Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
A man who gave up the right to softness the first shot I took ending a life in combat as a nineteen year old marine.
A man who won’t taint her beauty anymore.
I pause at the threshold, glancing back. She’s rolled to her back, her hand resting over the place where I lay not long ago. She doesn’t know it yet, but this is goodbye.
“I’m sorry.” I whisper.
I’m sorry I looked at her as my salvation.
I’m sorry for allowing myself to believe I could have more.
I’m sorry for every kiss and every time I touched her like she was mine.
She’s not. Maybe she never was.
She belongs to someone better. To a life with hope and mornings that don’t start with a man leaving for a run that may not bring him home.
The club is part of me. I can’t outrun it and I don’t want to. The things I’ve done can’t be undone.
I exit her room and then her home. The cold hits me like a sharp slap in the face. I relish the pain.
There’s no going back now.
I start my bike, the rumble echoing far too loud close to her window. I wait, hoping she doesn’t stir and she sleeps soundly. Then part of me hopes.
I hope maybe she sensed it. When I told her no more but she’s challenged me time and again reminding me every chance she can that we are good together. Maybe she knows this is it. Maybe some part of her always knew we couldn’t work.
A love like this. A love like ours, wild and painful, draped in silence, it doesn’t get a happy ending.
It just burns until it flickers out.
And all that is left is the smoke and ashes.
I hear her stir. She mumbles something, eyes fluttering. I move to the floor beside the couch, sit there, one arm on the cushion.
“You’re not alone,” I whisper. “I’m here, darlin’. And I’m not going to leave again.”
She nods, eyes half-lidded, not even awake enough to answer. But I’ll say it again when she is.
And I’ll keep saying it until she believes me.
TEN
DIA
"A bear's roar echoes through the mountains; let your voice be heard." — Unknown
When Justin tells me he wants to show me something, I don’t expect it to be a house.
We’re driving through a neighborhood I’ve never been in before. It’s brand new builds, quiet, tree-lined, the kind of place with wide porches and swing sets, and that easy stillness people always talk about but I rarely feel.
He doesn’t say much, just watches the road with that same calm intensity he always has. His fingers drum the wheel like he’s working through nerves, which isn’t like him. Justin doesn’t get nervous.
When he pulls into a long driveway, I glance at him.
“You buying real estate now?”
He cuts the engine. “Come look.”
I step out, eyeing the two-story craftsman tucked behind tall oaks. It’s got a wraparound porch and big windows with white trim. It feels natural, homey.
“Whose place is this?” I ask as we walk up the path.
“Could be mine,” he pauses, “ours, if you say yes.”
That stops me cold. Are we really doing this?
He fishes out a key, opens the door, and gestures for me to step inside. I do, slow and unsure. The house smells faintly like new paint and sawdust. Clean. Untouched.
Toon stays quiet as I take it in—hardwood floors, open layout, big kitchen with stainless appliances and a window over the sink.
He leads me down the hall and opens a door. Master suite. Then down the hall again, another one.
Two. Two master suites.
I turn to him, brows raised. “I don’t understand.”
“This place has space,” he says. “One side for me, one for you and the baby. Separate enough that you’ve got your own privacy. But close enough that I can help. I don’t want to put pressure on you that we have to be something you aren’t ready for. I want you to have help with the baby. It’s more space than your condo. Just another option, Dia.”
I blink.
He goes on, his voice soft. “You wouldn’t owe me anything, Dia. No expectations. No strings. Just let me be there. This way, you’re not doing it alone.”
My throat closes. I try to tell myself it’s the hormones from pregnancy making this so much more. In truth, though, it’s my heart wanting this to be real.
I look around again, this time trying to picture what it would feel like to wake up here. To bring a baby home here. To have Justin just down the hall. To not be alone, even on the hard days.
But I can’t answer.
Not now.
“Justin…”
“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t have to decide today.”
I nod, grateful. I take a step toward him to say thank you, and suddenly, my stomach flips.
I rush down the hallway, flinging open the bathroom door and barely make it before I’m kneeling over the toilet, heaving.