Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
If I wasn’t feeling the deadline that is my sister’s patience, I might take a moment to admire the view.
“I found him,” I tell Josie, grabbing at her elbow to pull her with me. “He’s at the bar.”
She resists. “I’ll wait here for you.”
“You don’t want to—”
“Just go, Norah. I’ll wait here.”
Too tired to fight her, I leave her be and head to the big wall of mahogany. I came here with the intention of speaking to Bennett Bishop, so speaking to Bennett Bishop is what I’m going to do.
As for what I’m going to say, I’ll have to figure that out when I get there.
After a short shove through an imbibing crowd, I make it to my destination. From this close, it’s apparent that while the bartender might have the same build as Bennett, he’s shorter. Even while seated, Ben’s head ends above his. The other man’s hair is also darker, and instead of blue, his eyes are this interesting shade of golden brown that reminds me of honeycombs. He’s handsome—devastatingly so.
When I come to a stop right beside where Bennett sits, the good-looking bartender is the first to notice me. His eyes look once, then twice, then search my face as if he recognizes me, even though I’ve never seen him in my life.
Something catches in his face—like a jolt of understanding just flew in and landed there—and he flicks out the towel in his hand to smack Bennett on the arm. “I think someone’s here to see you.”
Bennett meets my eyes, and immediately, my heart starts to race and my palms turn clammy. You’d think I had to tell him his dog was dead or that I’d wrecked his truck or something, with how intense I feel—and all I’m trying to do is apologize.
“Uh…hi,” I greet, but he doesn’t do anything but reach out for the glass in front of him and take a long swallow.
“Clay, this is Josie’s sister, Norah Ellis,” Bennett acknowledges on a half mumble, almost like it’s too much effort for him to speak in discernible sentences. Like I’m some kind of pariah.
“Kinda figured that, Ben,” Clay—evidently—replies with a sly smile. He reaches a hand over the bar after wiping it on his towel, and I offer mine in response. “Nice to meet you, Norah. Heard you had a day. Glad to see you’re okay.”
I smile lightly, hoping it looks less stilted than it feels, when Clay pauses in his release of my hand, studying the bruise on my arm. His jaw hardens. “Shoulda made it three, Ben.”
My eyebrows pull together, losing track of the conversation. “Excuse me?”
“Nothin’, darlin’.” Clay’s smile is…soft. Tender, even. “Just glad you’re all right.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.” I glance between Bennett and Clay, and suddenly, having an audience for this conversation feels akin to skinning myself alive. “Would you…do you mind giving me a minute with Bennett? Just the two of us?”
He nods. “Of course.”
“Thanks. I’ll only be a minute, I swear. My sister is waiting for me anyway.”
Clay’s olive face fades to stone white in a flash. “Josie’s here?”
“Yeah. By the door. She—” I don’t even finish the sentence before he’s on the move, throwing down his towel on the bar top and heading in my sister’s direction, practically shoving patrons out of the way as he goes.
“That was weird,” I find myself remarking aloud.
“History always repeats itself,” Ben replies, taking another swig of amber from his glass.
“What?” I ask, unsure if I heard him right. He turns to face me, and for the first time, I see how bloodied and cut up the knuckles of his right hand are. “Oh my God,” I gasp, grabbing for the offending limb without permission. “I’m so sorry.” Tears threaten as I inspect the wounds, and I have to fight for my life not to break down in front of him. Instead, I take my mouth on a marathon run as fast and far in the opposite direction of tears as I can. “This is why I came in here tonight! To apologize. For the trouble and the knuckles and for…Thomas. I’m so sorry you ended up getting involved and hurt in the process.”
“I don’t need an apology from you, Norah,” he says as he pulls his hand away from mine. “I don’t need anything other than to be left alone.”
Okay, ouch.
I know my face falls, I can feel it, and he shocks the hell out of me by…well, caring.
“Shit. Don’t take it personal, okay? I just need a breather. Punching assholes in the face is the absolute last thing I should be doing, and still, I did it anyway.”
I just need a breather. Oh hell. That certainly hits right in the chest.
I fidget on my feet, just standing here awkwardly, while I silently try to calm my pounding heart from hearing my dad’s words fall from his lips.