Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
“No!” I scream out. The vision won’t leave. My voice cracks, but I scream it out again and again. I can hear someone knocking, but I couldn’t care less. I feel like my heart is being ripped out of my chest again, just like it did that day I lost Bear forever. I bring my knees against my chest, curled in a ball.
The pounding on my door gets louder. I’m too lost in my misery to care. “Why did you leave me?” I whine pitifully, not recognizing my own voice any longer. Next, I hear the front door slam open. Then, the sound of someone running. My bedroom door slams against the wall, and I look up. I’m not sure who I expected. Maybe Carson, possibly Cross. The last person I would have guessed was Lake. He stares down at me. I glance at him, his face distorted by the tears still falling from my eyes. I turn away—just wanting to be alone in my misery.
Lake doesn’t let me. I feel the bed dip as he does the unthinkable. He lies down beside me and takes me in his arms. I should make him leave, scream until he does. I could call Cross or Carson, anyone. I don’t. I go limp in his arms as the tears continue to fall. I don’t know how I’m even crying. It should be impossible. I’ve already cried enough to fill a river, and yet, they still keep coming. I’m not sobbing now. The tears are slower, my breathing rough and jerky.
Lake presses my head against his chest, letting the heat of his body soak into mine. I can hear his heart beating against my ear. My fingers grasp his shirt and concentrate on that sound. His rough fingers massage against my scalp, then his fingers carefully comb through my hair.
“It’s okay, Livy. You’re okay,” he says, then after a few more minutes he says it again. Lake does this over and over until, eventually, my body calms. Miraculously, my tears stop too. “Are you okay?” Lake eventually asks.
“I miss him,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says simply. If I wasn’t so miserable, I’d smile. I like that he acknowledges my pain has no easy fix. He doesn’t hold me and say it will get better. No fake platitudes about knowing how I feel, just the simple truth. I know.
People don’t usually do that. Normally, they say they know how you feel, but they can’t, not truly. Even if they had been through the same thing as you, how could they know what you feel? Everyone loves differently. Every relationship is different. You can love another person completely, but the experiences you had together, the way you accept one another, the time you spent bonding, the things you bonded over—it’s all unique. Each relationship is unique. No one can understand. I like that Lake seems to understand that.
“My throat hurts,” I confess, feeling awkward.
“I’ll get you something to drink. Have you eaten?”
“I rarely eat in the mornings. I need to get ready for work. I’ll eat for lunch,” I mumble, rubbing my burning, itchy eyes. I’ve cried so much that they’re swollen and uncomfortable now. I have drops in the bathroom, but right now that feels like an impossible task. My body feels heavy and I’m not sure my legs could hold me up—even if I wanted them to.
“Sweetheart, it’s twelve-thirty. That’s why I came to find you. I wanted to eat with you and couldn’t find you. I got the master keys off Colt and came to find you. You scared the hell out of me.”
“I have to go to work—” I squeak, as reality dawns on me. Panic hits me. I don’t want to let Carson or his brothers down. I don’t want everyone thinking I’m slipping away again. I move to stand, and Lake is there immediately, gently grasping my body and guiding me right back down to my pillow.
“I’ve already told Carson and Colt that you had a bad migraine and there was no way you could work today,” he says, looking down at me with an intensity that should scare me, but doesn’t. I kind of like it. No one has truly taken care of me since Bear. Even when I dated Blade, he was a good guy. He loved me in his way. He would help take care of my father, get takeout, things like that. Yet, I can’t remember any of this intensity in his face, as if my being okay was more important than his next breath. It’s the kind of look—kind of care—that made a woman feel truly cared for, maybe even precious. I bite down on my lip, unsure what to do with the feelings he seems to claw out of me so easily.
“W-Were they mad?” I finally ask, not arguing because honestly, I’m not sure I could have made it through even half a day of work.