Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
At least, I hope she does.
The thought of losing my daughter and her family again tears me up inside. However, the thought of walking away from Amanda and Mia… It’s that thought that brings on the same torturous pain as losing Bellamy and her family. I’m torn between the love I have for my daughter and the love I have for her best friend, because that’s what this is. The intensity of what I feel for them couldn’t be anything less.
I’m in love with her.
With both of them.
Why else would staring at my empty bed feel wrong? It feels wrong without her. The house needs Mia’s giggles and Amanda’s warm smiles. It needs them. I need them.
Moving to the bed, I slide beneath the covers and stare up at the ceiling. The silence is too loud, a reminder of what’s missing. There’s no soft shift of sheets. No quiet exhale beside me. Just the hum of the air vent and my own stupid heartbeat thudding too loud in my ears.
I turn onto my side out of habit. The side I slept on all last week. The side that faced her. My hand moves before I can stop it, sliding across cool, empty sheets. I almost laugh at myself. Almost. I know she’s not there, just the ghost of the memory of what it felt like to fall asleep with her in my arms.
This is what I get for letting myself imagine something with her that I can’t have. I let myself get comfortable in a space that was never mine to begin with. Sneaking around, pretending it was harmless because nothing physical happened. As if that makes it better.
It doesn’t.
Because the truth is, the most intimate thing wasn’t touching her. It was wanting to. It was being inches away from her and controlling my urge to make her mine in every way. It was pretending that one night with her in my arms didn’t ruin me for anyone else.
It will only ever be her. The silence of my house, the volume of my memories, and the way my heart races just thinking about my time with her tell me that it will always remain true. I might not be able to make her mine, but in my heart, she always will be.
Pulling in a deep breath, I slowly exhale as I squeeze my eyes shut, but all I see is her. The way she looked at me as she climbed into her car and drove away when we got home earlier this evening. That lingering pause that lasted a beat too long, leaving the unspoken words hanging between us.
I drag a hand over my face and release a low groan. I should text her. Check to see that she made it home safely. Keep it normal. Casual. Safe. However, looking at the clock, it’s after ten, and she’s probably already in bed.
I don’t move. Instead, I stare at my phone on the nightstand, fighting the urge to call her and tell her everything that’s been racing through my mind. I should tell her that my bed feels empty without her. That I can’t stop thinking about her, and that something happened in that shared room, with her lying in my arms each night.
Everything changed.
It’s too late to call her, so, instead, I’ll drive by her place, just to see if she’s still up. Tossing the covers off, I’m sliding into gym shorts, tossing a T-shirt over my head, grabbing my phone, and rushing downstairs. Sliding my bare feet into my tennis shoes, I swipe my key fob off the counter where I left it and rush out the door.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m idling at the curb of her condo. There’s a soft glow coming from the window, which I hope means she’s awake. Turning off the engine, I grab what I need before locking up and making my way to her front door. I don’t want to risk waking Mia, so I opt for a text message instead of knocking on the door.
* * *
Me: I’m at your door.
* * *
I hit Send before I can talk myself out of it. I’ll wait a few minutes, and if she doesn’t answer, I’ll head back home and sleep on the couch. I’m gripping my phone like a lifeline when I hear the lock disengage, and then the door opens.
And there she is.
Mandy.
Her hair is piled on top of her head. Her face is fresh, with no trace of makeup. She’s wearing a tank top and no bra, with a pair of the tiniest tight-ass shorts I’ve ever seen.
“Will, is everything okay?” she asks, her tone soft.
I shake my head because there’s a lump in my throat, making it hard to speak. Instead, I step inside and close the door, twisting the lock before turning to face her.