Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
After I finish, the silence seems louder than it was back when I started, along with my heartbeats and my breaths. But Radisson, for some reason, appears unchanged. Except for the slight tensing of his jaw here and there, he appears unmoved. His breathing appears to be relaxed, and his stare seems as blank as before.
I don’t like that. I don’t like his no reaction. It means I haven’t made my case and I begin to speak again at the same time he does. And his question is the same as before: “Why?”
My temper explodes. “Oh my God, are you—”
He keeps at it. “Why don’t you care?”
“You—”
“Why don’t you blame me?”
“Radisson—”
“Why can’t I make you hate me, Peyton?” he growls.
And I scream, “Because I love you, you…”
As soon as I say the words, he flinches. I finally realize what he’s been asking me. All this time. What he wanted me to say. He wanted me to tell him the truth. Didn’t he? He wanted me to tell him what’s in my heart. I should’ve known. Because I did the same to him. Up on that cliff when I wanted his truth. When I wanted to know why he’d kill for me, for the Turner Princess. The daughter of the man who murdered his family and ruined his life.
He did give me his truth, so I guess it’s only fair I give him mine.
“I love you,” I confess, and I watch his chest move with a deep breath. “I’m in love with you. Okay? That’s why. I can’t hate you because I love you. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you. Because you’re the only one who makes me feel alive. You’re the only one who makes me feel safe. And I’ve never had that. I’ve never felt safe anywhere, with anyone, the way I do with you. Before I met you, I was so afraid. I lived my life in fear. Day in, day out. I never felt safe enough to dream even. To hope, to wish for things like other girls, but you… you make me do that. You make me dream. You make me hope. You make me…”
Something else occurs to me then. Something monumental that simply bursts to the surface, and I realize I’ve been lying to myself. These past few days I thought I was trying to seize the moment. Hoard memories, collect them like never before. Maybe even show him what his life could be like if he simply stopped living in the past. That all his fantasies could come true. But I was living my fantasy too. I was living my dream. The dream I never dared to weave. Living with him, loving him, building a life with him. Working side by side. Hoping, praying, wishing that I would get to have this. That I would get to have his love.
That my father didn’t ruin this for me too.
I thought I’d gotten brave when I started going on rides with Radisson, when I kissed him before the storm. But I hadn’t been brave until this moment. Until I accepted that I want more. I don’t just want to disappear from his life. I don’t want this to end. I want to be with him. I want to find a way to build something between us, despite blood, fire, and tragedy.
“No,” he says, breaking into my thoughts.
“What?”
His body has become larger somehow, more unforgiving than before, than it ever was. The scar on his face stands taut and his jaw is so firmly set that when he speaks, his lips barely move. “Don’t need your help. Don’t want it. That’s all we’re gonna say about that.”
With that he picks up a discarded shirt and starts striding over to the barn door. It takes me a few seconds to realize he intends to leave. He intends to simply go away. He’s leaving. After I poured my heart out to him, he’s just… leaving.
“Radisson,” I call out. “Stop.”
He doesn’t.
“Radisson, come back here. You can’t just leave. Don’t you have anything to say to what I just told you? I love—”
He stops at the door, his hand splayed wide on the wood as he cuts me off without turning around, “Just like your help, I don’t need your love. Don’t want it. Thought that was understood.” He turns his face to the side, his profile so sharp that my heart feels the bleeding cut. “Love’s for children. For teenage girls who love the color blue and don’t know when to shut up. Who care about dyin’ flowers and makin’ pancakes for picnics. Love’s for girls who don’t know how to kiss and then think they’re in love with the first man who teaches ’em how.”
It’s been three hours and twenty-one minutes since he left me in the barn after I told him I loved him. I don’t know how I expected him to respond to my confession, but I didn’t expect him to simply leave. And if I let myself think about it in depth, I’m sure I’ll feel my heart shattering into a million pieces as little shards of it run through my veins, poking me like needles all over my body. So I’m not going to. Not yet. For now, my heartbreak will be a slow, silent, quiet death.