Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
I finished the last of my beer and spun the empty glass a few times. Hanna most definitely wasn’t Sabrina. Hanna was strong. She faced more demons than anyone I knew. Somehow, I’d lost sight of that. I’d seen her struggling the littlest bit, and my past reared its head. The panic Sabrina left me with latched on to my present, and I reacted. I reacted wrong. I pushed more than I should have. I reacted to her as if she wasn’t the woman I’d come to know as strong and independent. I’d forgotten that she took control of her life and could stand tall all on her own.
She didn’t need me, but somehow, she still wanted me to be the man to stand by her side. I just didn’t know if I could be that man.
I’d already proven I couldn’t.
“It doesn’t matter. I already fucked up.”
Kent’s booming laugh pulled the attention of more than a few people, not that he cared. By the time he pulled himself together, everyone had stopped staring except me, trying to figure out what the hell was so funny.
“Of course, you fucked up.”
“Wow, Kent. Thanks for that pep talk,” I deadpanned.
“We all fuck it up. Ask Olivia.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Listen, Daniel. You’re going to fuck up, and it’s okay. If she loves you, and you don’t fuck it up beyond repair, she’ll forgive you the small stuff. We all get a learning curve.”
“I called her Sabrina.”
Amber liquid sprayed out of Kent’s mouth onto the bar, where he bent over in a coughing fit. “Fuck, Daniel,” he gasped, directing wide eyes my way.
“Yup.”
“That’s a little bit more than fucking up. Calling her by your ex’s name—especially your only ex from twenty years ago—that’s bad, man.”
“Fucking yup.” I downed my drink and signaled for another.
“What are you going to do?”
“Well, right now, the plan is to drink until I forget how much I hate myself.” The bartender sat my drink down, and I latched on, lifting in a salute to Kent before downing it.
“Yeah? How’s that working out for you?” he deadpanned.
“Not great.”
“So, what are you going to do to get her back?”
“Did you miss the part about fucking up beyond repair?”
Kent winced as if imagining the whole scenario all over again. Rubbing a hand down his face, he wiped it away and pulled his shoulders back like he was about to do battle royale with me. Fuck, I hated when he got all self-righteous. Mainly because all I wanted to do was drink until I passed out, and he was about to ruin that for me.
“She loves you.” I scoffed, and he continued like he didn’t hear it. “Do you love her?”
Panic gripped my chest like a familiar friend. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” he assured without missing a beat. “Hell, I know the answer, and it’s not even me.”
I remembered Hanna the first night at Voyeur—not the way I found her crying in the hallway, but the way she laughed on my couch. I remembered the first time she let me touch her and her fascination. I remembered all her math puns and the sense of humor that only popped out when she was comfortable. I remembered the pride stretching her face when she took me to the mats the first time in self-defense. I remembered the way she held my hand and screamed off a mountain with me. I remembered how brave she was when she asked me to make love to her. I remembered her waking up in my bed. I remembered her crying in my arms and still finding the bravery to tell me she loved me.
Kent was right…it was obvious.
“Yeah, I do. I love her.”
“Then go tell her.”
“It’s not that simple, Kent,” I growled.
“Actually, it is.”
I kind of wanted to punch the smile off his face, like he just discovered the answer to world peace. Maybe a fight with Kent would help.
His smile softened as he watched me. “It really is that easy to tell someone you love them if you want them to know. You just say it.”
I dug my hands through my hair again and tugged the strands. Kent and I were always there for each other, but these last few years, life had us talking about our feelings more and more. It didn’t make it any easier.
Through a clenched jaw, I admitted what worried me the most. “What if she doesn’t believe me? What if she doesn’t want to hear it, or it’s too late, and she doesn’t care?”
His bark of laughter was not the comfort I was expecting. “What are you, twenty? You’re a grown man, Daniel. We don’t hide behind lack of conversation. We’re getting older, we don’t have time to wait around for conversations to just happen or for luck to keep throwing us opportunities and hoping for the best. You have to act. Buck up and at least give her the opportunity to decide that. Grovel like the baby you’re acting like.”