Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 91434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
I’m walking out of the door when I hear the sound of the motorcycle coming down the street. My head turns when I see it stop in front of the house, his feet come down as he throws down the stand, and then swings his leg off. “Hey,” I greet when Oliver takes off his helmet.
“Hi, Everleigh.” He holds his helmet in his hand. “Are you going out?”
“I am,” I say to him. “Mom is sitting inside.”
“Sounds good,” he replies, walking toward the door.
“I’ll call before I come home,” I joke with him as he shakes his head and walks right in the house.
I get in my car and follow the directions to Autumn and Charlie’s house. They are waiting for me outside as she sits in the chair and Charlie is swinging Landon around, making him laugh.
“Hi,” I say, getting out of the car and walking over to Charlie, who bends and kisses my cheek. Landon slaps my face before trying to grab my hair in his chubby little hand.
“I’ll take that.” I rescue my hair from his hand as he throws himself to me. “And you, I guess,” I say, cocking him on my hip. “Aren’t you the most handsome boy?” He gives me a gummy smile. “And the world’s biggest flirt”—he slaps my boobs—“and handsy,” I observe, making them laugh. “At least buy me a drink.”
“Sorry about that; he thinks all breasts are his,” Autumn explains as she comes to stand next to me. Charlie wraps his arm around her shoulders.
“Most action I’ve gotten in months,” I joke and kiss his chubby little cheek as he squeals.
We walk inside and she gives me a tour of the house. We stop at the table in the hall that has a picture of Jennifer. “Oh my,” I gasp at the picture that was taken so long ago it feels like it was in another lifetime. “This is”—I pick it up in my hand and run my hand over the glass—“she looks…” I trail off, thinking of the word I want to say.
“She’s beautiful,” Autumn fills in.
“She really was,” I agree, putting the picture down. “Do you find it weird?” I ask. “Sorry, that’s a dumb question.”
“No.” She quickly stops me from talking. “It’s not weird. I know how much he loved her. I will never not want him to have that. To have her. That’s something that is a part of him. Something I love that he loved.”
“You are a saint,” I say. “I don’t know how I would feel if my husband had a picture of one of his girlfriends in the house we lived in.”
“I want to believe she brought us together,” she shares, then leans in. “But if the roles were reversed, I would haunt the shit out of Charlie. I would give him erectile dysfunction.” I throw my head back and laugh. “And I’m okay with admitting that.”
We eat dinner together, the three of us, and then go outside to sit on the same chairs she was sitting on when I got there. “I forgot how peaceful it was at night.” I look up and see the sky filled with twinkling stars. My thoughts go to Brock, and I wonder if he’s with his daughter. The tightness forms in my stomach as I try to push the feelings away, but it’s easier said than done.
“You forget a lot of things until you come back, and then it’s all there, and you wonder how you survived without them.”
“How long were you gone?” I ask, the guilt of not talking to her rushes through me. I shouldn’t have done what I did, but at the time, my own world was falling apart.
“About six years,” she answers. “Came back home when I found out my father was dying.”
I gasp and reach out to grab her hand in mine. “He’s still not one hundred percent but he’s hanging in there. He’s done chemo and radiation. It could happen at any minute, but for today he is almost the same as he was back then.”
“It’s all we can ask for,” I say. “If I hadn’t been on the phone with my mother, I don’t know if she would still be here.” She wraps her arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry,” I murmur softly, “for blaming you. For not talking to you”—the tear escapes—“and for being a shitty friend.”
“I’m sorry,” she sniffles, “for not stopping it all before it happened. What I wouldn’t do to go back and change that moment.” My phone rings in my pocket, and when I pull it out, I see it’s my mother calling me.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer, putting the phone to my ear. “What’s up?”
“Where are you?” she frantically asks me. But her tone cuts me to the bone, before she gasps out, “Fire.” I sit up stiff. “There is a fire at the bakery.”