Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“You sound mad at me. I’m sorry I said it. It was no big deal. Just be yourself. I want you to just be yourself,” she says, her tone urgent now as she tries to fix the situation.
I groan. Now she’s walking it back. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to release my frustration. Trying to remember, too, why I was so damn competitive that day. I’m not normally like that. I am usually more chill. I save my competitive fire for the gridiron, where it counts.
I close my eyes, calling up the day. Rachel was getting divorced. She was telling us about her plans to move here, for the store, to see her family, her friends.
She was saying, “This is a fresh start for me. To move on from the past.”
I should have been upbeat and encouraging, but all I’d wanted to say was What did you ever see in that jerk?
Only, I couldn’t say it. She was hurting and yet trying to be hopeful. And I just couldn’t be the prick who’d burst her tentative happiness bubble. So I channeled all my focus away from her and onto the game. I played like a competitive beast, so I wouldn’t ask that terrible question.
“Carter, you’re freaking me out. Talk to me.”
I snap open my eyes. Her eyes are wide and guileless. I am hurting her now. But I just have to know. “What did you ever see in him?”
She blinks, confused. “Excuse me?”
“Edward. What did you see in him? He was such a colossal jackass,” I say, holding nothing back.
Her lower lip quivers, and she jerks her gaze away from me, looking out the tinted passenger window.
Ah, fuck. This is why I should have shut up. I should never have given in to my own pointless urge to know something unknowable.
“Rachel, I’m sorry,” I say, with genuine remorse.
She purses her lips, nods, then covers her mouth.
“Sweetheart. I mean it,” I say, trying to right this sinking ship.
She drops her hand from her mouth, draws a breath, then meets my gaze again. Her eyes are vulnerable. “I ask myself that all the time. I feel so stupid for having fallen for him. So ridiculously stupid,” she says, her voice breaking.
This was such a bad idea. I have to fix this situation now. I reach for her, tug her into my arms. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just want the best for you. I want you to be happy. I want you to be with someone who treats you like the goddess you are. That’s all,” I say desperately, holding her close.
She sniffles against me. “I know.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m a dick.”
“It just caught me off guard, because it had nothing to do with what we were talking about—mini golf and all,” she says into my chest, and she has a point. She doesn’t know that I was thinking about how I felt that day about her stupid ass of an ex.
“You’re right. It didn’t. It was just on my mind,” I say, since that’s true enough.
“But it’s a legitimate question,” she says softly.
“No. It’s not fair. It’s not right. We all make stupid relationship choices. Quinn was bad for me, and I stayed with her. She got on my case all the time, and I still stayed with her. I think I was just frustrated for you that day we played, because I’ve always wanted you to have everything you want,” I tell her, finally admitting some of the truth.
Another sniffle. Another quiet sigh. Once more, she nods against me, then lifts her face, and swipes her cheek.
She looks down at my shirt. “No stain this time. Fewer tears. Progress?”
I shake my head. “It’s not progress when I’m the one who made you cry.”
She sets a hand on my chest, takes a shuddering breath. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think there was anyone or anything that would have stopped me from marrying him. I was a girl who wanted romance. I grew up watching movies and shows with gallant heroes who swept the heroine away. That was Edward. That’s what I saw in him. He was a fantasy. I was twenty-four when I met him, Carter. I was young and starry-eyed. And I said yes to the fantasy. And that’s all it ever was. Not a single moment was ever real,” she says, her tone emotional yet a touch detached. But in a good way. Like she’s moving on. Like she’s seeing her past for what it was.
My heart aches for her. I hate that she hasn’t known what it’s like when someone cares, truly cares about her. “I want you to have that someday,” I say, meaning it, though it hurts to think of her with another man even in a someday far away.