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)
Flying away from Ethan is one of the hardest things ever.
As the plane takes off, the engine force vibrating my stomach, I bite my lip and punch a few words into Google on my phone.
Taylor Rollins, Portland, ME.
The AI search tab pulls together a whole list of results, complete with photos.
It was just a little over ten years ago, so the articles are still online.
Taylor’s obituary. Her youthful, round face, forever frozen with her arched brows and the kind of shiny lip gloss young, showy women like.
She was pretty, never mind the makeup.
In one pic, she’s smiling at someone holding the camera like she’s holding in a belly laugh. She looks so heartbreakingly alive, like it could’ve been posted on Instagram yesterday.
It makes my stomach lurch and my heart plummet.
She also doesn’t look anything like me.
Yes, it was a whole decade ago.
No, I’m not self-centered enough to feel jealous over a dead girl.
I just wish I could pin down the restless, melancholy feeling I get when I study her.
She was a vibrant young woman who never had a chance to grow up.
If she’d stayed with Ethan, maybe everyone would have been better off.
If she’d just waited one more day, if she’d cried it out before she got behind the wheel, if she’d taken a different road, she would’ve lived to see Ethan swallow his emotions.
And he’d be a dad now to a preteen and a very different person.
I swallow hard, trying to imagine that.
Would they be together after all, reunited by their accidental baby?
Everything could be different.
None of the news articles mention a baby, though I think they must’ve known if there was any kind of autopsy.
Maybe the police didn’t release that info publicly.
It’s not clear from Ethan’s story if her parents knew either.
It’s very possible they never did until it was too late.
Such a tragic, senseless ending to a young life that could’ve risen to the challenge. I believe she was smart enough, determined like most women get when motherhood activates dormant instincts like hidden superpowers.
Poor Taylor.
Poor flipping Ethan.
My heart breaks for her and the agony she endured before a terrible end. It had to be terrifying, and I hope she didn’t suffer long.
No doubt feeling like she’d hit rock bottom, this all-consuming pit where hope could never live.
Ethan said he was never truly interested in her, yeah, but I wonder. He was certainly a selfish bonehead with an ego like a wrecking ball.
The pictures show a beautiful, vivacious girl.
Seriously, if he wasn’t interested in her for more than a few hookups, what kind of girl captures his attention and holds it?
“Stop it,” I mutter, slapping myself so hard the flight attendant leans forward in her jump seat by the galley to look.
I smile and wave stupidly, signaling I’m fine.
We’re not doing this, Hattie.
We’re not reading more than we should into an ancient history hookup that just so happened to end horrendously.
But sitting here on his private jet, I want to lie to myself.
I want to believe I could be the magic girl who charms Ethan’s heart, not just his dick.
Oh, I know the odds.
I’m not as pretty as the girls he went for, especially back then.
I’m sure I can’t be nearly as sophisticated as his more recent dates.
I’ve never been so scared of losing a man who was never mine in the first place.
When we started sleeping together, I thought I knew what I was doing, but now it’s clear I’m in way over my head.
Maybe Mom was right.
I need to find ways to impress him, to enchant him, to keep him.
But it almost feels like it’s too late, and desperation is not a good look on me.
If he doesn’t trust me, no amount of fantabulous sex will ever change that.
I belong in the Blackthorn’s alien world for six months.
No longer.
Ares grumbles in his sleep, shifting and burrowing against my belly.
Smiling, I stroke his warm head with one hand, still scrolling articles about Taylor Rollins, feeding the growing lump in my throat with every ghostly crumb of her existence.
Her Facebook page is still up. The privacy settings let me see her old feed.
A couple people tagged her in posts as late as last year, sharing happy memories and stricken grief to mark occasions like her birthday.
I want to throw up.
Margot and I have been besties forever, but I was an escape for her. Someone who isn’t part of her inner world and doesn’t need to be.
As Ethan’s wife, I do need to be part of his.
And right now, choking on grief that isn’t mine makes me feel so helplessly out of reach I could scream.
I’m not from their world.
I’ll never be part of it.
And I’m a hilariously bad liar.
How do I survive this?
How do I get through six months, living an illusion that’s breaking down before my eyes?
20
ALL THE POOR BASTARDS (ETHAN)