Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Hello?”
“Are you okay?” His voice is gruff.
“I’m okay,” I assure him. “Thank you for texting Kinzie.”
“I wanted it to be me. I wanted to be the one to hold you and calm the fears in your heart, but I didn’t think you’d let me back in,” he confesses.
The silence rings between us, but I can still hear him breathing on the other end. I think about what my sisters and Kinzie said, and they’re right. Nothing he did was unforgivable, but I need to know he’s in this. I also know that communication is essential. We could have spared one another so much pain if we had just communicated.
“I’m scared, Cope.”
“What are you afraid of, Ells?” he asks softly.
“I won’t survive you leaving me a second time.” I don’t bother playing games or beating around the bush. That’s where my heart is at.
“Earlier, you told me you were trying not to love me.” He pauses, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep quiet. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Depends on the favor.”
“Stop trying, or at least, don’t try too hard. Let me show you that you own my heart and soul, Ellison Moran. Let me fight for us, without fighting with you.”
My heart squeezes painfully. “I don’t know how. I’ve spent the last seventeen years trying not to love you, Copeland.”
“Leave it all up to me.”
“We were reckless tonight.”
“I hope so,” he says, and my mouth falls open. “Then, at least I’ll know you’ll always be in my life.”
“Cope,” I breathe.
“I love you, Ellison Moran. I’ve always loved you, and I need you to let me. Can you do that, baby? Can you let me prove to you I was young and dumb and regret every single day I’ve spent away from you?”
“Can we not do that? Can we not dwell on the past? I need to—keep moving on, you know? I don’t want to keep going backward.” We’ve had enough of the heartbreak. If this is going to work, we have to let that go. At least, we have to try to let it go.
“I’ll do whatever it takes for you to be mine again.”
“What does that look like? Me being yours?”
“Every plan we ever made is still my dream. A home, a family, growing old with you. I’ve never wanted anything more than you and the plans we made.”
“I want to believe you.”
“Time, Ells. Just give me some time.”
“Okay.” The agreement slips free before I can think better of it, but come on, I was always going to agree. This is Copeland, my heart. Of course, I’m going to try, even if it kills me and shatters my heart into so many pieces it will never be put back together.
“Yeah?” he asks, his breath hitching.
“Yeah,” I agree.
“You should get some sleep. It’s been an emotional day.”
“And you?” I can tell he’s driving.
“I’m heading back to the Manor now. I’ve been driving backroads since I left your place earlier. Now that I know you’re okay, I can rest.”
There’s the Copeland I know. He’s still in there. “Be safe.”
“I’m almost there,” he tells me. “Sweet dreams, Ells.”
“Sweet dreams, Cope.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Right. Tomorrow.”
“I’m here,” he tells me. “I’m safe.”
I exhale, not caring that he can hear me. The thought of losing him kills me. “Goodnight.”
“Night, baby.”
I force myself to end the call. When I go to plug the phone in for a second time, I get a text message.
* * *
Copeland: I love you.
* * *
I don’t reply, even though I want to. He knows I love him. Everyone knows I love him. Instead, I plug in my phone, lie back, close my eyes, and let every hope, every dream tied to Copeland James filter through my mind before I drift off to sleep.
Fourteen
Copeland
* * *
“All right, it’s been three days, now four, counting today, that you’ve been grinning like your face might crack. Care to fill me in?” Mom asks.
“I’m just glad to be home,” I tell her with a wink. We both know there’s more to it than that.
“Really? And why, all of a sudden, are you so happy to be home?” She’s sitting on the couch, legs covered with a blanket. She’s been sick as hell this week from her first round of chemo on Monday, and I feel a twinge of guilt to be so happy while she’s fighting so hard as they pump poison into her body.
“Just happy.” I lean down and kiss her cheek before handing her the cup of hot tea I just made for her.
“Didn’t I teach you not to lie to me?” she asks.
I smirk. “I don’t know, Momma. I thought so, but then that means that you must have gotten a burst of energy to clean out my old bedroom. You know, since it was too full for me to stay there, and it’s suddenly clean.”