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)
I’ve never seen a bomb dropped, but I would imagine that this is what it looks like.
Her eyes widen, her lips part, and a look of unthinkable surprise sparks across her pretty face. The realization hits her that whatever she thought was going to come out of today is definitely not going to happen—and it definitely wasn’t this.
My fingers itch to grab her and pull her into me. I want to hold her, to kiss away the fear and the sadness and the disbelief painted on her features.
I ache with regret. Knowing I caused her pain feels like being stung by a thousand bees, but there’s no other way around it. I just pray that the irony of having to end things with her today is a blessing somehow. Maybe the other shit in her life will distract her from this.
But what is going to distract me?
Palmer’s bottom lip trembles. “What are you saying, Cole?”
“I’m saying . . .” I’m walking away, even when you need me to be your comfort and your rock. Even when I want to be both of those things. “I’m going to get a hold of Ted and see if he can take over the team. I wasn’t expecting this, and trust me, Palmer, I would do anything, anything, to make this situation different. But I can’t. You have to believe me.”
My voice cracks as I watch her struggle to not fall apart. She’s too proud to do it in front of me, and knowing that she’ll do it after I walk out is devastating.
I knew I wanted to be here in Bloomfield, to be with her, but I didn’t realize how much until now. Until I can’t.
“Palmer, I am so sorry. I am so fucking sorry.”
She tries to smile, but her lips won’t cooperate. It’s just a flicker of movement that demonstrates the struggle that’s warring inside her.
“So this is it?” she asks, her voice a few notes higher than it should be. “So this is goodbye and you leave?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
She looks at me in disbelief, and then slowly anger slides across her eyes. “No, you had a choice. I didn’t.”
She pulls away from me.
“You had a choice. I didn’t.”
That’s what I wanted to do—to give her a choice. Am I wrong not to do that now?
“You had these meetings before you came to Bloomfield,” she says, pain thick in her voice.
I hate this.
I mull the pros and cons as quickly as my emotional brain will let me. If I give her a choice, it would put her on the spot. She can’t win. And even if she chooses to let me into her life, she’ll clearly lose at some point anyway.
Damn it.
She just looks at me like I am now the enemy. It kills me; it makes me want to take it all back and just do what’s easier right now—admit the truth.
But I can’t. If I have to be the enemy to save her, I will.
“This was always on the books,” I say. “You knew that.”
Her brows shoot to the ceiling. “What was that shit last night, then? When you were saying that you liked it here or whatever? Or did I completely read that the wrong way?”
Fuck.
“No. I told you—today changed a lot of things,” I say.
She swallows once, twice, three times. I wonder if she has a lump in her throat, too, and if it’s strangling her like mine is me.
I reach for her hand, but she pulls away. It’s like a knife through my heart.
“This is not what I want, Palmer.”
“Really? Then you’re not the man that I thought you were. Because that guy always gets what he wants. That guy got my number when I turned him down and finagled his way into dinner with me. He had me kissing him in a shed and inviting him over to my house, even though I knew this would end this way.”
“Palmer—”
She points a finger at me. “I’m not blaming you. I’m blaming me. Because I knew better, and I let myself fall for a smooth-talking baseball player that acted like he gave a shit.” She laughs angrily. “I’m sorry, Cole. I’m calling bullshit on your story.”
Palmer gets to her feet. “I need you to leave.”
What? I stand too.
“I need you to go,” she says again, holding a hand against her forehead. “I can’t deal with anything else right now.”
“Let’s—”
“Go. Now.”
She drops her hand and looks me in the eye. The warmth that’s usually there, the hint of a smile, is gone.
I step toward her. She moves backward as if she has to maintain some distance between us. Tears pool in my eyes.
Please don’t hate me.
I don’t want to do this. I want you—in every way.
I love you, Palmer.
She smiles sadly. “I just thought that you . . .” Loved me.