Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65948 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65948 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
I was on scoop four when he hissed in a breath. “What the fuck?”
CHAPTER 11
Fuckity fuck. Fucking fuck.
-Text from Bain to Luce
LUCE
He looked in horror at the piece of mail he’d just opened, then looked up at me in shock.
“What the fuck is this?” he asked, spreading the letter out on the counter, as if doing so would hide some of the zeros that he saw.
I looked over at it and grimaced. “That’s a hospital bill. What’s it look like? And why are you opening it at all? I thought you were dealing with the junk mail, or I would’ve told you to butt out.”
“For what?” he asked. “That’s a million-dollar bill!”
Okay, it wasn’t a million. It was closer to half a million.
But I still owed it.
“I had a mishap at work last year. One that caused me to take a frying pan to the face. I had a TBI—traumatic brain injury—that is now healed, thankfully. However, in the meantime, I still have a hospital bill for it.”
“A mishap,” he droned. “At work. Explain.”
I rolled my eyes as I said, “I stepped into an argument between a man and a woman. I’m not even sure where the cast-iron frying pan came from. All I remember was listening to the couple bicker for hours. I’m talking back and forth. I think they were getting divorced and discussing who got what. I don’t know. I kept them stocked with coffee the entire time. Anyway, as they’re leaving, the woman starts to push the man around. And he’s not doing anything about it because, you know, she’s a woman and he’s a man. Except, she gets to the point where she’s embarrassing herself. I can see people videoing it with their phones. I just felt really poorly for her. So I walked up to her, kind of positioning myself between them. And she saw red because I ‘touched her man’ or some shit. But at the time, I was just trying to help her save face. Because you know that man is just going to take these videos back to his lawyer and smear that girl through the mud. Little did I know that the woman deserved it. At some point, they’d brought a cast-iron skillet in to see who got it in the divorce, I guess. Because the next thing I know, she’s swinging that at my face.”
“Holy fuck,” he said. “What happened next?”
“I went down like a sack of potatoes. Not only hit my head with the frying pan and all, but also on the booth on the way down.” I pointed toward where I was hit the second time. “They’re not sure which one actually caused the TBI, but yeah. I thought I was going to have to relearn to walk. Luckily, all it did was cause me to have some weird mood swings for about half a year.”
“Mood swings?” Bain hesitated.
“I’d start crying at the drop of a hat,” I explained. “Luckily, not the angry kind of mood swings. Just the ‘in tears in the middle of Target’ kind. You want a sandwich before we have this ice cream? I should’ve asked, but I’ve been dreaming about this ice cream all shift,” I admitted. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
There was such a long pause before he answered that I had time to look at him before he answered.
“I wanted to know if you got my note.”
I blinked, feeling the heat start to spread underneath my skin.
I was the ultimate blusher.
As in, there was no doubt—thanks to my body’s ultimate overreaction—when something flustered me. I went from tanned skin to deep-red Roma tomato in about two point five seconds.
If my answer didn’t do it, my blush would.
“Yes,” I squeaked. “I got it.”
“And,” he pushed, his eyes, so fuckin’ green in that moment that it took my breath away, felt like they bored their way into my soul.
I licked my lips, feeling cornered.
I wanted to say “yes!” but the sad, horrible truth was… I couldn’t.
I couldn’t say yes.
Bain was the ultimate level up. He would always be the man that I wanted but couldn’t have.
All because of something sweet and noble—because he deserved better.
I had depression. I had a basketful of dirty laundry under my belt. I was on the verge of starting a veterinary practice with my best friend. I was antisocial and couldn’t stand to be around people—hence the vet clinic—on the best of days.
Whereas Bain was everything I wasn’t. Bright and airy, people pleasing. Nice in a way—to the people that he knew and loved—that everyone adored. He was fresh out of jail and deserved someone that he didn’t have to constantly work on and work with to keep happy.
I just wasn’t the person for him.
“Bain,” I started. “As much as I’d love to say yes… I’m gonna do the good thing for both of us and say no.”