Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Sadie lowers her head, turning to find me waiting behind her. She lingers as though she wants to tell me something, her wide eyes searching mine, and then she huffs again and makes her escape.
When Taylor stands, she folds her arms across her chest and shakes her head. “That was a special moment.”
It really was. Every time I save a life and set it free, I feel a moment of freedom myself until the memories crawl back in.
“You did good, Clint.” Taylor moves closer, resting her hand on my arm. I look away because letting her see the war inside me is like ants crawling across my skin.
“We should go back.”
She follows me as I stride back to the house.
Even though I’m dog-tired, I can’t sleep. Sadie’s big eyes are in my head. The smell of tar, washer fluid, and oil is in my nose. Dread hangs like the blackest of storm clouds, ready to rain down on me.
When there’s a knock on my door, I sit quickly, smoothing down my comforter as Taylor peeks her head into the room.
“Can I come in?” she asks.
“Sure.” I’m wary of what might be behind this late-night visit but grateful for the distraction from my bleakness.
She lifts the corner of my comforter and slides in next to me. “Were you struggling to sleep, too?”
I shrug, not wanting to admit that I’ve got things churning through my mind. What kind of husband would I be if I couldn’t shelter my wife from darkness, even my own?
“Seeing Sadie run free was the best,” she says. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
I shrug again, the tightness in my throat getting worse as though she’s pulling a noose with her sweetness. My breathing sounds ragged, and the beat of my heart echoes in my ears like the incessant tick of the grandfather clock.
Time stands still for no man, but I feel like I’ve been standing still for years.
Taylor reaches for my hand. “I know there’s something you’re not telling me,” she says. “I can feel it, like I could feel my own secret, burning at the edges of everything.”
I try to pull my hand away, but she grips it tighter. “If you’re going to be a husband to me, you need to be able to share difficult things, Clint.”
“You didn’t trust me to share your troubles until you were forced to,” I remind her.
“Well, now I’m forcing you.”
I swallow against the jagged rock behind my Adam’s apple.
“Taylor,” I warn. I need her to stop poking because telling her my shame won’t take it away. It’ll only make everything worse because she won’t ever look at me the same. Living in a cage of my own making is tough enough. Watching her put up walls around herself would end me.
“Please.” She leans in to rest her head against my shoulder and turns until her lips are pressed against my neck. “Please.”
“You don’t understand.” My voice is so gravelly she shouldn’t be able to make out the words, but she does.
“I understand that we all have a past, Clint. Would you care about me any less because of something that happened to me or something I did?”
“No.” It’s the truth. She could tell me anything, and I’d forgive her. What’s in her past isn’t my concern. The future is where my attention wants to be.
“And I feel the same, Clint. Why can’t you understand that?”
“This isn’t the same.”
“Because you can’t forgive yourself?”
Yes, I want to say. Yes, I’ve done something so bad that I should never be forgiven. But I can’t tell her the truth. I’ll lose her, but maybe that would be best.
How can I be the husband of someone who acts with so much integrity while I conceal the darkest secret like an imposter in my own life story? She’d be better off with just Jesse and Maverick. At least they can be honest with her. At least they have the moral fiber to be worthy of her.
“I can’t be your husband.” I swallow thickly. “I’m not the kind of man you deserve, Taylor. I should never have let Jesse involve me in this.”
“You don’t get to walk away from me, Clint,” she says, trailing her hand over my chest. I grab it tightly in my hand, needing her to stop touching me. My mind spins. My need for her to know me, to see me, to forgive me is an ache I can’t bear. The silence hangs between us in the thick night air. My bedroom window is open, but it’s still too hot. The only sound is the gentle fluttering of the drapes and my ragged breathing. “I can’t love you the way you deserve.”
“You already do,” she says.
“I’m not a good man,” I admit. “I’ve done something so bad—”
“Just tell me.” Her voice is a pleading whisper.