Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Thanks.” He sighed in relief. “We’ve been together for almost eighteen years.”
“Eighteen?” Her voice dipped low.
Jesus. Eighteen. It was the same amount of time she’d been with Douchebag.
“I dated a little when I first came here but met him after a few months. It’s been him ever since.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, Sawyer.”
A pregnant silence took over them.
Graham said, hesitating, “I know there’s a lot to talk about, like real stuff. We didn’t get into it tonight, but I have to ask. Can I—you were terrified when I came to get you. It’s obvious the aunts don’t know about that part, but Sawyer, you thought I might’ve been followed. I need to know. Are we—are you in any danger? Are we?”
She didn’t reply right away. When she did, her voice was low. “I—I don’t know, to be honest. My head’s been a mess with everything. I’ve been fucking everything up since I got here.”
“What do you mean?”
She was silent again for a few beats. “I think in the beginning, I couldn’t handle what my ex did to me. I’ve done it since I was a kid. If something’s happening in my life that I can’t cope with, my mind breaks off. I daydream or I think up these things. It’s a coping mechanism. Like dissociating a little. I can’t answer because I’m not sure myself. Does that make sense?”
That was fucked up. She’d seen two guys try to shoot us. I killed them in front of her.
I’d explained everything to her.
But then you locked her in the bedroom when you left, too, a voice spoke up in the back of my head. I ignored that voice. I couldn’t afford to wait around and see if she took it seriously. I needed answers. We needed answers. There was no time to hold her hand. Locking her up was the best option for both of us.
She groaned. “I think I just need to sleep. I’m sure things will make sense in the morning.”
“Okay. If you’re sure?”
“I am. I’m sorry. I’m not intending to keep you in the dark. I just want to make certain that I’m sure about what I’m going to say. There could be ramifications.”
He was quiet until he murmured, gently, “If you think that’s the right thing to do. I can wait, but tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow. Not the aunts. They can’t know. God,” she exclaimed. “They would lose their shit if they found out.”
He said good night after that.
She went to the bathroom, was in there a while, before moving back to the room. The bed creaked. She seemed to be settling to go to sleep when there was a soft knock at her door.
The bed creaked again. She padded to the door, opening it. “Hey?”
One of her aunts was there. “Hey, sweetie. I just wanted to check on you. How are you really doing?”
They eased into the room. The bed protested as someone sat down. “I’m okay.”
“No, honey. I mean it. We didn’t bring up Beck at all tonight, but that’s the whole reason you’re here. Your mom’s worried. You’re not responding to her either.”
“I can’t. My phone—” She cut herself off.
I waited for her to finish that statement. Her phone had been charging under her purse.
I’d picked up her purse.
I’d put it back in the same place . . . Or was I a few inches off?
Shit. I couldn’t remember.
Her aunt didn’t notice the slight hitch in Sawyer’s voice. “We’ll get that fixed in the morning, but I just wanted to check in with you. One on one. Your mom has been blowing up my phone. Did you want to talk about Beck at all? About . . . About him, back home? About Manda?”
“I . . .”
She sounded defeated and tired, so tired. I held back my frustration at needing to stay hidden. Everything in me wanted to tear out of the closet, to take her away from all of these people who were making her talk about topics she clearly didn’t want to discuss. Let her deal on her own timetable. I didn’t care if she dissociated or deflected. I hated that she was second-guessing herself, hated what part I played in that, but they needed to give her fucking space. Let her talk about it whenever the fuck she wanted to talk about it. She didn’t owe them anything.
She finally confessed, “I just really don’t want to talk about it.”
Exactly.
Her aunt remarked, “Yes, but you need to. Eventually. Call your mom tomorrow. She knows you’re fine and she’s less worried now that you’re with family, but we’re all concerned. We have your back. You know that.”
“I know. Thank you, Aunt Bess.”
Christ. Her voice was soft, as if she were making herself smaller. I gritted my teeth, loathing hearing that. Let her fucking feel what she wanted to feel. Let her think what she wanted to think. Let her be. She’ll face her shit when she was ready. It was her timetable, not theirs.