Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“I believe in you. You’ve got this,” Ellie says, her voice warm, a smile in it. “Make the most of your time with him, Amelia. You deserve it.”
We hang up a few minutes later, and I sit there, the phone clutched in my hand. The room is quiet, save for the soft tick of the clock. The pink dress clings to my skin, and the lace beneath is no longer a dirty secret or a betrayal of Sara.
I won’t take her man away. That I vow.
Consoled, my heart lighter, the path ahead clearer. I stand, smoothing my dress, and head downstairs, my shoes whispering on the hardwood. I’m ready to face Max and the fragile, stolen time we’ve claimed for ourselves.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
MAX
The SUV’s engine is a low rumble as I navigate through the city's streets. Jason is in the backseat, his sneakers kicking the back of my seat, but it’s not irritating. His chatter about a new video game is a bright thread in my head. Amelia sits beside me in a pink dress, her blonde hair catching the glow of passing streetlights.
I steal a look at her. Her profile is soft in the dim light, her lips parted as she watches the city blur by. She’s calm, but I see the slight tension in her shoulders. I'm having the time of my life, but I'm not oblivious that she is fighting the same demons that I am about what we are and what we are doing. “Are you okay?” I ask, my voice low, rough, barely audible over the engine.
She turns, the green lakes of her eyes catching mine. They are glowing as if in the setting sun. “Yeah,” she says, her voice soft, a small smile curving her lips. “Just… glad we’re doing this.” Her hand rests on the console, inches from mine, and I fight the urge to touch her, to lace my fingers with hers like I did all that summer. Our little secret.
“Me too,” I say, and swivel my gaze back to the road.
Jason’s voice pipes up, asking about pizza toppings.
Amelia answers, and I nod, half-listening, my mind on Amelia’s body under the pink dress.
The skating rink looms ahead, its neon sign flashing red and blue. It's a family place I haven’t been to in years—not since Sara and I stopped even trying to pretend we were that kind of couple, that kind of family. I pull into the lot, tires crunching gravel, and cut the engine. The sudden quiet is heavy with anticipation.
I turn to Jason. He is hopping with excitement. “You ready, buddy?”
“Do ducks swim?” he responds, unclipping his seatbelt.
Amelia and I laugh. And it occurs to me that Amelia and I are that kind of couple, that kind of family.
Inside, the rink is alive, the air is scented with the smell of greasy pizza and popcorn, and the thud of bass from pop music vibrates through the wood floor. Kids zip by on skates, their laughter easy and casual, weaving through families at tables piled with pizza boxes and soda pitchers. Jason’s eyes light up, his gray gaze darting to the rink, and Amelia smiles, ruffling his curls.
“Ready to skate, huh?” she asks, her voice warm and playful.
“You bet,” he nods, bouncing on his toes.
We grab a table near the rink, the red vinyl booth creaking under us. The waitress, a teenager with a ponytail, drops off menus, and Jason orders a pepperoni pizza. I watch him with surprise. His voice is louder than usual, and his excitement has broken through his normally shy demeanor. He is never like this. He looks almost like a different boy. I turn toward Amelia and watch how she is with him, the way she leans in, listening to his chatter about school, her smile genuine. She’s so good with him, so natural. I hate to even think it, but even better than Sara is with him.
It hits me like a punch then, and causes a fierce ache in my chest. She’s not just my half-sister—she’s the mother I wanted for my children, she’s everything I’ve wanted, everything I can’t have, and seeing her with Jason, like she belongs here, tears me apart.
The pizza arrives, steaming, cheese stretching in gooey strands, and we dig in. It’s good pizza, the crust crisp, the pepperoni spicy on my tongue. Jason munches happily, sauce smearing his cheek. Amelia laughs, wiping at it with a napkin, her touch gentle. I can’t stop watching her, my eyes tracing the curve of her jaw, the way her dress hugs her body, the memory of her under me this morning a fire. I try to ignore the thoughts that fill my head, but it’s relentless, fueled by every move she makes.
Jason’s voice cuts through, small but curious. “Why do we never go out like this with Mommy?” he asks, his mouth full of pizza, his eyes flicking between us. “We never go out to eat like this. Not together.”