Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
But there were bruises on her thighs that had no other explanation.
My stomach churned as I mucked out the stalls in the paddocks.
I was no therapist.
I was no friend to her.
But I found myself wishing I could have been there.
Though, to be fair, all I'd probably do would be fuck things up.
"I know, bud," I murmured to the low whimper at my side.
Captain had made no secret of his disappointment with me since the moment I made it back to the house, throwing myself into the neglected morning chores. He refused to leave my side, sighing heavily, whining, grumbling when I didn't acknowledge his distress. He'd even pulled the bandages out of the rubbish pile, carrying them around like a security blanket.
I didn't have the heart to take them away.
My phone vibrated in my back pocket. Typically, the thing died, and I didn't remember to charge it for days at a time, always left it on a table or in a cabinet somewhere.
But it was in my pocket that day.
I tried to convince myself that it was because I was keeping an eye for any updates. Gunn and Miller had decided to stay in town for the night at a hotel just to make sure nothing came of the investigation the next day, that they didn't intend to rip apart the woods.
It was unlikely. We all knew that. For the most part, rape kits piled up, untested, refusing justice to thousands of women every year. No one was tearing through the woods because one woman was abused.
Yet another flaw in the system.
Yet another reason I disliked most people.
And a society that allowed that to happen.
Stabbing the pitchfork into the pile in the wheelbarrow, I swiped the sleeve of my shirt across my forehead before reaching for the phone, finding a text from Miller.
I feel like she shouldn't be alone.
- She asked you to leave. What can you do?
It's just... she kept zoning out. I don't know if she's in the best place mentally. And she said she didn't have anyone to call.
- You did what you could.
And so had I, I tried to convince myself.
It wasn't my business if she was alone. It wasn't my place to barge into her life, make sure she was in a mentally sound state.
I mean, for fuck's sake, how was I even qualified for such a job? Most people wouldn't consider me mentally sound.
Two unstable people put together didn't somehow magically create stability.
She was better off.
With the hospital staff.
With the police.
Without me.
What advice could I give her? Build yourself a house, fill it with animals, bury yourself so deep that nothing and no one could ever get close to you again, ever hurt you again?
I couldn't figure it was what someone needed, what was healthy.
She needed someone to show her how to process it all, work through it, get back to her life, trust herself, trust other people again.
And me, well, I didn't know dick about any of that.
"Christ, Cap," I grumbled when he let out the most pathetic, long-suffering sigh. "You knew her for a couple hours."
For that matter, so did I.
And yet...
And yet.
I shook my head, tucking my phone away, forcing my focus back to work.
Mucking, feeding, watering, milking, composting, working on getting the gardening beds ready for seeds, heading into the greenhouse to collect some lettuce, berries, carrots, and peppers.
I pretended as I went about making dinner, putting food into the dehydrator, sweeping up the endless dog hair, listening to Cap rolling around in the guest bed, looking for traces of the scent of a woman whose name I didn't even know, that I wasn't thinking about her. That I put her out of my mind.
But when all the tasks were done, when there was nothing to do but sprawl out in bed, staring at the ceiling, there was no denying that the thoughts were there. That I made no attempt at all to push them away.
I don't know how long I stayed like that, rolling things over and over in my head.
But at some point, Cap padded in, watching me with anxious eyes.
"Fine. Come on," I offered, patting the bed.
As a general rule, I didn't let dogs in the bed, not even Duggie - a small Jack Russell who wouldn't steal too much space. Because if you let one up, they all wanted to come up. The next thing you know, the dogs are on the bed, and your ass is sleeping on the couch.
It was a generous offer.
That he refused, letting out a whining noise, looking back over his shoulder.
On a sigh, figuring he needed a trip outside, I knifed up, slipped my feet into shoes, and followed him through the house, his tail waggling hard side to side, his ears perked up.
When I got the door open, he flew out, knocking me into the doorjamb as he went.