Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
He timed his visits home randomly out of an abundance of caution, so I never knew when the bomb would drop. Some days it was before the sun rose. Other days, it was before dinner or right before bed. There was no way to know in advance, and I refused to ask because I wasn’t sure if knowing would even help. Then, instead of being braced for it, I’d be counting the minutes until I knew he had to go.
No. He didn’t have to go. He chose to.
It would be different if he didn’t have a choice.
If he didn’t have a choice, then it would’ve felt like we were in it together.
He was choosing to leave me, and I was in it alone.
I lay in bed, my hands clenched at my sides, staring at the ceiling as he moved around the room, getting dressed.
It had been more than two weeks since we’d found each other, and nothing had changed. I hadn’t left the property once, and still, Daniel’s family’s investigation had turned up no more information than my uncle’s. We were spinning our wheels.
“You should try to sleep in,” he whispered, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Then maybe by the time you wake up again, I’ll be back.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I replied, keeping my expression neutral.
I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to ask why the separation was so easy for him. Why he had to go back every day, sometimes twice. I wanted to tell him that if he left, I was leaving too. That I couldn’t stand being stuck in the house for one more stupid day. I wanted to remind him that he hadn’t seen a single sign of the militia on his trips back and forth, and there was no reason for him to leave me behind. I wanted to ask if he was hiding me for some other reason, like maybe he just didn’t want me to meet his family. Did I embarrass him somehow? Did he think they wouldn’t like me?
The words caught in my throat until it felt like I was choking on them.
“I’ll be back in a few hours, yeah?” he said, leaning down to brush his lips over mine. “Stay just like this.” His hand slid under the blanket, smoothing over my bare belly and thigh. “I like imagining you curled up in bed, warm and naked.”
“I’ll see you soon,” I replied.
He brushed his lips across mine one more time before getting to his feet. Then he left, closing the door quietly behind him. I listened as his footsteps faded away down the hall and flinched at the sound of the front door opening and closing.
Scrambling up from the bed, I threw on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. The routine had become almost second nature, and I knew I only had about two minutes before his car disappeared. By that time, I’d locked myself in the bathroom and was on my knees, heaving into the toilet.
It was always worse when he left in the mornings, because there was nothing to throw up. It was just fifteen minutes of dry heaving until my stomach settled. Then, I had approximately eight minutes to take a quick shower before the body aches kicked in. After that, it was a crapshoot. Those two symptoms of the mating heat were easy to predict, but the panic and paranoia and sweating and racing heart were a little more choose-your-own-adventure. I was never sure which way things would go, or in which order.
My pop was waiting outside the bathroom when I finished. He handed me two gummies that I immediately swallowed, then took my hand gently as he walked us into the kitchen. On the days when luck was on my side, I was high before the body aches set in.
That day wasn’t a lucky one.
“You need protein,” he said as my jaw clenched, and I gripped the edge of the table. “Carbs and fats, too, but protein is most important.”
“I’m not hungry,” I countered through my teeth, staring at the salt and pepper shaker.
“I’m not askin’,” he replied firmly, setting down a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me.
“I’m just going to throw them up.”
“Maybe not.”
I let out a huff of disbelieving laughter and stuffed a piece of bacon into my mouth.
“Finish that entire plate,” he ordered. “Thunder! Let’s go outside, boy.”
I struggled to choke down the food once they were outside. I knew he was right—I needed the calories—but the food tasted like ash in my mouth.
I was losing weight. Not a lot, and it wasn’t super noticeable, unless you knew me very well. My shirts hung a little looser, my jeans had a gap in the waist that wasn’t there before, and my collarbone was just a little more prominent. I was losing muscle mass that I’d worked for years to gain.