and all. However, in this case, it’s been useful. I’ve never had this much time off just to think.”
Part of me wants to be furious he had all that time in the world to think and never once reached out to me, but that’s not fair.
He needed this time and space.
Frankly, I did, too, even if I didn’t want to accept it until now.
“All that thinking helped, but it didn’t change my mind,” he says. “I knew everything I needed to when Forrest Haute stabbed me with a broken bottle.”
“That’s how it happened?” I gasp. “They never said it was a broken bottle…”
“Champagne bottle. He had a mole inside the police department. They tipped him off that he was under investigation at the worst time.” He waves it off like it’s no big deal he was attacked by a stabby lunatic who tore his arm open.
I hate it.
But I love this insanely brave man.
I also hate knowing he can shrug off the scariest moment of his life thanks to me.
He hasn’t even told me anything yet, but his eyes won’t shut up. They catch the sun just right and they sing to me silently.
“You were hurt,” I whisper.
“I was. That’s not the important part, though. When Haute was trying his damnedest to kill me, it got me thinking. Maybe life isn’t worth living without sugar.”
On the surface, it’s a little corny. But the fact that there’s so much truth weighing in his voice makes me raise an eyebrow.
“So you’re telling me that instead of focusing on survival, you were thinking about sugar?”
He grins. “My thoughts were a lot less coherent in real time. Cursing and panic and pain everywhere. But I knocked him out with this ugly damn sugar bowl, and while I was busy trying not to bleed out, I thought about you, Junie.”
Wow, that’s heavy.
“And?” I brush my hair back with both hands, flattening the frizzy curls until they stick to my head.
“And I figured out two things. First, sugar can’t be so awful if it saved my skin. I never appreciated the sweet stuff, but it’s a little like art, right? It makes food something beautiful. It’s the kick that starts your morning or the best way to end a fancy dinner. I realized I could use more sweetness in my life. Hell, a lot of it.” He takes my hand then, holding it between his so tenderly my throat goes tight. “Just like I tried to prove today. If you give me the sweet stuff, Sweet Stuff, I promise you I won’t take it for granted again.”
Holy flaming hell.
I shift my weight just to make sure I’m still securely on the ground and not floating away.
“That’s not how it works, Dex. It isn’t that easy.” I swallow. He’s giving me everything I wanted to hear—so much more, really—but this hollow ache in my chest won’t let up. “You can’t just force yourself to like something you can’t stand.”
“Like hell. I can learn to appreciate new things. I can see them, taste them, feel them in a different light. I’m just sorry it took this long.” He takes my hand, squeezing my fingers so hard I can feel his pulse.
“I know, but…” I can’t believe there’s a ‘but.’ I sigh, looking down. “It’s not that simple. You went off the radar after it all went down. I didn’t know if you were okay or how much danger you were in and… and in the end, it was all thanks to me.”
His gaze intensifies.
“No, sweetheart. No, it wasn’t.”
“It is. Just listen—” I hold up a hand. “You were right, okay? I shouldn’t have gone after Haute alone. I know that now. You told me not to mess around and I went and poked the bear anyway. You got hurt because of it. You were right, Dex.” My voice cracks embarrassingly but I press on. “I could’ve gotten killed. If you hadn’t found me in that laundromat first—if they’d noticed me following them, who knows…”
I don’t finish.
I’ve had nightmares about it for days that leave me jolting awake, my face a sticky mess.
“Junie,” Dexter whispers raggedly, and then I’m in his arms and he’s stroking my hair. “I know. I know, and fuck, I’m sorry. I should have told you everything. I should’ve made the threat plain and clear without cutting you down.”
His warmth surrounds me.
I grip his lapels, holding them in my fists in a way that’s definitely going to make them crumple. But he doesn’t complain, not even when I press my snotty face against his shoulder.