Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“I think you need to decide,” my father cuts in by inching forward, “if you want to be the one helping hold her up. If you don’t, then walk away.” I grit my teeth. “But if you do, get ready to brace the fucking storm that is going to come to her.”
“What if I can’t protect her?” I ask the question that scares me the most. “What if I do all this, and I can’t protect her from this and then I lose her?”
“What if you don’t?” my father retorts. “What if you can protect her and you don’t lose her?” He smiles sadly. “It’s up to you to decide what you want to do. But be honest with both of you. Tell her how you feel and how scared you are.” He trails off. “Now, I’ll let you go because you have some thinking to do. You call us tomorrow, yeah?”
“I will.” I nod. “Thank you, guys.”
“It’s what we are here for,” my father says. “Love you, son.”
“I mildly like you right now, I’ll know more tomorrow when you call us back,” Mom snaps and then hangs up on me.
I turn to the side, looking at the stack of papers, already knowing what my answer is. Also knowing I have to be sure before I go to her, because my father was right. I’m scared something is going to happen to her, and I’m also scared I won’t survive it.
Chapter 29
Sierra
I pick up the last box in the garage with living room written on it before turning and walking up the two stairs back to the mudroom. I go through the family room, which is still empty since I haven’t even started to decorate it yet, toward the living room in the front, which I’ve now named my reading room instead of the living room.
Placing it down among all the other boxes, I try not to let my mind drift to the fight Caleb and I had a couple of hours ago. I’m ignoring how mad I am that he just doesn’t get it. I start to open the box when I hear a car door slam shut. My eyes go to the front door at the same time my heart speeds up, going a mile a minute. My breathing starts to come out in pants as I hear the footsteps on the steps.
My eyes fixate on the door, hoping it’s going to open and he’s going to be standing there. Hoping it’s him and he’ll come in and hug me and I’ll feel safe. Every single second feels like an eternity. Every single second the hope that it’s him goes higher and higher. Until it crashes and burns when the hand comes up and knocks at the front door.
I blink away the tears and the sting in my nose as I walk over to the door and pull it open. I smile big when I see it’s Lilah standing there with a bottle of champagne. “Surprise.” She walks in when I move aside, giving her space. “I come with gifts for you”—she holds up the bottle—“and gifts for myself, but they’re in the truck.” She holds out the bottle for me to grab before rushing back out the door and heading to her truck. I watch her reach into the passenger side, grabbing two boxes. She grabs the big pink box I know has either cupcakes or donuts in it, and then grabs another smaller one before shutting the door with her hip. She walks back up the steps toward the house. “I’m so excited for you to open this.” She holds up the small one in her hand.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell her as I close the door behind her and she looks at the furniture in my library.
“Can I come here and read?” she asks me, stepping into the room and looking at the built-in cases I had built and painted a deep moss green, with a black ladder that moves from side to side against the big wall.
She puts the box of sweet treats down on one of the moving boxes before she makes her way over to the chair I have next to the window in the corner. She turns and sits down in the big oversized, light-beige chair with a matching footstool. The small round bleached wood table is empty beside the chair. “Me reading right here”—she puts one hand on the armrest—“with my tea on this table.” She points at the table.
“I bought an amazing pitcher vase for that table,” I tell her, “and the throw blanket I got for that chair is like cashmere but heavy.”
“Say less.” She smiles at me. “Now, I know you already have lots of books for these shelves, but I couldn’t help myself.” She gets up and walks over to me, giving me the present in her hand.