Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Loosening his tie as he walked toward the house, the front door opened for him. A long-haired brunette flashed him a huge smile and stepped outside to beat a rug against the railing. They stood on the porch for several minutes talking.
She grinned and nodded as he talked. And when she responded, he threw his head back and laughed. I couldn’t recall a time he laughed like that for me. After she finished shaking out the rug, he took it from her, and she slipped her arm around his waist, leaning up to kiss his cheek.
I died.
I knew it was a mistake.
Jessica was right. Five years was a long time to be with someone in the same house and not risk developing feelings for them. The reality was … she’d known him and been with him a lot longer than I had been with him.
Time should not have mattered, not with love. But in that moment, I felt certain the woman who had time on her side was the woman who would spend forever with him.
I had Slade Wylder. He died.
She had Alex Obermeier, and he was there, married to her, living under the same roof, laughing, kissing, and huddling together after a long day.
I wasn’t sure how long I stared at the red door, the picket fence, and the manicured lawn. Probably a good half hour. Just as I reached for the button to start the car, the front door opened again.
I pulled the bill of my hat down and scooted lower in my seat as he strutted outside wearing different clothes—his usual jeans, tee, and boots. He came closer, but I anticipated him stopping at the mailbox.
He did not.
I completely ducked my head and held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t focus in on the strange woman hiding in a rental car across from his house.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Fuck …” I blew out a breath and risked a glance at the window.
“Open the door, Livy.”
It had been over four months since I’d seen him. My heart wasn’t ready for him to ask all the questions I knew he was preparing to ask me. But I didn’t have a lot of options, so I unlocked the door.
He opened it. “Scoot over.”
“I’m leaving.”
He glanced around before meeting my gaze again. “Scoot. Over. Now.”
I unfastened my seat belt and crawled into the passenger seat as he slid inside, shut the door, and sped off down the street.
“She’s beautiful,” I said softly after a few minutes of thick silence.
“She is.”
I tried to hide my reaction, like he’d slapped me across the face. There were no more words to say. It was like I got on a plane to Texas just to confirm that he was attracted to his wife, which meant he was fucking his wife, which meant he had genuine feelings for her. And I was the knocked-up mistress.
After a silent fifteen-minute drive, we pulled off the road and drove down a long lane to a huge mansion surrounded by acres of grass and horses.
Halfway down the lane, he veered off into a grassy area facing another white fence and a view of three horses grazing.
“Where are we?” I managed to ask.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Floyd’s house?”
“One of them. He’s not here.” He hopped out and walked to the front of the sedan. Then he stopped and eased back until his butt hit the hood of the car.
When I realized he wasn’t going to turn around and look at me or come open my door, I climbed out of the car and headed straight to the fence, resting my arms on the top rail. “Do you love her?” I asked, feeling brave with him a few feet behind me.
“I care for her.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have, Liv.”
“You weren’t coming back, were you?”
“No.”
My lips parted to let out the pain in a silent exhale. “Why?”
“Because I played all of my cards. It was your move.”
“So you knew? You knew the only way we could be together was if I died. If I left my family. If I chose you and only you.”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes, one tear managed to escape, but I quickly wiped it off my cheek. “And your wife? What would happen to her if I chose you?”
“She would remarry.”
Shaking my head, I released a painful laugh. “How terrible. How insensitive. What if she loves you? What if you love her?”
“She would remarry.” He sounded so unaffected.
I turned. “You make her sound so disposable. Like her life and her feelings don’t matter.”
He blinked several times before crossing his arms over his chest and staring at his boots. “When you think your life is over and someone steps in and gives you a second chance, you feel this … relief. This gratitude for simple things like sunrises and oxygen to breathe. She’s just happy to be alive. Have a home. A job. A second chance.”