Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Emersyn closes her eyes and bites her lips together.
I hold my hands out to my sides. “I’m here. Living. I’ve pursued my dreams. Nobody stood in my way. Nobody kept me from staying focused. I didn’t force anything in my life. When I met Suzanne, I took an instant interest in her. Then I found out she was with Tara. So I kept doing my thing. I worked. I dated other women. I lived. And I had no clue that fate would bring us together, but it did. Life is all about timing.”
She slowly blinks open her eyes. “It’s not our time,” she whispers.
“It’s not our time,” I echo.
“It was the photos.”
I shake my head, eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t the fucking photos. I couldn’t care less about the photos.” That’s not entirely true, but it’s not my point.
“Was it what I said at the wedding? Does your family hate me?”
“They don’t hate you. They understand why I married you.”
Emersyn nods several times. “Not one call …” she says, getting choked up again.
I feel her. I feel all the things she’s afraid to say because I’m afraid to say them too. It sucks to have irrational and impulsive emotions when it comes to love.
“What would I have said?” I whisper.
She sniffles and blots the corners of her eyes. “That you miss me.”
I grunt. “Seems a little cruel to say that. Sounds like a guilt trip when you’re working so hard to pursue your dreams. If you called to tell me that you miss me, I’d be on the next flight to you. I’d wait by your door for you to come home. And I’d never want to leave you again. How dysfunctional is that? How would I do my own job? Long-distance relationships work because of all the things that aren’t said.”
“Bullshit!” She balls her fists. “It’s been months. That’s not a long-distance relationship; it’s abandonment. Fine … don’t call me to say you miss me. Call me to say you love me. Call me to wish me a merry Christmas or a happy fucking new year. Call me and tell me about your day. Or what your plans are for the weekend. Send me pictures of the garden or pictures of your smiling face. You follow me on Instagram. I know you’re seeing pictures of me. You know what’s happening in my life. But you never post anything. You never share your life.”
If I surrender, if I let myself fall, I will crush her.
Her dreams.
Her future.
Her independence.
“Then why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you ask me about my day? Why didn’t you request I send you pictures? You’re all pissed off that I didn’t call you, but you didn’t call me!” Instant regret. Every. Single. Word.
She draws in a shaky breath that makes her whole body shiver. “How was your day?” she asks in a soft voice.
“Shitty. The woman I love won’t let me touch her. And it’s really fucking killing me.” I take a step toward her.
And another.
Then another.
“I should have called,” I whisper because pretending like I’m the strong one no longer makes sense. We have survived too much.
When her gaze meets mine again, the floodgates open into uncontrolled sobs. “My m-mom d-died …”
I obliterate the last few inches between us, wrapping her in my arms. If I could wring every bit of pain and grief from her and absorb it into my own heart, I would do it. Resting my lips on the top of her head while stroking her hair, I whisper, “I know, Em. And I’m so very sorry.”
Easing onto the bed, I bring her whole body onto my lap, cradling her in my arms. There are no right words. They all feel inadequate.
Does she know this? Does she feel my love for her?
The love she didn’t get from her parents.
The love she never had from siblings.
The love that fell short in all of her relationships before me.
This love, whatever it may be, is bittersweet. It’s everything, yet never enough.
Wrong fucking time.
When her well of tears runs dry, and her tired eyes refuse to open, her body refuses to move from this spot in my arms. We lie back, and sleep claims us.
“Em.” I press my lips to her forehead before the sun rises.
I’ve missed this feeling so much. Her touch.
“I have to go. I have work today,” I say, breaking our bubble.
“Why is one of us always leaving?” she whispers without moving an inch. “Why can’t we hide in a cocoon forever, forgetting goals, redefining dreams, living in the moment and only for each other? Why is that so hard? So complicated?” She nuzzles her nose into my shirt and inhales. Then she works her face into the crook of my neck and does it again.
It keeps awakening that hope for a few breaths before leaving my heart stranded again. And it never gets easier.