Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
So both of them were young, and she was suddenly a single mom with the man she loved, spent six years with, lived with him for four, bought a house with him, made babies with him…gone.
So yeah.
I got it.
A woman lost all that, she’d need to lick her wounds.
Five years of that at the same time fucking over someone who looked out for her and her kids?
No.
I heard an engine roar in the distance, and I knew it was Boone’s Charger.
I looked to the window at the front of the house and put my hand to my throat.
One thing I know, whenever I spend time in your space, what I want becomes less and less you.
Well, that pretty much said it all.
And it hurt like hell.
But I wasn’t going to cry.
The last time I cried was a couple of months ago. After I’d been in the midst of a firefight in the parking lot of a mall during a kidnapping (mine). But the waterworks only came because I thought a guy I knew and liked had been shot in said firefight.
So those were kind of stressy tears, and I didn’t think they counted.
They weren’t heartbreak tears.
The last time I’d cried before that?
When I was fifteen and in a frothy, tea-length gown, waiting on Mom’s couch for Dad to show to take me to some father-daughter dance he had going on with whatever club that he belonged to.
Lions Club?
The Masons?
Whatever.
He didn’t show.
I sat on that couch all dolled up for a date with my dad, while Mom looked on, appearing openly like she’d gladly murder somebody. And I sat there until ten thirty before Mom got me out of that gown, unearthed the ice cream, and I sat in her bed, snot-nosed and bawling, but still shoving that frozen goodness in my mouth.
That was the last and only time I cried over a man.
So now…
Fuck it.
I wasn’t going to cry because Boone showed strong signs that he’d be a delicious Dom.
I wasn’t going to cry because, even if it was vaguely fucked up, finding that shit out about Angelica was something he spent his time and resources doing what he said he was doing, looking out for me.
I also wasn’t going to cry because Lottie had Mo, and her serenity and contentment at finding a good man to love who loved her floated like pearlescent clouds around her everywhere she went.
And Evie had Mag, and the adoration they shared for each other sparkled like glitter anytime one was near the other.
And I had no one.
And I wanted someone, someone special, someone who would look out for me, someone who would partner with me to navigate life, someone who was mine.
No, I wasn’t going to cry for any of these reasons.
I wasn’t going to cry at all.
So I didn’t cry.
I gathered the pictures up, pivoted, and walked out my back door.
Chapter Two
Garden Party
Ryn
I was sitting on Angelica’s bed when she wandered out of her bathroom after her morning shower.
“Holy shit, Ryn!” she cried, jerking the lapels of her robe closed.
“So, is it an Aveda salon where you’re getting your facial today?” I asked conversationally. “I know you’re partial to Aveda, since I popped by there a couple of months ago to stock you up on your favorite hair-care products because I felt bad when you said you couldn’t afford them.”
The color drained from her face.
“I hope you don’t mind, I helped myself to the return of my money you’d already put in your wallet,” I told her.
She took a step toward me. “Ryn, I can ex—”
She halted when I stood up, picking up the photos I had on the bed beside me, and I spoke as I turned them her way and shuffled them, one after the other, showing her each.
“Now, here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna cancel your facial. You’re gonna go to the store and buy eggs, and bacon, and whole grain bread, and carrots, and other shit that’s good for the kids. Then, after you do the laundry, put shit away, and vacuum the freaking floors, you’re gonna dust off your résumé because, tomorrow, you’re gonna go out and look for a job.”
“You had someone follow me?” she asked, her gaze riveted to the pictures.
“No,” I answered. “Though someone who was concerned about me followed you. I didn’t ask for it and I didn’t know it, until he gave me these.”
I waved the photos.
She lifted a hand and shook it in the air. “Okay, I’ll admit, it was a crap thing to do.”
A crap thing to do?
Seriously?
“I just…” she went on. “Things changed so fast, with your brother. I mean that was a big blow, for the kids, for me. I needed some time—”
“Five years, Ang?”
“You don’t know,” she said miserably, and with not a small hint of accusation. “I fell in love with your brother in high school. There’s been no one but him for me. I—”