Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
My cellphone rings and I grab it, hopeful that it’s Reese and this is over, but it’s not. It’s his mother. I answer with a reprimand. “I told you that you can’t call. It connects me to Reese.”
“I know,” she says. “But Reese told me he can’t talk to me right now. He has shut himself off. He’s completely focused on whatever he is doing.”
“He’s got a lot of plates in the air to juggle.”
“I know. Are you okay?”
“No, but I will be when this is over. You can’t call again.”
“I know, but he needs you. I feel it.”
“Thanks. I needed to hear that.”
“We will never have family get-togethers with your family. Just so we’re clear. Take care, honey.” She hangs up and I grab the remote to my fireplace and turn it on high. It’s cold and I’m chilled to the bone, which could be the ice cream, or maybe it’s all about my shitty family.
I start typing my column, which features a married couple, and a man who died saving his wife’s life only to have the family file a lawsuit against her for wrongful death. It’s an unheard of insane, first of its kind, case. My closing statement reads: What would you do for the one you love? What would you give up? This man sacrificed everything for his woman and not only did she lose the love of her life, she was tortured by his family, and this is torture. I hope they read this. I hope they can reach inside themselves and see that the pain they cause this woman doesn’t bring their family member back. It drives him deeper into his grave while the woman he loves, bleeds.
That closing wasn’t for Reese. It was for my fucked up family, who won’t even read it and doesn’t even know how much Reese means to me. If they did, they’d make him bleed.
Cat
Day twenty-four apart—Thanksgiving Day…
I retreat to the kitchen of Lauren’s busy house, leaving her and Julie, a Marilyn Monroe look-a-like who I am coming to really like, and a cluster of Walker brothers and staff that overwhelm the place. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and find the table empty. I claim a seat and set my phone on the table. It rings with my youngest brother, Daniel’s, number.
“Hey, Cat.”
“Hey,” I say. “Happy Turkey Day.”
“Happy Turkey Day. How are you?”
Considering I called him three weeks ago and told him everything about Reese, and the Maxwell family drama, we both know he’s not asking a generic question. “The same,” I say.
“No news at all?”
“Nothing. Are you with your girlfriend?”
“Yes. Heading to her family outing.”
My line beeps and the caller ID shows Gabe. “Go have fun. Gabe is calling, believe it or not.”
“Hell froze over and on Thanksgiving. We need to mark this on the calendar. Call me if you hear anything about anything and I will you, too. Take care, sis.”
He hangs up and I reluctantly answer Gabe’s call. “Hi Gabe.”
“Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Yeah thanks. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.”
“I just wanted to tell you that you are missed today. You can still come over.”
“I’m at a friend’s house.”
“Right,” he says. “Okay. For the record, I love you.”
I blanch. “You love me?”
“This is where you say: ‘I love you, too, Gabe.’”
“I love you, too Gabe.”
“Good. Next time you say it first. I’m the macho guy remember?”
“Who likes to take bubble baths.”
“Hey. That’s a family secret. Don’t go spreading that around.”
We laugh and I actually enjoy talking to him. We disconnect and I’m about to go back to the party when Royce appears at the table and sets a phone in front of me. “It can’t be traced. Answer it when it rings.” He nods and backs away.
The phone rings and my heart flutters. “Hello.”
“Cat.”
Just hearing Reese’s voice, punches me with relief. “Is it over?”
“No. It’s not over, but it’s close.”
“How close?”
“Soon is all I can say, and I don’t want to talk about this. I want to just talk to you.”
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Home,” I repeat. “That place we used to share?” I don’t let him answer. “Who are you with?”
“I’m alone by choice. Cat, I need to know that you haven’t found ten reasons we aren’t good for each other.”
“Why would you even think that? I write to you in my column every day.”
“I know. I read it the minute I wake up.”
“Then how can you think that I’m not still with you?”
“Because I know you and you don’t know how I’m solving this and you can’t right now. I need to keep you away from it.”
“I don’t care what you do to end this as long as you don’t compromise who you are.”
“I’m doing what I need to do,” he says.
“You’re doing something you don’t want to do.”
“I’m doing what I hope we both still want. Making sure we end up together.”