Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
“Why should I? My mom is upset because of you.”
This kid and his fucking good points. The next thing I impart in him is going to be holding your tongue sometimes.
“What did I tell you about your baseball swing?” I ask him. “Do you remember?”
“Keep it level?”
I grin. “Yes. But also that it’s a new skill for you, so you have to—”
“Practice.” He sighs. “I don’t care about baseball right now, Cole.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I know. But I’m heading somewhere with this analogy, so a little patience, please?”
“Well, hurry up because I gotta pee.”
I shake my head and try not to laugh again. “You have to practice swinging because it’s new to you. You’ll make mistakes until you get it right, and then it’ll become second nature.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Well, this thing with you and your mom—it’s new to me. I’ve never, you know, done this before. And I’m gonna make mistakes.”
“My mistakes don’t involve someone crying their eyes out, so I’m not really feeling this analogy.”
I snort. “Well, okay. I hear that. Just . . . trust me to fix this. I’m giving you my word. Man to man.”
“All right,” he says, his voice a little singsongy. “I like that. Man to man.”
“Just don’t say anything to her, all right? Give me a second. I have to get some things in order first.”
“What am I supposed to do? Let her cry? Terrible plan, Cole. Terrible plan.”
He sounds just like his mother. It makes me smile.
“I’ll hurry,” I say, laughing. I’ve missed this kid as much as I’ve missed his mom. I hope he—and she—will give me a second chance once I get my shit together. “But it might be a day or two.”
“Make it one.”
“I said I’ll try.”
There’s a pause between us. It’s not as contentious as before, and I don’t think he’s plotting my death, which is a plus. Instead, he laughs.
“Hey, Cole?”
“Yeah?”
“Just so you know, I knew you wouldn’t just leave. I knew there was more to the story.”
My smile is so wide it hurts. “You did?”
“Yeah.” He laughs softly. “So go figure it out and come back. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too, little man.” More than you’ll ever know.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
PALMER
At least there’s a little sunshine today.” I peer through the blinds across the parking lot. “It might be a decent day after all.”
I roll my eyes at myself. I don’t believe for a second that it will, in fact, be a decent day. I haven’t had a decent day all freaking week.
My desk demonstrates just how shitty of a week it’s been. There are empty paper coffee cups, the kind Kirk loves and justifies because he can recycle them, all over my desk. My trash can is overflowing. Wads of discarded paper litter the floor and dot my desktop like errant snowballs that refuse to melt.
I’m as messy and chaotic as my workspace.
My hair is going on five days without a wash. I can usually pull three days pretty easily, but five is pushing it in a good hair week—a week when I’m not crying myself to sleep every night. But the tears have been getting a little better, and the cry headaches have eased a bit. I’m still overcaffeinating to make up for all of it, but I’m picking my battles in the Cole War.
The door pops open, and Burt sticks his head inside.
“Hey, we’re all leaving for lunch except Fred. Want us to bring you back a burger from Fletcher’s?” he asks.
“I’m good. Thanks for asking me.”
“No problem.”
He doesn’t smile or wave or really offer anything in the way of friendliness except his offer—and I’ll take it. It’s progress.
The cinnamon rolls that I brought in this morning for the guys probably didn’t hurt the progress either.
I sit at my desk and pick up my phone. My fingers instantly go to my camera app and click “All Photos.”
I shouldn’t do this. Why do I do this? But knowing it’s a bad idea doesn’t stop me. I need to see his face.
The scrolling stops at a photo I took the night Cole stayed over. His eyes are heavy and filled with sleep. His smile soft and tender. The light from my phone gives him a warm, cozy glow, and all I can see in his face is love.
And that’s what makes this all so frustrating. This isn’t about love. I know he loves me. This is about something else, and I don’t know what it is—and I may never know.
My breath stalls as I press my thumb against his picture, wishing it were him. Wishing more than anything it was Cole in the flesh. But it’s not, and it likely will never be again.
At least he’s okay.
I sucked it up and called his mother on Wednesday. Val’s insistence that something must’ve been wrong with him, that his behavior was so out of the ordinary, had started to bother me. So I called Casey and thanked her for being so kind to Ethan and me . . . then slid my way over to the topic of her son.