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)
“I’ll go with you.”
She frowns. “Thank you, but that’s probably not a good idea.”
What?
“Look, Jay. These are my kids. This is my problem. Not yours.”
It’s not the words that bother me. It’s the tone she uses that cuts me to the quick.
“These are my kids. This is my problem. Not yours.”
It’s reminiscent of the last argument that Melody and I had the day before I came home and she and Izzy were gone. We had argued the night before over the fact that I hadn’t proposed to her. The next day, the school called because Izzy was sick and needed to be picked up. That was the day I discovered that I had been removed from my daughter’s emergency contacts list.
“She’s my child, Jay. If you wanted her to be yours, you’d do what you need to do.”
A tightness spreads through my body, nearly strangling me in the process. It’s too close to déjà vu to be comfortable. It’s too similar to the worst day of my life for me to live it again.
How did I get here? How did I get to a place where I fucking care? How did I put myself in this position to be kicked out of the lives of people I care about, like I don’t matter at all?
This is crushing me.
Do I like this woman? Hell yes. Do I want to try for more? Absolutely. I can’t deny it. But if this is what it feels like after being with her for a few weeks, then I don’t think I can take the risk of waiting for a few years to pass before she says something like that again.
“These are my kids. This is my problem. Not yours.” How apt. How fucking true. You gotta move on from this now, Stetson. Do it before it’s too late for everyone involved.
Whether she knows it or not, Gabrielle Solomon just drew the final line in the sand.
“You know what? You’re right. They are your kids, and it is your problem,” I say, my heart pounding in my ears. “I hope you guys figure it out.”
“What are you saying, Jay?”
I shrug. “I’m not saying anything other than . . .” My shoulders fall. “Tell Dylan I’m sorry. I’m sorry to you too.”
I plant a kiss on her head, avoid her eyes, and walk down the steps toward home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
GABRIELLE
The door is locked.
I ring the doorbell and wait.
The moon is bright and high in the sky. The air is warm, hinting of summer, and scented like flowers. Sitting on the back porch with a glass of wine would be a lovely night. God knows I need the wine. But I also need to check on Jay.
I’m not sure what happened earlier this evening. All I know is that a boulder has been in my stomach since I watched him walk home. It was the way his eyes didn’t sparkle when he spoke to me. The hollowness in his voice when he said goodbye. His lips lingered a moment too long against my head, almost in a silent farewell, before he marched off.
It does not sit right with me, but I’ve been too preoccupied to deal with it. Until now.
It takes longer than expected for him to answer the door.
My heart skips a beat as the lock clicks free. Slowly, he comes into view.
A pair of plaid sleep pants. Shirtless. Messy hair like he’s been running his hands through it all evening.
Is that true? Has he? Has he been as confused and frustrated by this whole thing as me?
“Hey,” I say, expecting him to move so I can go inside. But he doesn’t.
“How did things go?”
“They went. Dylan is calmer than he was, but he’s still pissed. I talked to him until I was blue in the face and finally decided to give him space to cool off.”
Jay nods. “Probably a good idea.”
I shiver, and it has nothing to do with the temperature. It has everything to do with his chilly reception.
“Are you going to let me in?” I ask.
He takes so long to step to the side that I think it won’t happen. Finally, he moves and lets me pass.
My heart pounds as I step into his house like I’ve done most nights for weeks. It might be for a quick kiss, and it might be for more. But I’ve been invited to come by, begged to show up, and welcomed in when I do . . . except tonight.
Everything in me panics.
“What’s going on, Jay?”
He stands out of arm’s reach—a very un-Jay-like thing to do.
“I think,” he says slowly and steadily, “that we got ahead of ourselves.”
What? My eyes grow wide. “What are you talking about?”
“Tonight was a wake-up call, Gabrielle. We live in a fantasy world if we think things will work out between us.”
My blood runs cold. “Jay.”