Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
That thought makes me snort. In no way does this place resemble a dark, dank cottage. This could legit be someone’s home. It’s outfitted with all the amenities and creature comforts a person could need. Other than being situated in the middle of nowhere, it’s perfect. My thoughts meander back to this morning as I stroll through the family room, taking in all the knickknacks on display.
Maybe I’m wrong about the privacy thing.
Maybe it is kind of nice.
I gravitate to the massive stone fireplace with its jagged rocks in rich hues of gray and blue. Warmth emanates from the fireplace, and I hold out my hands to warm them. Even though the cabin’s temperature is toasty, the heat feels good as it seeps into my bones.
I study the framed photographs propped on the mantle. There are numerous ones of Brayden and his sister, Elle, at various stages of their childhood. I pick up one silver frame and examine the picture. My guess is that Brayden must be somewhere around ten years old. A huge grin lights up his youthful face and his dark eyes dance with excitement. His chest is bare as he holds up a fish with one hand.
There’s another of him and Elle at Christmas. In the background is a beautifully decorated tree that stretches toward the two-story ceiling. Both siblings are busy ripping into gifts with excited expressions painted across their faces. I run my finger slowly over his image. It’s not a surprise that he was such a cutie.
The third picture is one of a woman and man. They look to be in their mid-thirties. He’s tall and muscular, built much like Brayden, and she’s more petite, coming only to his shoulder. Their arms are wrapped around each other as they beam at the camera. I study the photograph as something pings in the back of my brain. His face looks vaguely familiar. Although there’s no reason to suspect that I would have met Brayden’s father. I pull it closer and examine the image more carefully.
I’m shaken out of my scrutiny when Brayden comes up behind me and slides his arms around my waist before tugging me close and nuzzling my neck.
“That’s Mom and Dad.”
“It’s a beautiful picture.” They look happy.
He nods. When he says nothing more, I twist around and find sadness flickering in his eyes as he stares at the photograph. I can almost see him getting lost in the memories. I’m intimately acquainted with that feeling, and all I want to do in this moment is banish it for him. Carefully, I set the framed photograph back where I found it before turning and looping my arms around his neck.
“If it’s too painful, we don’t have to talk about your father,” I say softly. “The fact that you’ve come here is a big step. It’s enough.”
“No, I want to tell you about him. I want you to know the kind of guy he was and how much he meant to me.” There’s a pause. “To all of us.”
Brayden shifts our bodies so that we’re facing the mantle before pointing to a large, silver framed photograph of the four of them.
“That’s the last family picture that was taken of us. I was a junior in high school.”
Again, I study his mother. She’s beautiful with shining, dark hair and eyes. It’s obvious who Elle takes after as she stands in front of her. Even though she has braces, she flashes a bright smile toward the camera. My gaze moves to Brayden. He’s not as tall as he is now and certainly not as broad in the shoulders or chest. His hair is a little longer than I’m used to seeing, but he’s still ridiculously handsome. And then my attention settles on the man who was ripped from their lives.
“He and my mom met when they were in high school and fell in love. They got married when they were still in college before Dad was drafted to the NFL.”
I glance at him, brows drawing together. “He played professional football?”
Brayden nods. “Yup, for fifteen years, and then he injured his shoulder. That’s when he decided it was time to retire.”
I study the picture more intensely as something continues to niggle the back of my brain. I didn’t realize Brayden’s father played in the NFL. I guess it makes sense that he would want to follow in his footsteps. “What was his name?”
“Jake.”
And just like that, a trapdoor opens and I’m in free fall.
“Jake Winchester,” I murmur. My voice comes out sounding strangled. It’s as if someone has their hands wrapped around my throat and is slowly squeezing the life out of me.
Brayden’s gaze flickers to me in surprise. “Yeah, that’s right. The last team he played for was the Chicago Bears before retiring. We got to spend about five years with him before a dumbass kid who was drunk took him out.”