Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
The drive to the airport and my flight into upstate North Carolina fill me with dread. Before Gabby, I didn’t mind the travel that sometimes accompanies my work. Now, I hate it. I hate being away from her. I hate that I can’t watch over her and protect her.
At least, the meetings have gone well. I’m down to my last one as I wait in the upscale restaurant that’s frequently populated by well-known entrepreneurs and millionaires. It’s the type of place that I imagined as a kid growing up on the wrong side of the tracks and later, as an adult serving time in prison. Sometimes, it still amazes me that I’ve managed to come so far in the last two decades.
My phone dings, and I pull it out. It’s a notification from a social media app. I don’t care much for these things, but Gabby has an account and like the creeper I am, I get an alert any time she makes a post.
The smiling selfie of her that greets me makes my stomach twist. She looks beautiful as always, but those dark circles under her eyes eat at me. I can’t stand the idea that she might need me, and I may not be there.
I have to go to her. I have to figure out what’s troubling my girl, so I can make her world right again. It’s the only way I’ll be able to function.
As the realization hits, my client arrives. He’s a millionaire who wants me to build his condominiums. We’ve been in talks about it for several weeks, and today, we’ll be finalizing his plans. The contract is due to be signed by the end of the week.
I pocket my phone and stand. “Something has come up. Family emergency.”
I don’t ever do this. I don’t cancel client meetings. I built my business by being one of the most dependable names in the industry. When you want something done on time and under budget, you call Roman. But even if I lose this project, I have to leave. Gabby needs me. She’s my woman, and I’m going home to take care of her.
3
ROMAN
“Make some noise, asshole,” I tell myself as I stand on my front porch like I’m a guest, and it’s not my cabin. But that’s the thing about it. I can’t stand the idea that I might startle my precious mechanic.
Thunder rumbles as if the sky is chastising me for the starter relay in my pocket. I lifted the hood of Gabby’s car and removed the small black box, effectively stranding her. I’m not letting her leave. Not until she tells me exactly what’s going on with her brother and lets me help.
I pretend to fumble with the keys in case she’s already looking out the window. I let them drop to the floorboards of the porch, so that they jangle loudly. I curse and pick them up, jamming them into the lock. I rattle the knob as I do.
The moment I open the cabin door, it feels like home for the first time. I’ve never had this. Never had a place to come back to that felt like home. Not growing up and not even as an adult.
But knowing that Gabby is in here makes it home. The smell of garlic and oregano hit my nose first. In the distance water sizzles as it boils, and then there is the sound of her feet as she runs toward me.
This is how it’s always going to be. I’ll come home from work, and Gabby will be rushing toward me. She’ll be running with her sunshine smile and her curvy hips and her eyes that light up like it’s Christmas morning.
Except that’s not how she looks right now. Her eyes are dark with concern, and she bites down on her lower lip. She gives me an anxious stare. “I’m not trespassing.”
I arch an eyebrow. It’s exactly what she’s been doing for the last forty-seven minutes. My phone dinged the moment she stepped inside. It makes me a damn creeper but I installed cameras inside so I could watch her move from room to room. I barely held back from installing them in my bedroom.
She continues, “I didn’t expect you.”
“I gathered,” I grunt out, yanking my suitcase handle as I step into the door. I’m invading her space, crowding her on purpose. She steps back and the slight motion fills me with satisfaction. I don’t want her running away from me, darting out the door like a scared animal.
“Are you mad at me?” She whispers the words as if she can’t bear to hear my answer. Her gaze is somewhere on the floor, her head tipped down. She almost seems to fear my disappointment more than anything else.
Before I can stop myself, I put a hand on her chin and lift her face. I want that startling gaze always on me. “Never.”