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)
Palmer sits beside me and curls her legs beneath her. I see the trepidation in her eyes, and I hate myself for it. Because I put that there. I gave her a reason to doubt me.
I know what she thought I was going to say when I got here. I practically told her that I wanted to try a relationship with her last night. And that’s exactly what I was going to do when I arrived this afternoon. I was going to tell her about my diagnosis, tell her my plans to stay in Bloomfield, and tell her that I wanted to try something serious with her . . . and with Ethan.
That’s all changed.
If there’s one thing I hate more than anything, it’s selfishness. It’s the player on the team who tries to hit a home run instead of moving the runners around the bases. It’s the guy who has one girl who thinks the world of him, yet he sleeps around with half the city. It’s the guy who can’t hold his temper and gets tossed for a few games, putting the rest of his team at a disadvantage.
If I tell her what I came here to tell her—that I’m falling madly in love with her—I would be doing that, knowing how she feels.
That she doesn’t have the bandwidth to take care of anyone else.
I can’t be that guy. I won’t.
“I take it Jared got arrested?” I ask, needing an entry point into the conversation. Even though she told me she didn’t want to talk about it, I don’t know how else to break this awkward silence between us.
“Yeah,” she says.
“What happened?”
She shrugs. “Hard to tell. I never got a straight answer.”
The look she gives me is a plea to get on with it, to say whatever it is that I’m going to say.
If she only knew how I felt.
I shift in my seat and ignore the crack radiating down my sternum, splitting my chest into two. It’s only a matter of time until my heart spills out and I bleed all over the floor. But it’s inevitable. I know that now.
A wave of emotion starts in my core and erupts like a volcano through my body. I feel the sadness everywhere from my heart to my brain, down to the very fibers of my being.
“I had a call this morning,” I say, testing the waters.
I don’t know how much to tell her. But as I see the anxiety switch to concern, I know that I can’t share my diagnosis with her. Not today. Not after Kirk. It’s too much.
“What about?” she asks.
For a split second, I panic at the idea of walking away from her. It’s the last thing I want to do. I want to be here and help her through the situation at work and this shit with Jared and whatever else life gives her along the way. But if I do that, life will be prepping to deal her the realization that I’m ultimately another problem she’ll have to contend with.
At some point—maybe forty years from now but still eventually—I will likely need a caregiver. And although I know that’s a part of life to some extent, my situation might look vastly different from the normal person’s. It would be unfair to saddle her with that when it’s what she’s trying to avoid.
And, if I’m being honest, it’s what I’m trying to avoid as well.
I take in Palmer’s pretty face. She’s so beautiful, so kind, so wonderful. The idea of asking her to take this journey with me fills me with so much embarrassment that I can hardly breathe.
Envisioning her taking care of me—helping me walk, eat, get dressed in the morning—it’s more than I can bear. Shame sits so heavily on my shoulders that I know I can’t possibly go through with this.
How can I be a teammate if I can’t contribute? How can I live when she’s wiping my ass and I’m ashamed of my existence? How can I look her in the eye and feel like a man?
I want to reach for her, to touch her, to hold her in my arms. My instinct is to protect her from the world and give her and Ethan everything good. But I won’t be able to do that.
The thought alone has me ready to puke.
Even if I stay for a while, until she has things under control, it’ll just make things worse. It’ll be even harder to end things.
Somehow. Because I’m not sure I can do this now.
She watches me with a look bordering on distress, and I know I have to just get this over with.
I take a deep breath. My lungs stutter as I fill them. I hate lying. Especially to her. Especially right now.
“I had a couple of meetings before I left California,” I say, which is at least the truth. “And, to make a long story short, some things have come up that require me to be in San Diego.” I level my gaze with hers. “Full time.”