Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Jersey’s breath hitched when she heard the door open. Scooting up a bit on the sofa, she waited for the painful, shameful moment. Max asked Ian if he needed anything. Jersey couldn’t hear his response. After another minute or so, the front door clicked again, and the voices were gone.
Silence.
“Hey,” Ian said from behind her.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment. “Hey.” One word squeezed by the lump in her throat. It hurt to hear his voice. It hurt to be in his proximity. Everything just hurt.
He limped a little, making his way to the chair perpendicular to the sofa. Right in Jersey’s line of vision. Ian eased into it, clearly not able to bend his leg easily. Bruises mottled his face, and gauze covered his left ear.
Jersey’s fingers traced her lips as her sluggish gaze inched along Ian’s body, assessing the damage—assessing her damage.
“I’m sor—”
“Don’t.” Ian shook off her attempt to apologize.
She swallowed her words, nearly choking on them. They were big words, filled with so much regret. She needed to let them out. Clearing her throat, she met his eyes. “Why?”
“Because you did what you did when you thought I killed Dena and Charles.”
“But maybe that doesn’t make it right.”
“It has to.” He turned, averting his gaze to the television screen even though it wasn’t turned on.
“When did you know who he was?”
“When I first saw him.” His attention floated around the room, landing on his leg. He brushed his hand over the bandaged area that peeked out just below his shorts.
“Why didn’t you say something? Why let this go on? Why not tell me? Why hire him to work for you? It makes no sense.”
He rubbed his temples and ran a hand through his hair, cautiously avoiding his ear. Jersey’s eyes filled with tears as her gaze snagged on it.
“Jersey …”
She shook her head, swallowing regret and fighting back the flood of emotion. “Your ear …” The words fell from her lips on a painful sigh.
He gave her a tiny smile. “Bunnies still hop with one ear.” His words reached into her chest and ripped out her heart.
“G …” She covered her face and cried into her hands.
He lumbered to his feet, scooped her up in his arms, and released a restrained groan as he sat on the sofa with the weight of her body balanced between his arms and his good leg.
She waited for his words.
They never came.
He didn’t tell her everything would be okay. G never told her that. G never lied. G offered his arms. His warm body. G threw himself in front of a bus for Jersey and took up arms with a bat, but he never promised everything would be okay.
The tears dried up, and she fell asleep in his arms, like she’d done so many times before. When she woke, he was gone. She followed the soft noises to the kitchen, hobbling in her clunky, black boot.
“Sleep well?” Ian set two bottles of water on the table next to boxes of Chinese takeout.
Jersey nodded, limping to the table.
They ate in silence, sharing an occasional sad smile but mostly focusing on their food or the pool out back that was twice the size of Ian’s pool, decked out with a slide and diving board. After dinner, they climbed the stairs at a snail’s pace. Jersey stopped at the door to the room where Chris had stayed.
She bit her lips together to keep her emotions from running out of control.
“You’re allowed to be sad,” Ian said, reaching for her hand.
She nodded slowly, using her other hand to blot away a tear before it escaped. They shuffled down the hallway to the other guest bedroom. Jersey brushed her teeth while Ian sponged his body off, avoiding his bandaged areas. She didn’t sneak a single peek in his direction. Instead, she spit out her toothpaste and crawled into bed.
As soon as he joined her, shutting off the lights and getting into bed with her, both on their sides facing each other. Jersey lifted her hand, running it through his hair. “We need to talk.”
Ian closed his eyes, returning a tiny nod. “We will … later. We need time.”
Jersey gave him time—weeks.
Weeks of monotony. Weeks of his leg healing. Weeks of his ear healing. The plastic surgeon worked miracles rebuilding his ear. Underneath his shaggy hair, it looked completely normal.
Jersey spent her days with the dogs, watching the reconstruction of Ian’s house and hitting a bag he set up for her in the Blevins’s garage. Occasionally, she sat by the pool and listened to audiobooks on her phone. A truly remarkable invention and the very best gift from Ian.
His record label calmed down, after he had to cancel the last part of his tour, because he promised to get to the studio and start working on a new album.