Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Fuck, was that only yesterday? With me utterly furious when she started blaming the Knowles for ruining her Christmas, thinking that I hadn’t been wrong about the Walkers after all because she was just throwing shit at anyone that she could. Then a snowball smashed into my face, and I actually started listening to what she was screaming.
And then…and then…
I’ve been lucky these past days. No doubt of it. But if I have any luck left to spend throughout my lifetime, I will never again have to watch Abbie Walker’s heart and soul shatter like they did when she broke down over the thought of returning to the festering hellhole she calls a home.
I don’t think I’d survive seeing it again.
That was my first time holding her. I haven’t gotten enough of holding her since. I haven’t stopped reeling since, either. Not with the way she bounced back, even though I dealt her blow after blow. Not after I saw how vulnerable she was—but I saw her strength, too. How she’d persevered through everything that was thrown at her. Not unharmed. But persisting…and somehow doing it with good humor and cheer.
I can’t begin to describe how appealing that is to me. That resilience. How she makes me laugh without trying. How she lights up everything with just her eyes.
It’s adorable. And terrifying.
Yet, for me, admiring resilience like hers is nothing new. So she’s done something else to me. I don’t know what it is, but it’s something that makes me want to hold her…and keep on holding her. As if there’s a person within me who wasn’t there before. A Reed Knowles who’s a stranger, a man that Abbie somehow brought to life inside me.
And that…could be an idea for a book. Though I’d write a much darker version of what I suspect is happening here.
Which is also really fucking scary. Mostly because I have no idea what to do with this stranger growing within.
Except hold onto her as tight as I can.
About fifteen minutes later, Abbie sighs and turns her head against her pillow. Good enough. I snag her around the waist and drag her in close, face to face.
She smiles and snuggles in. “This is nice,” she says sleepily.
I drop a kiss to her forehead and breathe in the scent of her hair. “Yeah, it is.”
Abruptly she stiffens, her leg jerking. Goddamn cat. I just got her in my arms again.
“I’ll take care of him,” I tell her. “Stay where it’s warm. How much cat food?”
“One scoop. Oh, and check the water dish. Yesterday there was ice on top. Thank you.”
I do both, then rebuild the fire so the cabin can heat up a bit before we leave the bed. Sliding in next to her, I drag her close again—making sure I can see her face, brushing back the curls that escaped from her braids during our two rounds of fucking.
She catches my wrist as I draw my hand back. “Is that where I bit you?”
My scar. “You remember doing it?”
“I could hardly forget.”
“I have. Mostly. Do you remember what brought it on?”
“I do.” She chews on the bottom corner of her lip, her eyes searching my face. “You really want to hear?”
“Yeah,” I say, though the way she’s looking at me makes me wonder if I do.
She sighs reluctantly. “We had an appointment to see the funeral director—and we were supposed to bring anything we wanted to go into my dad’s coffin. I’d made a drawing of our family. And maybe it was just really bad luck that your mom’s funeral was ending as we were going in but—”
“Oh fuck,” I say, because I do remember this. “They started shouting at each other.”
Solemnly she nods. “And while they were going at it, you snatched the drawing out of my hands, said it was a stupid picture and ugly as shit, then ripped it in half.”
Shame fills my chest like a ball of hot lead. “I did?”
“You did.” Her hand comes up to cup my cheek. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.” No fucking wonder she doesn’t want me to look at her painting. “I’m so damn sorry.”
“You don’t have to be. You were a kid. I was a kid. It doesn’t matter.”
Her memory of me doing that horrible shit to her is still so clear, it’s hard to believe it doesn’t really matter to her. Especially since what I said was echoed later by her own family.
Just as my memory of the incident was reinforced by my father. “I mostly only remember what my dad told me happened. I’m not surprised he didn’t mention that I was a nasty little bastard and had my own cruel part in it.”
She nods, and her hand slips down to curl gently at the side of my neck. “Did he ever let you be? Ever let you not be angry, and just quietly grieve?”