Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“She’s a tempest of emotions and clearly so are you. Just as she probably doesn’t mean what she said to you, you probably aren’t in a great place to be the one to help her out. You’re hurting too.”
My tone is dry. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that you two care about each other. You’re both going to figure things out and you’ll heal from this loss. But you’ll still have each other.”
I can’t help my snort of skepticism that pops free. “Didn’t you hear me? She told me to leave. She didn’t want my comfort or care. We’re done.”
“I don’t believe it,” Drake says dismissively. “You two just need to talk things out.”
I rise off the bed, take a step toward him and yank the other bottle of Jack out of his hand. I twist the cap and while I don’t chug the entire thing, I take a healthy sip. “You think we should talk things out?”
“Yeah,” Drake says hesitantly.
“At the risk of getting punched, your sister and I aren’t known for our long conversations. We were fuck buddies—”
“You better watch it,” Drake growls.
“We were fuck buddies,” I reiterate as I glare at him. “It was sex and that was it. It was amazing sex and we had good times and lots of laughs, but that’s all it was.”
“Bullshit,” he says quietly. “You were more than that.”
I nod, waving the bottle at him. “Yeah… we became more. But only because she was pregnant. Only because we had that tie binding us. Now that’s gone and we’re not anything.”
“I call bullshit again.”
I take another sip of the whiskey, waiting to hear his pearls of wisdom. “I saw the way you were with her after the miscarriage. You were a man who wanted to care for his woman. You were protective and tender. And that didn’t stop after the baby was no more. You were still in it.”
I sink back down on the edge of the bed, my head dropping to consider the bottle. “I was still in it, but she wasn’t.”
“She was drowning in grief. You’ve got to give her a pass on anything she said and did. You need to sit down and talk this out.”
I don’t reply because the truth is, as much as she pushed me away, that felt an awful lot like abandonment and I needed the support I was giving her reciprocated.
Still, he makes me curious. I lift my gaze to his. “Your sister had a bad experience with her last boyfriend.”
Drake grimaces. “Fuckwad. He was an obsessive nut job.”
“She was completely happy to remain single. It’s why our relationship wasn’t deep at first. She was fine just being a casual fling. She doesn’t want a relationship. What could we possibly have?”
He lifts one shoulder. “I don’t know. But let me turn it back on you. You were fine playing the field and fucking puck bunnies. Do you want to go back to that?”
“I want your sister,” I say, and that’s about the only thing that has felt right in this entire conversation. “I need her to want me back.”
“Then you have to talk to her. You have to lay your feelings out there. My suggestion is to give her space for now. Maybe when we get back to Pittsburgh next weekend, you sit down and hash this stuff out.”
“You think she’ll be receptive to it?” I ask, afraid to hope there could be a chance.
“Yeah,” he says, and I don’t think he’s sugarcoating things. “I think Kiera cares for you and once the clouds lift, she’ll be able to focus on that again.”
I nod, feeling a bit energized. Or maybe that’s the Jack.
“And listen,” Drake says, “I’m here for you. I get she wasn’t able to support you emotionally, but I’ve got you. If you want to talk about the miscarriage or the swirl of emotions you have going on, I’ll let you cry on my shoulder.”
His tone is joking to lighten the mood, but I know he truly means it.
“Thanks,” I say, holding up the bottle. “This talk has already helped a lot.”
CHAPTER 32
Kiera
My doorbell rings and I put my phone on mute as I listen to the weekly nurses’ meeting for the practice I work for. I’ve been working remotely for four months now, and these weekly meetings help keep me bridged with my coworkers.
I see Brienne on my front porch and sigh as I open the door to let her in. She’s got a box of doughnuts in one hand and a cardboard tray with coffees in the other.
I nod toward the kitchen. “I’m just finishing up a meeting. I’ll be done in about ten minutes.”
Brienne wastes no time getting to work on cleaning my kitchen. I’m a neat freak by nature, but I haven’t felt like doing much of anything the last few days. My motivation has been nearly nonexistent, and it’s taking everything for me to even log in to my job this week. I called into the nurses’ meeting rather than Zoom because I know I look like shit and I don’t want anyone seeing me this way.