Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
A few minutes later, his phone pinged with a text from Wren. He smiled whenever her contact picture popped up. It showed her from when she was about ten years old, hair curly and wild as she laughed, her smile slightly hidden by a melting ice cream cone.
As soon as he knew she was safe, he tried not to think about what she was doing. That city slicker better behave himself on her table.
He focused on Edward and Bella to avoid getting worked up, but it turned out that Edward was a gaslighting jerk who didn’t keep his word.
A while later, the door opened. “You’re still awake?”
“Shh…” He waved, but kept his eyes fixed on the screen. “Edward’s going to the Volturi. Bella and Alice are trying to stop him.”
She took off her coat and laughed. “Oh, you’re deep in it now.”
“They’re not gonna make it.” He sat up, body tense and eyes unblinking.
“I really thought you’d be Team Jacob.”
“I’m Team Get-It-Together, Bella. She jumped off a cliff, Wren. A cliff.” He paused the movie. “And Edward’s a jerk for leaving her. You didn’t prepare me for that.”
“I told you it was angsty.” She came to sit beside him on the sofa, smelling like the spa.
“Alice and Carlisle are the only sane ones. Charlie’s not bad either. I can’t believe Bella lied to him.”
She laughed, and he hit play, fully aware that she was laughing at him, not with him.
He didn’t care. “Don’t judge me. I am what you made me.”
Thankfully, things worked out. New Moon left him so drained that he passed out at the start of Eclipse, just as the camera panned over the snowy trees.
He awoke in the middle of the night, mind fuzzy, and the house silent. Wren lay curled up beside him on the couch, television off, the glowing embers in the woodstove the only source of light. How she hadn’t fallen off the edge was a mystery.
The fire needed another log, but he felt too tangled up in her sleeping body to move without waking her. And he didn’t want her to fall. He’d better keep holding her, so he stayed put.
God, she looked pretty. And fucking perfect in his arms.
This close, he could see every freckle on her nose and count each individual eyelash. She’d showered between movies last night and put on one of his flannels. The sight of her in his clothes, curled up in his space, made something primitive and possessive unfurl in his chest. She belonged here, with him, wearing his shirts and falling asleep in his arms.
He hadn’t expected her to stay, but was glad she did.
Honestly, he never wanted her to leave. She fit perfectly into his space, as if the house had been built to fit her into the design. And maybe it had, on some subconscious level. He certainly thought about her when he stocked it. Why else would he own a tea kettle when he only ever made black coffee?
She nestled closer to him and he pressed his lips to her hair, breathing in her unique scent.
She moaned softly against his chest and rasped, “What time is it?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered, glad his throat no longer burned. “It’s still dark outside.”
“Do you need anything?” She was so damn nurturing, she even checked on him in her sleep.
“I’ve got everything I need right here.” He kissed her head again.
“Mmm,” she responded, the soft moan fading into a feminine snore.
“Thanks for taking care of me,” he whispered, keeping his voice low as he gently played with her hair, happy to hold her as she slept in his arms. “I remember how my mom used to take care of us.”
He stared into the dim glow of the fire, aware he was mostly talking to himself, but it felt good to share those personal memories, even if she was sleeping through his confessions.
“She used to mother us the most when we were sick. Popsicles and soup, warm baths, and our favorite snacks. Whenever one of us got sick, the others always got jealous.”
Nothing beat a mother’s love, he thought, but Wren’s care came pretty close today. He felt so much better than he had last night, and could only attribute his miraculous healing to her care.
“I don’t even remember her voice anymore,” he admitted shamefully. “Isn’t that awful?”
“It’s human,” she whispered, and he realized she was actually listening.
“I should remember everything about her. She was my mom.”
“When something hurts that much, Grey, our mind hides the details to protect our heart.”
Maybe that was it. Maybe his forgetfulness was a coping mechanism. He did what he had to do to get past the pain. But the guilt remained, and his throat tightened every time he felt that shame resurfacing.
“We weren’t allowed to wallow.”
“Talking about her isn’t wallowing.”
“It was to my dad.”