Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
But right now, walking through his house that’s becoming too familiar, I can’t imagine being able to walk away without missing this.
Us.
The us that doesn’t exist.
The us that can’t happen.
The us that’s a terrible figment of my imagination.
When I walk into the kitchen, though, I find Ethan leaning against the counter and stop in my tracks.
His sleeves are rolled up. His suit jacket is folded and tossed over the back of a chair at the island, and his face looks worn.
Tired.
Conflicted.
He looks the way the pit of my stomach feels.
I stop in the doorway, anxious thoughts crowding my head until all I can think about is when he’ll decide this is bonkers and send me into exile early.
After the big wedding spectacle, there’s really no good reason we have to spend much time together to keep up public appearances.
He glances up and sees me, offering a brief smile that doesn’t touch his eyes.
They’re so dark, a starless blue night without moonlight.
My heart leaps in my chest.
No point in trying to tame it, or reminding myself for the thousandth time that nothing between us is authentic.
The heart isn’t rational, especially when it wants Ethan Blackthorn.
Desperately.
But when his smile drops, the brief rush of relief and happiness at seeing him turns to dread.
“Hey, Pages,” he says.
“You’re home early. Everything okay?” I force a smile, walking around the enormous kitchen island to kiss him on the cheek.
He reaches out and presses a hand to the small of my back, holding me against him. His lips find the top of my head, and I melt helplessly when I feel him inhaling me.
Who would have thought this surly, scowly beast was capable of being so gentle when he smells me like a rose?
“Everything’s fine,” he says, but there’s still this tension in his body that doesn’t mirror his words. “Work’s done early.”
Just work? Is that all that’s fine?
Oh no. I stiffen and pull back against my better instinct.
“…how about off the clock? Is everything okay?”
“Not what I meant.” His knuckle drags across my cheek, so lightly I almost miss it. “Things are good with us, don’t worry.”
“But?” My heart slows.
“A lot’s changed in a very short time.” He releases a long, slow breath. “I want to leave the past behind and move forward, but to do that—”
He stops cold, his eyes so piercing.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, even though I’m dying to know what he’s holding back, why he’s being vulnerable.
What’s he still hiding from me?
There are so many secrets hidden in those stark blue eyes.
Sometimes they feel like they’re drowning me.
But more than anything, I don’t want to see him like this. Like some invisible fear or regret or bad memory has him by the throat.
“You don’t have to tell me now. Not unless you’re ready.” My voice is whisper-soft.
His eyes flash, anguished in a way that almost breaks my heart.
“But I do, Pages. That’s the trouble. If I ever want to move on, I need to tell you why I left Portland. You should know what happened that summer.”
16
ALL THE REGRETS (ETHAN)
Years Ago
The small pebble in my hand feels warm from the sun.
I toss it a couple times and catch it in my palm before whipping it over the waves.
It’s August—almost time to go back home to New York Shitty—and I’m so fucking sick of it.
Home?
Nah.
Even the thought makes my shoulders tighten with stress.
Too many expectations.
Too many lectures.
Too many pointed questions about when I’m going to get my shit together. Pretty rich, coming from parents who never worked a day in their lives.
Everyone wants to tie me down.
But at least I don’t have Mom and Dad dragging me around to their charity pet projects anymore. That’s something, I guess.
Deep down, I didn’t mind the causes, but the events were just as awful as the people.
Selfish, shallow pricks, all of them so optics-obsessed they masturbate to their own reflections.
Even my parents, I was only there to make them look good.
Smile for the camera.
Play along.
Be the mature, smart, kindhearted Blackthorn son I’m not.
One more reason why the summers in Maine are never long enough. Except now Gramps is on my back, trying to get me to join the family business.
Tying me down with his legacy, even if it’s better than anything my parents offer.
Bullshit.
I shrug, rolling my shoulders before I slump down on the warm dock. I idly trail the toe of one shoe through the water until I feel the sting.
“Shit!”
A sliver of wood jams itself up my fingernail and I yank it out, watching as blood wells in a rusty red bead.
Human frailty.
Pain.
Something real.
Isn’t that what I want most?
Even if it means signing up for the US Army. Beside me, the glossy recruitment pamphlets stare up at me, and I pick one up, flicking through it.
Joining up means escaping family hell, all the people determined to decide my destiny for me.