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)
“First of all, I don’t have eight hundred dollars, Jared.”
“Can’t you gather it? I’ll pay you back. You know I’m good for it—”
“No.” I grit my teeth. “I can’t just gather it.” And he’s not good for it either. “Do you think I know people that have a few hundred dollars lying around to donate to your cause? Money that I’ll owe them back because you’ll never come up with the money. We’ve done this before.”
“Palmer—”
“Do not ‘Palmer’ me.” I run a hand through my hair and pace the room. “I’ve had the shittiest day of my life, and now you’re calling me for help. You, the man that has never showed up for me when I’ve needed you.”
He sighs.
Steam rolls from my head as my disbelief and sadness mold into anger. The fact that I feel better dealing with the anger than the alternative is probably a talking point for a therapy session.
Cole comes up beside me and rests his palm on the small of my back.
“What about your boss? Ask him. The man is loaded,” Jared says.
“His wife is dying,” I say, spitting the words at him. “Kirk is at home, consoling her as she deals with cancer, and you think I should call him? And say what, Jared? That my son’s father landed himself in jail, again, and he needs to write me a check so you aren’t inconvenienced?” I clench my hand at my side. “How about this? How about you sleep in the bed you made for once in your life.”
“So what are you going to do? Let me sit here and rot? I’m the father of your son, damn it.”
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
“I don’t know what you’re going to do. It’s not my problem. I can’t take care of another fucking person right now.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I can barely manage my own life at the moment. Between work, raising the son that we share that you seem to forget about until it behooves you, and trying to keep my mental health from tanking, I can’t take care of anyone else!”
The fury feels good.
“I’m so sick of picking up the pieces of everything,” I say. “When do I get to prioritize me? When do I get to be the main character of my life? Because I’d like to know.”
I spin around, fueled by my anger. Cole’s eyes are wide, and I realize that I’m shouting.
“Enough’s enough,” I tell Jared, my voice lowered. “Whatever you’ve done to get yourself in this mess . . . you’re going to have to figure out how to get out of it.”
I’m done. I can’t take any more, and I refuse to break for anyone else’s situation.
Jared doesn’t answer. I’m sure he’s shocked. I’ve never said this before—not so definitively and concretely.
I look into Cole’s eyes and feel his presence radiating from a few feet away. I know he’ll wrap me up in his arms as soon as I’m off the phone, and he’ll hold me close.
The thought makes me smile.
“Good luck, Jared. But I have to go.”
I end the call and blow out a breath.
I’m so angry, so freaking angry . . . but also invigorated, which sounds stupid. But I finally told him where to shove his selfish, puerile ass.
I take a deep breath and hope that Cole doesn’t think I’m out of my mind and some kind of unbalanced banshee who cries one minute and rages the next.
Here’s to hoping he doesn’t want to run out the door.
“I don’t want to talk about that,” I tell Cole. “Let’s talk about us.”
He runs a hand down his face. “Why don’t we sit down?”
Everything inside me stills, as if someone has halted the scene starring me and Cole.
I sit next to him, my confidence waffling, and look into his eyes. They tell me everything I need to know.
I’m fucked.
He doesn’t want me.
He doesn’t want us.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
COLE
I wait for the exhale.
My body, my emotions—they’re all weirdly detached from reality. Maybe it’s some kind of self-preservation mode that I’ve activated. If so, I’m grateful.
It’s like I’ve forgotten how to breathe. I need to release the air in my lungs and fill them again or else I’m going to pass out, but the idea of blacking out and forgetting that I just heard her say all those things does seem preferable to dealing with reality.
“Between work, raising the son that we share that you seem to forget about until it behooves you, and trying to keep my mental health from tanking, I can’t take care of anyone else.”
“When do I get to prioritize me? When do I get to be the main character of my life? Because I’d like to know.”
“I can’t take care of another fucking person right now.”
What the hell do I do with that? How can I even consider becoming another burden on her life?