Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 49294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
She wasn’t the kind of woman who needed him. She wasn’t the kind of woman who needed anyone, it seemed.
Lennon doesn’t need a man like him—someone who keeps his distance, hiding behind his career and a past of his own. But the more he watches her, the more he craves the warmth she unknowingly offers.
What he isn’t expecting is the pull he has toward her sweet, soft smiles she offers and the way she moves with a quiet strength, despite the sadness behind her eyes.
And now, for the first time in a long time, Asher’s wondering if he might be willing to change his ways.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
LENNON
Six Weeks Earlier
The couch feels good, too good. I’d usually be at work or cleaning the house, except for today. The date on the calendar loomed in my head for nearly a month, and when the page on the calendar flipped, I made it worse. Why would anyone circle this date in red over and over again? It stared at me like a beacon each and every time I walked into the kitchen. Maybe that’s why I avoided it like the plague a few days leading up to this morning.
Fortunately for me, my preconceived notion of being a total embarrassment narrowed down to a party of one. My sister, Minnie, would have flown down from Colorado without batting an eye. I wouldn’t let her. She and Clay are smitten with one another, and I know my sister well enough. She’d stay as long as possible and feel guilty when she left. This task is better for me to deal with on my own. The fewer witnesses the better, in my eyes at least.
The party of the one and only me, myself, and I. We being me, dealt with standing in front of a judge. Well, minus a lawyer representing me, who is a literal godsend in every stretch of the imagination, and the paralegal taking notes through the proceeding. I held my head high, kept my tears at bay, and breathed through the overwhelming pain of coming to yet another realization.
Failure.
My body failed me.
My husband, excuse me, ex-husband failed me.
My birth parents failed me.
But I’ve never failed anyone. I’ve always been there, even when I’m not wanted, and that, my friend, is a hard pill to swallow.
And now I’m left alone with a pile of debt and emotions I refuse to unpack at this time. I’m too comfortable with the pint of moose tracks ice cream propped on my stomach and wine in one hand without a glass, instead choosing to drink it directly from the bottle. I’m allowing myself to wallow in self-pity for this afternoon. Come tomorrow, I’m going to dust myself off, get back to work, and dig myself out of the hole I’ve been buried in.
I take another bite of the vanilla swirled with chocolate and peanut butter chunks. The flavors burst along my taste buds, helping me drown out the noise of all the things I should be doing. The red pinot noir I’ve chosen does not pair well with my sweet treat, so I’ve abandoned guzzling the liquid for the time being. Maybe when I’m done divulging in the massive amounts of ice cream, I’ll move this into the bath and continue drinking.
My body is aching, my eyes are tired, and it’s not even because I’ve been crying. Nope, I’m all dried up, have nothing left to give. I used up all the tears when shit hit the fan with Zach all those months ago.
One fight.
One knock-down drag-out argument, and everything came out.
Zach blamed it all on me. Everything. The small-ish house we owned together, which seemed completely perfect to me, and did to him at one point, too.
Then things got worse when he said harmful, hurtful things, things I couldn’t bear to hear. I did the only thing a woman worth her salt would do: I ran out the door and started over. I walked out of the home we built with nothing but the clothes on my back. Of course, a few days later, when I knew Zach would be at work, I went back home, packed everything I could in my car, and never looked back. Clothes, a few mementos from when Minnie was younger, and my favorite kitchen appliances I use to bake with. The one hobby I allow myself despite its added expense.
The worst part is knowing that he didn’t care enough to run after me or to call. I thought it would be a stalemate for a few days, but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing from Zach.
The ringing of the doorbell jars me out of memory lane. “Ugh,” I protest, plopping my ice cream on the scratched-up coffee table I picked up at a garage sale for five bucks. I think condensation marks are the least of my concerns while I get up to answer the door.