Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
A complete dichotomy to Norah’s relationship with her ex, and still, it wasn’t meant to be.
“Pull over,” Norah says suddenly, startling me. “I want to go inside.”
I grip the wheel tighter and keep my foot steady on the pedal, just like I always do when I’m driving by Clay’s bar to keep myself from stopping. I don’t hesitate. I don’t consider. I just drive.
“Josie. Please pull over,” Norah pleads, turning in her seat to face me and reaching out to grab the elbow of my right arm. “I need to talk to Bennett. Apologize. Thank him. Something.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” My voice sounds brittle even to my own ears.
“What? Why not?” Her questions are desperate and confused, and I can’t blame her. She doesn’t know all the details of Clay and me—hell, I don’t even know if she ever knew we were together. According to what she told me the other day, Eleanor had her believing I opened the coffee shop before Grandma died and that I was living on my own in some apartment above the shop. I was loose and of poor character and might even be doing drugs. Evidently, keeping me out of the picture was most easily done with lies.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel as I try to keep my eyes on the road and off visions of the past, but Norah is insistent. “Josie, I got that man arrested today. I really need to go in there and talk to him. It’s the right thing to do.”
Thomas King wasn’t the only one who got put in cuffs today. Ben did too. All in the name of standing up for my sister.
I sigh, asking myself how many more mistakes I’m willing to make before I do what’s right. I’m sure I’ll have more moments of weakness, but right now, sitting next to my sister with a mark on her arm from a man I can’t help but think I could have prevented her from getting involved with if I’d just reached out after Grandma Rose’s funeral, I have no choice but to stop being selfish.
I execute a U-turn easily in the wide-open street and swing into the packed parking lot. I move quickly to shut off the car and hop out before I have a chance to back out.
“Come on,” I snip through the open window on my door when Norah doesn’t follow my lead to hustle the fuck up. “Let’s make this quick.”
I don’t have the bandwidth to be gentler—though I wish desperately that I did—and I turn and head for the bar with nothing more than a hope and a wish that she’s not far behind me.
The Hill Country Hot Wings, a local bluegrass band from just outside of Molene, are playing on the small stage in the corner, and the room is teeming with bodies. People dance and chat and play pool in the far corner, and my heart feels like it’ll explode if I don’t manage a breath soon.
It’s been five years since I set foot in this damn bar, and still, it feels like no time has passed at all. The brick walls, the hardwood floors, and the mahogany bar—they’re all the same.
And that’s the problem.
Norah pushes through the door and stops beside me, and I cross my arms over my chest to stop myself from exploding all over the place. I don’t look around or focus on the faces I know I’ll recognize. I can’t.
The pain deep inside me is a ticking time bomb just waiting to detonate.
“I found him,” Norah says, grabbing my elbow and pulling at me to go with her. “He’s at the bar.”
My feet are rooted to the spot. “I’ll wait here for you.”
“You don’t want to—”
“Just go, Norah. I’ll wait here.”
Norah pushes through the crowd, and I scoot back to lean against the wall. This section has a bit of a shadow, and I’m hoping desperately it’ll absorb me right into a black hole.
If I’m honest, I thought I’d be past all this by now. Sure, I thought it’d be a part of me, that I’d think of Clay and me from time to time and get a hit of happy memories, but I didn’t dare dream that I would still mourn what I lost and wish for what we never had.
But every day, I do.
Five years and it all still consumes me.
I wish so fucking badly he would move on to someone else, but I also know it would quite literally kill me if I had to see him happy with another woman…
I barely have time to finish the thought before I spot the very reason for my pain. Clay heads toward me, a mask of determination on his handsome face. It’s amazing how much it reminds me of the way he used to charge the door anytime I arrived, for entirely different reasons.