Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry.” I fill her doorway, my shoes full of emotional cement keeping me here. “You looked peaceful. I didn’t want to ruin it.”
A small smile appears, hard-earned it seems. “For the past two years, I’ve spent it with Lila, my manager—my friend from work—and her son. But I have no plans for Christmas. It’s just me since my mom died.”
Leaning against the doorframe, I settle in because I want to hear anything she’s willing to share. “Where’s your dad?”
“I don’t know,” she replies as if I’ve asked her something mundane and matter of fact. “I don’t even know who he is other than a one-night stand my mom once had.”
“Men are assholes.”
She laughs, rolling onto her side, head propped up on her hand, looking every bit as youthful as she is. “My mom liked to sleep around. It wasn’t about the sex. It was about the attention. She’d drink it like a shot, getting drunk on the foreplay of a man’s admiration.”
I’m not sure what to say about that or what to think. I’m all for people owning their desires, but I don’t think I’d want to know that about my mom, speaking as her kid. It sounds like Story had a front row seat to the show. Not wanting to inject my own theories, I decide that listening is best.
Our gazes stay locked on each other’s until she looks down, plucking at an unraveled string. The smile I’ve gotten used to seeing on her face has slipped into a sadness that looks unnatural on her. The energy of the air shifts between us, and then she says, “I don’t know where we stand or if I’m even going to see you again after the holiday break. I’d understand, Cooper, I would. With you being a Haywood, you might not want to slum it on the wrong side of the tracks with me. But . . .”
Is she about to end us prematurely? “It’s only bad timing,” I say, trying to redirect and get us back on track.
“I don’t know about bad timing.” Her smile puts me at ease. “I’ve started believing that people come into your life when they’re supposed to and most needed.” Realizing I’m still filling her doorway, I step back inside the apartment and close the door. She adds, “So I may be bad timing in your life, but you have been a good change in my day-to-day.”
Coming around, I sit on the bed where I was sleeping an hour earlier. “I need to tell you something, Story.”
“Okay, you sound serious. Is something wrong?”
“No, just the opposite. It’s been really right with you. That’s what I mean about bad timing. I like the time we’ve spent together, but here we’ll have a month and many miles separating us.”
“Where are you from? If you’re driving, we can drive to see each other . . . well, I don’t have a car, but Lila might let me borrow hers for a day or two if the invitation is still open.”
“It is for you. And hey, I can come back at least once for a quick visit.” Leaning forward, we kiss as if a plan has been conspiratorially hatched. Maybe it has. Either way, we’re in this together. “Normally, we’d celebrate Christmas in the city, but my mom insisted on our home in—” I stop, cringing inside.
“Where? Where’s your other home, Cooper?” She smirks, giving me a little shit. Somehow, she makes it funny, unlike some of the guys when I was growing up.
I learned to throw a punch and take my opponent down in one hit after getting my ass kicked for being a Haywood. Learning to not only defend myself but also make sure people are too afraid to start anything has gotten me in trouble over the years.
I’m not exactly the son my parents dreamed of.
“Haywood.”
“What’s Haywood?”
Internally, I brace myself for the usual reaction I receive. “The town my family founded.”
“You’re so fancy, Cooper,” she says, laughing. “I don’t think I can take much more. Next, you’re going to tell me you live up on the hill.” But when I don’t laugh, hers fades away. “You’re kidding me?”
I shake my head. “I’m afraid not.” Holding tighter to her hand, I ask, “Is this going to be a hurdle for us?”
She brings me closer by tugging on my hand with hers, and with her other, she grabs my coat and then kisses me. “Only if we let it.”
“I won’t,” I say as if I can control the world and how it treats us, as if I have the final say. God, I wish I did.
With our foreheads tipped together, our gazes fixed on the bond of our hands, she says, “I can’t promise that I won’t be surprised again, but I’m glad I got to know you without any of that interfering.”