Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84075 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84075 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
He can’t buy his way back into my life. He can help my mother and I’ll even let him if he thinks it’s a way for him to repent, but I will not allow myself to be used by him ever again. Things between us are over, and they’re going to stay over.
“Honey? Honey? Can you hear me?”
I raise the phone up to my ear again. “Sorry, yeah, I’m here. I’m just… surprised.”
“He asked me not to say anything, but you have a right to know. Honey, are you really going to marry Matthew Keyne?”
“How do you—” But I stop myself. Ford told her, of course. “Yes, Mom. That’s the plan.”
“Please, sweetie. Don’t do it.”
I stand very still. Sweat rolls down my back. Too many emotions are fighting in my stomach right now. Joy that my mother’s in rehab and she’s safe and sounds clear. Dread that Ford’s the one paying for it. Sorrow that I’m going through with this wedding no matter what.
“Mom,” I say and sigh. “I’m sorry. I know Ford’s doing the right thing now, but we can’t be sure he’ll do it forever. He hurt me and I’m finished with him.”
“You don’t have to go back to him, sweetie, but don’t give yourself away just because you feel some sense of obligation to me. Your grandfather and I have a complicated history, and I know he likes to use me against you, but please. Don’t let him.”
“Mom.”
“Ford prepaid my stay here for three months. I’m going to give it a real effort, okay, sweetie? I’ll be right here, safe and sound, so don’t feel like you need to marry that Matthew boy.”
“Mom.” I squeeze my eyes shut tight. “I’m so happy to hear you say that.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
“It’s just a lot, okay? It’s a lot and it’s sudden.”
“Okay, honey, okay. Listen, I love you. Come visit me when you can, but I’ll be here, you don’t have to worry about me. The money’s already paid. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Right, thanks. I love you too.”
“Talk to you soon.” She hangs up and I’m left alone staring at the water, my mind racing.
Ford found her. Ford got her back into rehab. And Ford paid for it all.
Why would he do something like that?
But I know. Deep in my heart, I know, and as I turn to the house and hurry inside, I know I have to talk to him.
Even if it kills me.
The doorman at our building—Ford’s building now—frowns at me from under his gray shaggy eyebrows as he calls up to my former apartment. “Yes, Mr. Arc, she’s down here waiting. She says she doesn’t wish to come up. Yes, sir, I’ll have her wait. You may use the lobby. I’ll be out front if you need anything.” He hangs up and looks at me. “He’ll be down shortly, miss.” He tips his hat and heads outside to stand near the front doors.
I stand near the waiting area nervously. I pace back and forth, not sure what to expect. I haven’t seen Ford since the day I walked out on him and I don’t want to see him now, but he paid for my mother’s rehab and I feel like I need to do this. Not necessarily for him, but for me as well.
Seconds tick past. I watch the elevator light up as a passenger rides it down. My stomach’s a mess, a twisted and ugly wreck. I want to get out of here. It’s strange, standing on this end of the waiting room like I’m a guest when I lived here for a little while. The poor doorman must think this is all very strange.
The elevator dings. My heart skips a beat. The doors slide open and there he is, Ford Arc, exactly as he remains in my memory.
Tall and broad. Handsome as sin. He steps toward me with a strange look on his face like he barely believes I’m standing in front of him. He’s in a white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, dark slacks, dress shoes. His hair’s longer and messy, and he needs a shave.
But it’s Ford. Beautiful, perfect Ford.
Our relationship flashes through my head: his lips on mine in the cab, his tongue between my legs, the nights of blistering pleasure we spent in our bed together. I wonder if he still sleeps in that bed. I wonder if it still smells like me. Some of my clothes still carry his scent and I haven’t been able to bring myself to wash them. I don’t know that that means. I don’t want to think about it.
“How are you?” he says, and the silence shatters like a window.
I don’t move toward him, even if I want to. “Been better. You?”
“Same.”
“My mom called me earlier.”
He nods like he isn’t surprised. “I asked her not to tell you I was involved. She’s doing okay though?”