Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“I have a client coming in soon, but it’s my last one of the day.”
“Will you come over to my place tonight so we can talk?” he asks.
I swallow over the lump forming in my throat.
“I don’t know if your place is the best place for us to talk. We tend to end up in bed whenever we’re there,” I tell him quietly.
I see him clench his jaw.
“Right.” He runs a hand roughly through his hair. “I’ll meet you wherever you want to meet.”
“There’s a frozen-yogurt place across the street. How about we meet there in two hours?” I say.
Relief fills his eyes and his body relaxes.
“That’s fine with me,” he agrees, taking a step toward me.
My whole body goes on alert. I know the minute he touches me, I’m done for, so I can’t let him touch me until we’ve talked and have gotten things sorted out.
“I miss you.” The words sound pained, and it takes all my willpower not to go to him to soothe him—to soothe myself.
“Me too,” I croak as my throat fills with tears.
“I’ll see you soon, gorgeous.”
“Sure.” I watch him go. Closing my eyes, I pray that he’s ready to open up to me. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.
WESLEY
As I wait on the sidewalk for Mackenzie to show up, my stomach fills with anxiety. The idea that she might not forgive me is something I can’t handle. Seeing her come across the street toward me, I soak in everything about her. Her hair is up like it normally is when she’s working; her face is clean of makeup, allowing her natural beauty to shine through; and she’s wearing a long jacket that covers her from neck to knee so I can’t see if her body has changed in the past week.
Jogging toward her, I meet her halfway across the street, then take her hand. “Hey.”
She smiles up at me, and all I can think is, God she’s so beautiful, and I have missed her so much.
With her hand in mine, we enter the frozen-yogurt shop. I wish it was farther away so I could keep my hold on her a little longer.
“Do you want to get some yogurt?” she asks me as she gets herself a big cup.
I shake my head. I just want to watch her. “I might have some of yours.”
“No,” she says bluntly as she pulls down the lever for chocolate. “I have been craving this for the last couple days. If you try to take any from my container, I might attack you,” she says, making me smile.
“Are the cravings that bad?”
“This was the first time I’ve had one,” she says softly.
Once again, I curse myself for having missed out on time with her.
“Have you had any other symptoms?” I ask, trying to remember what the book I got said happens in the first couple of months.
“I’ve had morning sickness, and heartburn so bad that I might have to buy stock in Tums,” she says.
Every word makes me feel like shit. I should have been there to take care of her through this. Instead, I’ve been . . .
“Stop.” Her hand presses into my chest, cutting off my wayward thoughts.
I drop my eyes to hers.
“Please stop.”
Her words are soft, and I swear she knows where my mind is taking me.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
“Me too,” she says quietly, finishing up her serving and heading toward the cashier. I pull out my card to pay—noticing that the frozen yogurt is overflowing the container—then lead her to the back of the store, where there is no one around.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” she asks.
I can see the doubt in her eyes. I can tell she doesn’t think I will open up to her.
“My best friend from childhood was also my partner back in Seattle,” I tell her.
The spoon in her hand pauses an inch from her mouth.
“We had so many plans for the future. Then, one day, that was all taken from me.”
“What happened?” she asks.
I close my eyes, remembering the day like it was yesterday.
“We were on a routine drug bust. After we got into the house and had already made our arrest, we started collecting evidence. Suddenly, gunshots started going off. We all dropped, not knowing that we were setting ourselves up for disaster. None of my team realized that the shots were being fired from a man hiding in the attic—until it was too late. I took three bullets to the shoulder, but not before seeing Dustin take a bullet to the head. He died right in front of me,” I say.
Tears fill her eyes.
“I blamed myself for his death. I had always protected him, but I didn’t protect him when it really mattered.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” She wipes her eyes.