Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Everywhere we go, I recall and share small tidbits about my mom, and Nate listens, asking questions and sounding like he genuinely cares. The day is wonderful, and it’s not until we’re back at the room that I realize I haven’t thought about my disaster of a love life once. When I’m with Nate, I’m so focused on him that it’s like the rest of the world disappears.
Nate showers first while I call Ana and fill her in on my time here. She begs for details on Nate, but I insist we talk once I’m home, not wanting to risk him overhearing.
When he comes out, wearing a white T-shirt and basketball shorts, with his hair wet and messy, it hits me that this is the first time I’ve seen him this casual. Yesterday, he was in a designer suit that fit him like it had been made just for him, and today, he was sporting khaki dress pants with a powder-blue button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms.
Dressed up, businessman Nate is sexy and powerful, but right now, he’s downright delicious. His shirt is taut across his chest, and…
“Are those tattoos?” I ask, cutting across the room.
“Paige?” Ana’s voice reminds me we’re still on the phone.
“I’ll call you back,” I say and then hang up, needing to check out the tattoos that are peeking out of the sleeve on his left arm.
He glances down at his toned forearm and then lifts his sleeve, exposing the gorgeous ink on his arm. At first glance, it looks like a beautiful forest with the sun peering through. There’s a body of water with a reflection of the trees on the surface. But when I look closer, I see three hands, all joined together, hidden in the water.
“My brothers and I got these when we were younger. Dustin had just turned twenty-one, so Carmine and I were taking him out to celebrate with a bunch of our friends. Because we’re close in age—me being the eldest, Carmine barely a year younger, and Dustin less than a year younger than Carmine—we hung out with the same group of people.”
“Wow, your mom must’ve been brave to have three boys, all less than a year apart,” I note.
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Carmine and I were in the same grade, and Dustin was one grade behind. Mom is tough, doesn’t put up with our shit, but she loves us hard.”
“She sounds like a good mom.”
Nate nods in agreement. “The best.”
“Sorry, I got us sidetracked. So, Dustin’s birthday celebration?” I prompt for him to continue.
“That night, I was driving,” Nate says, his tone solemn. “A drunk driver flew through a red light and hit us, and we were all rushed to the hospital. Carmine had nothing more than a few bruises since he was on the passenger side. But Dustin and I required surgery. My blood type is rare, so my dad and Carmine had to donate, and then Dustin had to have a kidney transplant because he had already lost one when he was younger. Carmine was a match, so he ended up donating it to him, which saved his life.”
“Oh my God,” I breathe. “Your parents must’ve been a wreck. All three of their babies in an accident.”
“Yeah, my mom swears it took ten years off her life.” Nate chuckles softly. “Afterward, we went and got these tattoos to symbolize our bond. My brothers are my best friends. We made sure they were where they couldn’t be seen unless we wanted them to be. I also have one on my chest.”
He lifts his shirt without warning, and I damn near hyperventilate when his abs are exposed, one by one, until all six of them are on display, along with his chiseled chest.
Strength is what we gain from the pain we survive.
The words over his heart are simple, a contradiction to the deep meaning.
“After the accident, Dustin couldn’t work because he had some issues with the transplant.”
“Is he okay now?”
“Yeah, he’s perfectly healthy, driving his wife, Valerie, insane.” The way Nate smiles tells me just how fond he is of his family.
“But at the time, it was touch and go, so I took on his job on top of mine.” He drops his shirt and scrubs his hand over his face. “I felt guilty because I had been driving even though it wasn’t technically my fault. At one point, I was working eighty-hour weeks.”
“And that’s when you caught your girlfriend cheating,” I say, remembering what he told me about his ex and how she slept with his best friend when he was working long hours.
“Yeah,” he confirms. “She said I didn’t give her enough attention.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, placing my hand over his heart.
“Part of me blames myself because I did what she accused me of. I neglected her. But she never once mentioned it. If she had told me…”