Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
I blow out my cheeks, shaking out my hands. I’m so fucking nervous, but not a damn thing is going to stop me now.
Rolling up the sleeves of my suit shirt, I make my way downstairs and straight toward the internal door of the garage. I pass Mom and Erica, both of them drunk out of their minds in the living room, giggling like little schoolgirls, but shit, it’s nice to hear their laughter rather than the crying I’ve grown accustomed to.
They eye me as I walk past and all I can offer is a small smile, too fucking nervous to even speak. I don’t even feel nerves like this when heading into a championship game. But Zoey James . . . fuck. She brings it out in me.
I hear both our moms whispering, already curious about what I’m doing, but I don’t stop to answer their questions as my grip tightens on the door handle, and I push through to the garage.
Zoey’s father is bent over his Mustang, fucking around with the twenty-year-old engine. He’s spent a lot of time out here since Zoey’s been sick. I think it gives him something to think about apart from the fact that his baby girl is only weeks away from taking her final breath.
It’s not unheard of for me to come and chill with him in here, but when I close the door behind me, he glances up, his brows furrowed in question. “She alright?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, swallowing hard and sounding way too formal. “She’s asleep in bed.”
He nods. “Did you ever make it to prom?”
“Not exactly,” I say. “But she still had a good night.”
“Good,” he says with a heavy breath, bracing his hands against the rusted frame of the Mustang, staring down at the broken engine as though it holds the answers to all his questions. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for my little girl.”
“That’s why I’m here,” I say, not willing to pussy-foot around this one, even if it means standing here as he tears me to shreds first. His head snaps back up again, his gaze locked and loaded on mine. “Sir, I—”
“Ah, shit,” he says with a heavy sigh, tossing his wrench back toward his workbench. “I knew this was coming, but truth be told, I didn’t expect it for another few years at least.”
I nod, knowing exactly what he means. “With all due respect, Zoey doesn’t have the kind of time we always thought she would, and I want to make her happy now. I want to give her everything she’s ever wanted. I want as many of her dreams to come true before . . .” I trail off, not able to finish that sentence.
I let out a shaky breath, needing just a moment to compose myself before continuing. “I know you’ve had your reservations about me after I broke her heart when Linc died, but Zoey means more to me than anything. I love her. I’ve always loved her, and even after she’s gone, I’ll still be doing everything in my power to make up for the hurt I caused her.”
He nods, closing the hood of the Mustang and leaning up against it as he turns to face me straight on. “I know you will, Noah. But Zoey forgave you a long time ago. Her heart’s no longer broken. You don’t need to continue to beat yourself up over it.”
“If I knew how to stop, I would,” I tell him. “I lost three years with her because I couldn’t come to terms with a lot of things, and in hindsight, knowing what I know now, I hate myself for that. Three fucking years. I could have made her smile every single one of those days, and I’ll always regret that I didn’t. But she only has a little time left, and I want to give her the world while I still can. There are so many things that time won’t allow me to give her, but there is one, sir,” I say, getting choked up. “With your blessing, I would like to marry your daughter.”
He blows out a heavy breath, holding my stare as my heart thunders in my chest, desperate for him to say yes, despite knowing that I will still ask for her hand in marriage even without his approval. I will marry her come hell or high water, but it would mean the world to both of them if he got to walk her down the aisle before she slipped away.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks. “You’re still just a kid. You will be a nineteen-year-old widow.”
I nod, holding his stare and letting him see just how ready I am. “I’m all in,” I tell him. “And while I might be a nineteen-year-old widow, I’ll also be the man who got to marry the love of his life and give her a day that she’ll always cherish. Getting to give her this will forever be my greatest achievement. No championship trophy or NFL contract will even come close.”