Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
“Your turn again,” I told him, needing to break the tension. “Let’s go back to all the big changes you’re making. Thinking about leaving the team and buying a new house. Why now? And why didn’t you pull the trigger years ago?”
He winced. It was subtle, but I could see it. “I did, back when I was married for nine months. I turned it around and sold it when we separated and they moved away. It was too far from work and my family.”
Oh right. The ex-wife no one ever talked about. I’d fallen into a tub of ice cream for a month when I heard he’d gotten married. I’d also practiced all the fictional hexes I’d created on her. If she currently had facial warts or hemorrhoids? That was probably my doing. “They?”
He slid toward the deeper water, the shadows hiding his face. “She had a kid when we met. Cody. His school was why I bought the house where I did, about an hour from here. He’s a doctor in Arizona now. A good one, from what I hear.”
“You had a stepson?” How was it possible that I didn’t know something like that? Mom would have told me.
Wade looked pained. “He was ten at the time. Crazy smart, but really shy with new people, so she didn’t bring him around much. In the end, it was for the best. No one got too attached.”
Except for Wade.
“I was shocked when I heard about the divorce,” I said carefully. “You were never one for rushing into things. Or giving up on them.”
I’d always wondered what happened.
“If we’re being honest,” he said after a moment, “I ignored the warning signs. I wanted a family of my own and I thought, here’s this beautiful woman I get along with, with a kid who looks at me like I’m a superhero. It felt easy. Simple. Ready-made. I thought the rest would work itself out with time.”
The rest? Meaning love?
I held my tongue, but he heard me as if I’d spoken out loud. “There’s nothing you could say I haven’t told myself a hundred times. It was a shit reason to get married. It was a disservice to all of us. I suppose that’s why her falling for someone else wasn’t that shocking.”
Been there, done that. “I really hate cheaters.”
“I’m not a fan either, but she didn’t cheat,” he corrected swiftly. “Not physically, anyway. She was upfront about it. He was a friend from work and her feelings were unexpected. I couldn’t be angry when the only thing that bothered me was that she was moving out of state and didn’t want me to stay in contact with Cody. She didn’t want to confuse him, she said. Which was her right as his mother,” he finished quickly, looking down with a fierce scowl.
He hadn’t twisted the story to make himself look like the hero or the victim. He’d promised honesty, and he was giving as good as he got. The sky should be lit up from all the truth bombs exploding around us like fireworks.
How many people did I know over the years who’d gotten married because “it seemed like the thing to do?”
Too many.
It was why I’d stayed in my last relationship long after any hint of a thrill was gone. I’d been a successful woman in my thirties, but there was a voice in the back of my head that thought, I should be married by now. I should have children before it’s too late.
I didn’t think I was parent material because I could barely take care of myself and one moody dog, but I could easily see Wade in the role. He’d make a fantastic father, all gruffly protective and loving. He’d helped raise Phoebe and she adored him.
I could write him as a father. The hardened warrior in my series, the stoic fixer of broken things, who was based on Wade? He would absolutely change his life and burn the world down to protect a child.
Hold the phone.
Jumbled bits of ideas and storylines that had never quite meshed started reorganizing themselves in my head, like a puzzle I was close to solving. Was that the element I’d been missing? The Mandalorian key to my book’s salvation? My fingers started flexing as if they were typing on a keyboard made of water before I stopped myself.
Here he is, baring his soul, finally sharing himself with you after years of pretending you had the plague, and you’re using it as a writing prompt. What is wrong with you?
Wade’s need for comforting words totally eclipsed my muse’s bad timing. “There’s no rule that says you can’t get in touch with him now, is there? It’s been years, and he’s not a kid anymore. A doctor doesn’t need permission from his mother to take a phone call or answer an online message.”