Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
“That’s a great compromise,” he replied, the tension easing immediately. And then the moment passed, just like that, leaving me wondering if I’d imagined the manipulation of it all.
After about a half hour of watching a show together, Nathan stood and stretched. “I need to take a call. Work stuff. Should probably pack a little, too.”
“Need help?”
“I got it. You relax.”
He kissed my head and disappeared down the hall.
His office door clicked shut behind him.
After our conversation, I felt too uneasy to sit still and watch TV any longer. I turned it off, tidying up the kitchen before I padded down the hallway with the intent to wash my face, do a little light stretching, climb into bed, and read.
I hadn’t meant to listen as I passed his office.
But his voice carried, and it was low and threatening
“I don’t care what the odds say,” he snapped. “That’s not what we discussed.”
He paused, and so did my feet. I stood just outside his office with my heart pounding in my ears.
“No — because that makes it obvious.”
I frowned, carefully inching a little closer.
“I told you I’d take care of it. You’re not supposed to move anything without clearing it with me.”
What is he talking about?
“Jesus. Do you have any idea what that looks like?” There was a beat of silence and then — “Just—fix it. And don’t call me about this again.”
Immediately, I continued down the hall, walking as fast as I could while not making a sound. I ducked into our bedroom just as I heard his office door open.
Nathan stepped into our en suite bathroom behind me a few minutes later with his expression smoothed and polished.
“I think I’ll pack tomorrow,” he said on a tired sigh, already reaching for his toothbrush. “It’s been a rough day, and I work with a bunch of idiots.”
I nodded, my pulse loud in my ears. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “Just people panicking about money they don’t understand.”
Something about the way he said it made my stomach twist.
Later, Nathan climbed into bed when I was reading, planting a tender kiss on my cheek before he rolled over and turned out the light.
He scrolled on his phone next to me, and my thoughts churned on with my e-reader stuck on the same page.
What was that call? It was so strange, and so late to be taking a call at all. Then again, he was about to be in Vegas for work, and they were three hours behind us… maybe that was all it was?
That led my thoughts to his trip, to the myriad of emotions I felt guilty for feeling about it.
I was looking forward to him being gone. To the silence. To not choosing my words so carefully. To breathing in my own house.
But I was also lonely here. I was in a new city with no roots yet. And for all our fractures and fault lines, Nathan was my husband. His presence filled space, even when it made me uneasy.
After a while, Nathan put his phone on the charger before leaning over to kiss my shoulder. “I’ll miss you,” he murmured. “While I’m gone.”
“I’ll miss you too,” I said.
It wasn’t a lie. I would miss him.
I also couldn’t wait for him to go.
Both things were true.
And I didn’t know what that said about me.
Delusional
Shane
Present
Watching my star goalie puke had me wanting to do the same.
The poor bastard had barely made it over to the bench before he was forfeiting his pre-game meal, the fans sitting above us so they could peer into the tunnel as the players went in and out getting more than they bargained for. I heard the grimace ring out over the distinct sound of Will Perry’s heaves, and I cursed under my breath.
It was only the third game of the season, and I didn’t have full faith that Ben Sandin was ready to take on the beastly offense of the Baltimore Railers — who had won the Cup last season.
But we had no choice.
He was up.
Fucking hell.
“All right, Perry,” I said, patting his back sympathetically as he spit the last of his vomit out on the floor and wiped his mouth with the back of his glove. “Go home and get some rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“I’m good now.”
“You’re dehydrated with food poisoning, at best, and going to get the rest of the team sick with a stomach virus, at worst,” I combatted. Then, I shoved his helmet into his chest and pointed at the locker room. “Go. Now. I’ll check in with you after the game. I mean it, Perry, I need you gone.”
He was pissed, and he had no problem showing as much as he swiped his helmet from me and stormed down the tunnel to the locker room with trainers on his heels. Immediately, staff was cleaning up his sick, and I was launching into action.