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)
“But what about you?” she asks and leans forward to put her beer bottle on the coffee table. “Who was going to protect you?”
“I didn’t care about me,” I admit. “After I lost you, I wanted to die. I begged to die.” She gasps and puts her hands in front of her mouth. “I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror. I knew you would be pissed at me, but I never thought you would leave me. I guess I had hoped it would all work out. I took the risk, and it was bigger than I thought it would be.” I look down, afraid to look into her eyes, but knowing I have to. I have to see them when I say it. “It will forever be the biggest regret of my life.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
EVERLEIGH
“I didn’t care about me.” His words feel like they are tormented. “After I lost you, I wanted to die. I begged to die.” I gasp at this information. Never, and I mean never, would I have thought that my big, strong, protector of a man would go down to that. “I couldn’t even look myself in the mirror. I knew you would be pissed at me, but I never thought you would leave me. I guess I had hoped that it would all work out. I took the risk, and it was bigger than I thought it would be.” I watch him go through the emotions that he should have gone through all those years ago, but now, sitting in front of him, I can see I wasn’t the only one who suffered from this. He did too; he suffered along with me. I may have blocked it out because it was easier for me to hate him, thinking he did it because he didn’t care about me. “It will forever be the biggest regret of my life.” His words feel like they are ripped from his soul.
“Thank you”—I feel my body shaking—“for finally being honest with me.” I can see the hurt on his face, and I hold up my hand. “I don’t mean it like that. I mean it…” I look up at the ceiling and use the back of my hand to wipe away the tears from my cheeks. “I thought it was easy for you.” It’s my turn to give him my side of it. “I thought you did all that, and you didn’t care that you were doing it.” He shakes his head furiously back and forth. His elbows go on his knees as he looks down at his shoes and then looks back up at me, and I can see his own tears in his eyes.
“Fuck, Everleigh.” He uses my name instead of baby, and it hurts. “It ate me up inside.”
“You should have told me, Brock,” I whisper. “You should have been honest with me.”
“I didn’t want it to touch you.” He runs one hand through his hair. “I didn’t want their hands on you. I wanted you as far away from them as I could get you.”
“But don’t you see,” I say, “they had you, and in return, they had me, and I had no idea.” I wait for it to sink in, wait for him to see it. “I needed to know what I was up against, and you took it away from me.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice is so soft. “I’m so fucking sorry. I wish things were fucking different.”
“I do too,” I admit. “I do too.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but the oven beeps. He gets up and walks over to the kitchen, and I take a look around, seeing the home he created for him and his daughter. Little picture frames are scattered around the house. There are pieces of Saige everywhere. One of her sweaters is folded on the end of the couch, a couple of her notepads are in the middle of the coffee table. I suddenly wonder what kind of father he is. I suddenly want to know more, but I’m not sure my heart can take it.
“Did you still want to stay for dinner?” he asks, and my head turns from the notepads on the table to him standing in the middle of the kitchen, taking off an oven mitt.
“I do,” I confirm, getting up. “If that is okay with you, that is.” I walk over to the island and stand with it between us. “I could also leave if you don’t want me here.”
I wait with almost bated breath for him to answer me. “I would like nothing more than to have dinner with you.” He stares into my eyes as he says the words.
“Good.” I try not to smile, but it fills my face anyway. “What can I do to help?”
“Sit down”—he motions with his head to one of the stools—“and relax.”