Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
I have to force myself not to shove him out of the way so I can end this miserable shitbag’s life. “He was going to…” I can’t catch my breath, and my chest hurts from the way my heart keeps pounding.
“No, he wasn’t.” He looks back at the man over his shoulder. “Shit. Are you alright, Joe?”
“Do I look alright?” The man—Joe, how does Romero know his name?—lowers his hands to show off the bloody mess I made of his nose.
“I don’t… I can’t…” I can’t get my head together, that’s what I can’t do. Who the hell cares if he’s okay? What about me? I’m the one who just fought him off.
Romero leans in, his flushed face filling my field of vision. “He’s not the enemy. You’re safe. He’s somebody your dad and I have worked with in the past. Your dad sent him.”
“And if he doesn’t think I’m going to charge him for my doctor bills, he’s wrong,” Joe mutters. “Son of a bitch.”
“Just stay here.” Romero leaves me leaning against the wall while he goes over to the bleeding man to check him out. None of this makes any sense. Dad sent him? Why?
It’s evident to me, as my pulse slows and the adrenaline starts wearing off, that it doesn’t matter why Dad sent him. All that matters is I kicked ass. I took him by surprise, then I broke his nose. Me. I defended myself. I don’t have to be afraid – I took control, and I did what I had to do.
I hate the tears that spring to my eyes, even if they’re tears of relief and gratitude.
I can’t brush them away in time for Romero not to see them. He turns toward me, looking pained as he takes in the sight of me standing here with tears falling down my cheeks. “You’re safe.”
“I know,” I choke out. “I know I am. I’m finally okay. I don’t think I really knew that until now.”
“I’m so sorry.” His touch is soothing when he cups my face. “I ran the whole way in a panic in case he was trailing you. As soon as your father told me he called Joe to check up on things, I knew that’s who must have been following you that day.”
“I am… sorry,” I mutter to Joe, who doesn’t exactly look like he’s in the mood to accept my apology. I guess I wouldn’t be, either.
“Can you handle yourself from here?” Romero asks him. He nods, shoots a dirty look my way, then stumbles off.
“You couldn’t have known,” he murmurs, rubbing my back. “Come on. Let’s get you home, slugger. We can talk about it there.”
“I used my elbow,” I point out, not like it matters. I must still be in shock.
“Elbow, fist, it doesn’t matter.” He bends down to pick up the bags I left on the ground, and I realize he’s chuckling. “So you remembered what I taught you. You did well. I’m proud of you.”
“He wasn’t trying to hurt me,” I murmur – he makes a noise like he’s going to disagree or try to make me feel better, so I add, “It doesn’t matter that he wanted to or not. I thought he was going to, and I took care of it. I took care of myself.”
“You were very brave.” And when he smiles at me with all that warmth and kindness, I know something I only suspected until now. Something I didn’t want to face – I know how pointless it is. How it can never happen for us. I’ve been afraid to show it, terrified of saying it. Though if I can break a guy’s nose that easily when I’m afraid for my life, what else can I do? What else am I capable of?
Am I brave enough to tell him I love him? That I’ve always loved him, that everybody else was only a poor substitute for him? It was easier to hate him for so long, because that was acceptable. It was safe and easy to explain. Underneath it all was my lonely, hungry heart, yearning for something it knew it could never have.
He stands up and turns to me. “Let’s get you back to the house so you can process all of this. You still look pretty shaken up.”
It’s now or never. I’ll never get the courage again.
I open my mouth. I pull in a shaky breath. The words are right there, dancing on my tongue. I only have to force them off. If I could defend myself against a stranger I was sure would kill me, I can admit what’s in my heart.
Or can I? There’s an invisible hand around my throat, and it’s getting tighter. Cutting off my air. Stealing my chance. Every silent second that passes makes my opportunity fade until I can’t see it anymore. The moment’s over. He’s ready to go.