Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Maybe if I go, it’ll break Gabrielle’s spell on me.
“Fine,” I say, climbing out of my truck. “I’ll go.”
“Attaboy. I’ll text you tomorrow. But I’m pulling into this farm, so I gotta go.”
“See you tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
I lock the truck and turn around and— “Shit! Carter, my man, warn a guy before you sneak up on him like that.”
He giggles. “Whatcha doing, Jay?”
“Just got home.”
“Where from?”
“The hardware store.”
“Why?”
I groan. “Because I had a bill to pay. Want to know anything else before I go inside?”
He tilts his head to the side. “Still cranky, I see.”
“I’m not cranky, Carter. I have adult problems, and sometimes those require being serious.” And not answering a million questions from the kid next door.
“Do what Mom does when she has adult problems.”
Keep talking, kid. “What does your mom do?”
“Well, sometimes she drinks wine. Do you like wine?”
“It’s okay. What else does she do?”
“Sometimes she paints the house. One time, she painted the kitchen three different colors in a week!”
I smile. “That’s a good strategy.”
“And sometimes she cries.” His smile wobbles. “She says it’s not because she’s sad. It’s because she’s working through her problems and crying helps.” He shrugs. “I don’t understand, but I guess it makes sense. What do I know? I’m a kid.”
A fissure cracks the center of my heart.
I squat so we’re eye to eye. “Has she been crying lately?”
“Um . . .” His face scrunches up in thought. “Yeah. Last night, I think. But Dylan was a jerk face to her, and then she lost a middle name or something. I don’t know. Apparently, that’s bad. And then she said she just wanted a hug. So I gave her the biggest one I could and planted a sticky kiss on her cheek. I’d been eating sticky candy. She hates that. But better a sticky kiss than none. That’s what I told her.”
He giggles, and the split in my chest deepens.
“It’s nice to have someone like this, you know?”
Gabrielle’s words from the basement swing through my mind.
She deserves to have someone hold her and to have her back. I know she wants it. And a line of men will wait to give it to her.
Will it be any easier, watching someone else give her their attention? Will it be easier to swallow than not giving her mine?
Damn you, Melody, for doing this to me. And damn you, Scottie, for reminding me.
“You better get home, kiddo,” I say, standing up again.
“Okay.”
“Do me a favor, all right?”
He nods, his little curls bouncing.
“If your mom looks sad, make sure you give her a big hug. Will you do that?” I ask.
“Okay.”
He smiles wide before launching himself at me. His arms wrap around my legs, and he squeezes them with all his might, almost knocking me over.
“What’s this?” I ask, chuckling.
He looks up at me. “You seem sad too. So I’m hugging you. Do you feel better?”
“Yes.” I pry him off me. He clings to me like a monkey. “But you better get home now.”
He sits down, breaking contact. Then he scoots back and stands up.
“Have a good night, Jay,” he says.
“You too, Carter.”
He picks up his ball in the driveway and dribbles it to the sidewalk.
I shut out him, the ball, and as many thoughts about his mother as I can manage and go into the house.
“But Dylan was a jerk face to her, and then she lost a middle name or something. I don’t know. Apparently, that’s bad. And then she said she just wanted a hug.”
I need to remind myself—continuously—that Gabrielle is not alone. She has her children. Friends. And eventually she’ll have some guy wrapping his arms around her, giving her hugs, and helping her not do life alone.
And I’ll be . . . here.
As much as that pisses me off, it’s the way it should be.
The way it has to be.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GABRIELLE
Can you not put everything you see into the cart, please?” I ask my two children.
“But, Mom,” Carter says, making my name into a sentence. “I need these.”
I snatch the box out of his hand. “You do not need liquefied sugar with red food coloring and a sour sprinkle.” I put it back on the shelf. “There are so many reasons why that’s not happening.”
The grocery store in Logan is comfortably busy. There are enough people inside to keep the doors open, but there aren’t so many people that I want to start ramming carts with my own. Most people shop at the big-box store across town. I prefer the mom-and-pop establishment that has homemade soaps and trail mix.
“How was school?” I ask Dylan. He hasn’t really spoken to me since I picked him up an hour ago. Most of his communication has been via grunts and head nods. It’s so fun for me. “Did you have a good day?”
He grunts.
“How about this,” I say, picking up a box of instant oatmeal. “One grunt for yes and two for no.”