Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76478 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76478 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Turning off the shower, I step out in a plush wool towel and dry myself quickly before dressing in skinny jeans and a loose V-neck. I don’t know whose clothes these are, but she had taste. Once I’m back in the bedroom, I toss my dirty laundry in the basket when a box catches my eye from beneath the dresser. I bend down and reach for it, pulling out the old shoebox. Flipping it open, I find that it’s filled with photographs on top of photographs. There’s a wedding band and a Polaroid camera too. I flip through the photos, seeing selfies and candid shots of Max and a woman. I don’t know what the woman looks like, because her face is always hidden behind her hands, or her long dark hair, or an oversized hoodie. I gather she has a beauty that complements Max.
“She was my wife.” Max’s voice shocks me from the doorway and I jump, dropping the photo back into the box.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop.”
Max shrugs, kicking off the doorframe and bending down to sit opposite me. He flicks through the photos and hands me one. I take it, studying the photo of Max standing outside Fate. “Wife was everything I really wanted. She hated Fate. Said it gave her the creeps. It reminded her of all the ghosts that were too bad for Heaven and too good for Hell.” He shakes his head, flicking the photo back into the pile. “Fucking loved her anyway.”
I gulped through the emotion. Why couldn’t I have married someone like that?
“Loved?” I ask softly, pointing out the past tense. “You don’t have to talk about it.” Even though I had only seen their connection through photographs, it was discernible. Especially in the way he looked at her. I wanted to ask why she never showed her face, but it didn’t seem like something that was any of my business.
“Yeah.” He shut the lid, pushing it back under the dresser. “Turns out, I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did.”
I inch closer, wanting to know more. Maybe take some of my dark clouds away and replace them with his. They seemed easier to deal with.
He snorts when he notices my obvious attention. “You’re not the only one with trust issues. We’ll keep it at that for now.”
I flinch. “I’m sorry, Max.”
He shrugs, standing back to all his six-foot-whatever-inches. “It is what it is, Isa. There’s not much I can do about it.”
He takes a seat on the bed. “Do you know what you want to do yet?”
I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Where are we?”
“We’re in the Pacific Northwest. Far enough out in the mountains.”
I bite my bottom lip, finally ready to admit the one thing I wasn’t ready to admit to earlier. Max is… well, he’s very good looking. He’s not beautiful, but he’s not handsome, he’s—well, he’s damn hot. He has a roughness about him that I didn’t know I liked in a man. Or maybe it’s that he’s the opposite to my fucker of a husband. “Let’s go to New York.”
How many times can you fall in love?
Infinity with the right man. - Isa
We left for New York the next day, after giving myself a mini makeover. It was snowing right now, which meant we were around December or late November. My memories are coming back slowly, but my confusion with the date is one thing I struggle with daily.
Max leans into me as we collect our bags from the carousel. “You really think that hair is going to be enough to hide you?”
My hand touches my freshly bleached strands. It took a few box dyes to get it to this color, but it will have to be enough. It has an ugly yellow tinge stuck to it though, so I’ve told Max that I will need to do a purple shampoo run before I even think about showing my face in front of Bryant. If a man breaks your heart, you better make sure your next appearance breaks his balls.
“Yes?” I sigh. “I don’t know. I hope it’s enough.” Reaching for the handle of my suitcase that’s filled with his wife’s clothes, I shrug. I didn’t have much to pack, because I owned almost nothing. How sad is that? At twenty-five years old, I had nothing to my name. My father starved me of love and gave America everything.
Max takes my hand with his as I shove my cap lower, covering my eyes with Ray-Bans. He wore aviators to hide his own with a baseball cap. “Come on. We have to move fast.” As we pass the lobby, the TV that’s hanging in the corner catches my eye and my father’s face comes into view.
“We are a happy family. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for them. We are confident that we will find my daughter. If you see her, please contact authorities immediately without approaching her.”