Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
And then they’re gone, out the front door, and the click of the latch sounds like the clang of iron prison bars. Menacing and without escape.
Silence.
Penn stares at me for ten full seconds, and then it happens.
The explosion.
I see it coming—the way his chest rises and falls like he’s trying, and failing, to keep a dam from breaking.
“Do you have any idea how fucking stupid that was?” he yells, arms hanging down but fists pumping open and closed, open and closed.
I sink onto the couch, fold my hands in my lap and wait for him to get it out. I’d prepared for this, and he deserves his moment to purge. Penn paces in front of me on the opposite side of the coffee table, a storm in motion.
“I told you not to do this.” His voice isn’t raised but the low growl of anger is enough to slice into me. “I told you I was not okay with it. And you went behind my back, anyway. That’s not respect, Mila. It’s an absolute betrayal of trust.”
I wince, because he just manifested my biggest fear. That he would take this as such a deep betrayal, his walls would go back up. I swallow hard but stay quiet because I’m hoping by venting it all out, he will listen to what I have to say.
“I trusted you,” he grinds out, raking a hand through his hair. “And you put yourself in the crosshairs without thinking about what it would do to me if you died. Fuck… it’s bad enough you were actually shot, but what the hell did you think would happen to me if you were killed?”
The ache in my chest is sharp and twisting and I’m flooded with the guilt I told myself I refused to feel because I believed in what I was doing.
And then—just as fast as it started—he stops pacing.
“I can’t do this,” he mutters as he pivots.
He storms down the hallway, disappearing into the back of the house. I sit there—stunned, hollow—my heart sinking like a stone. I expected him to rant until he had no more, then I expected him to ask for my reasoning. I thought there might be a willingness to listen after his fury was expelled, but I did not expect him to leave.
A deeper kind of fear seeps in—not fear of his anger, but fear that I’ve fractured something inside him too badly to fix.
I can’t do this.
He can’t be with me? He can’t have a relationship anymore because I broke his trust?
The sorrow is nearly crushing as I push off the couch slowly, wincing at the pull in my arm, ready to retreat somewhere—anywhere—to lick my wounds, but then he speaks from behind me.
“I want three kids.”
I slowly turn to see Penn leaning casually against the doorframe like he didn’t just eviscerate me five minutes ago.
I’m so discombobulated. “Wh-what?”
His face is calm, with no trace of anger. None of the disdain or accusation. “Three kids. Maybe four. I’ve been thinking about it. How many do you want?”
I stare at him like he’s lost his mind. Has he? Did I push him over the edge?
“How many?” he repeats calmly.
“I… I don’t know,” I stammer. “Three sounds good.”
“Perfect.” He pushes off the frame, walking toward me like we’re discussing weekend plans.
“What’s happening right now?” I blurt out.
“I’m mad at you,” he says simply. “I probably will be again when I think about it too long.”
“But you want to talk about kids?” I drawl in confusion.
He comes toe to toe with me and I have to tilt my head to look up at him. “I feel like we have important things to talk about.”
I’m reeling at how calm he is. At how he just abandoned his furious rant to talk about… children? “But you’re pissed at me. I broke trust. You said you can’t do this.”
“Yeah… I can’t continue to berate you. I’m out of gas, anyway. So, we need to talk about some important things.”
Penn motions for me to sit back down on the couch, and I sink into it, my heart racing and mind spinning.
“Let’s talk about our future,” he says.
I stare at him like he’s gone crazy. But he seems serious. There’s something raw in his eyes not—not anger, not even hurt exactly—but something that looks a hell of a lot like determination fighting through pain.
“I want you to stay here. With me. For good. I know Florida has been your home for a long time, but I want us to move in together and start a life.”
“Penn,” I say as I rub at my temple, which is now hurting more than my arm. “What the hell is going on? You said I broke your trust. Don’t you think that’s something more important to talk about?”
Penn’s mouth tightens. For a heartbeat, he looks like he might shut down again—old instincts flickering behind his eyes. The ones that learned a long time ago that betrayal meant isolation, not forgiveness.