Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
I love that he releases a sigh of relief upon seeing me.
And I melt inside upon seeing him. Seems I’m truly head over heels for my former stalker.
The other day, I talked in therapy about how I seem to crave love from my abusers—my mom, mostly—and the doctor asked me if I think that’s the case with Jude.
I smiled as I shook my head. Jude might have stalked me, and we may have started off on the wrong foot, but he never abused me, neither emotionally nor physically. If anything, he empowers me and offers me a safe space to be both vulnerable and myself.
He plays an important role in my healing journey, and I don’t crave his love because he’s my abuser.
I crave his love because he makes me a better person, and I like to think I bring out the best in him, too.
“Why the hell are you taking my Vi?” Dahlia protests.
“She’s my Vi. Go to Kane.”
My sister scoffs and then mouths to me, “What do you even see in this brute?”
“The same thing you see in Kane,” he replies, obviously having heard her.
“Dahlia,” I whisper-yell.
“Fine.” She kisses me on the cheek and waggles her brows at Jude before she dashes in Kane’s direction.
I smile up at him. “Don’t mind her. She can be a bit petty.”
He lowers his head and kisses me on the same cheek, lingering there longer than needed.
Heat creeps up my neck, and I swallow, his hot lips sending tingles up my spine.
“There. Much better.”
I clear my throat because he kind of ignited my whole body with just a kiss on the cheek. “Wow. You’re as petty as Dahlia.”
“Damn straight.” He strokes my cheek. “Thank you for putting all of this together. You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to. Besides, your men did most of the work anyway.”
“What did I say about not taking credit for what you do, sweetheart? You’re the one who came up with the idea and even cooked some dishes.”
“I only did that to make you feel better, but I don’t think it’s working.”
“It is.” He pulls me into a tight embrace, his muscular arms wrapping around me like a protective cocoon. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t by my side.”
I sink my nails into his jacket. “I’ll always be here, Jude. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”
“Joke’s on you.”
We remain like that for a few moments.
We often do this now—just hugging to recharge. To feel the other’s breath and know we have each other no matter what.
It makes me feel safe.
It makes me think of something more than pain.
I know I still have a long way to go before I can kick the ghost of Mama from my mind and finally accept myself the way I am, but I know it’ll be easier with this stupidly big man by my side.
“The audacity to throw a party and not invite my highness.”
The entire place goes silent. No more chattering or clattering of utensils or even…breathing.
I reluctantly pull away from Jude, and we both stare at the doorway where the very familiar voice just came from.
Everyone is looking in that direction.
At the ghost of Preston Armstrong standing there with his usual grin, paired with deep dimples in his cheeks and a gleam in his light eyes.
He’s wearing jeans and a white jacket with the Vipers’ blue logo on his chest.
I blink twice, but he’s still there.
In person.
Everyone else is seeing him, too, judging by the wide, unblinking eyes.
He cocks his head to the side. “Miss me?”
“P-Preston?” one of the guys stutters.
“Drayton! You can see me?” Preston mock gasps. “Just kidding. I’m not a ghost. Said every ghost ever! Muahaha!”
When no one reacts, too in shock to even speak, he releases an exasperated sigh. “This surprise drop is flopping so hard. Anyway, you can kiss the hand one at a time, peasants. Heard you bitches are ruining our championship.” Another sigh. “Things just don’t work out without Preston. I’m telling you—”
Jude jogs toward him.
“Hey, big man! You missed me, didn’t you? Life sucked without me, didn’t it?”
Jude grabs him by the collar, shaking him. “You motherfucking—”
“Ow, ow.” Preston taps his hand. “I was shot, you Neanderthal. It still hurts.”
Jude reluctantly releases him as Kane and all of us form a small circle around Preston.
He’s here.
He…apparently came back from the dead.
“What the fuck happened?” Kane’s voice is a bit tight, but I can hear the relief beneath it. “We buried you with our own hands.”
“Did I look hot dead?”
“Preston,” Jude warns.
“Boo, what a killjoy.” Preston sighs. “I was in a medically-induced coma.”
“But the doctor said…” Kane trails off.
“Dad’s idea. Don’t look at me.” Preston’s eyes light up. “Did he cry when I was shot?”
“No,” Jude tells him.
“Did he just sigh, then? Ugh, the unoriginality is killing me.” Preston’s shoulders hunch, then he perks up again. “Heard Granny’s gone. Yay! Never liked that old woman. She called me crazy all the time, then shot me! Or tried to shoot Vee. Oh, hi, Vee! Heard you’re my auntie. Can I not call you that, though? Pretty sure I’m older than you.”