Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“You’re awful,” I say and gently brush my foot against his thigh as if it’s an admonishment, although a smile is clearly seen on my face. “And of course I do. Spill it.”
The next stories are far more entertaining, although I find myself comparing his childhood experiences to mine. His are … so much more innocent than my own. Even with things like sneaking out at night and replacing his father’s bourbon with colored water being his examples of why they were bad children, they weren’t at all compared to the horrific shit I got into. My father was long gone by then, though. If Kam hadn’t been there for me, I’d have gone off the deep end ages ago.
I don’t tell Zander that. I simply listen to his tales as if they were sweet lullabies. The soothing cadence of his deep voice distracts me from my previous plans.
Time slips by much faster than it did before.
My eyes are heavy as my head sinks deeply into the soft down feather pillow. As I shrug my shoulder in an attempt to pull the soft fleece higher, Zander aids me, tugging the blanket up and tucking it under my chin.
With a simper gracing my lips, I peek up at him and he offers me the kind of smile that threatens to break me. A kind one. Sincere and hopeful.
My own vanishes and I close my eyes tighter, feigning exhaustion as I rub my eyes and destroy his efforts to keep the blanket tucked over me securely. I nearly ask him to go, but I don’t. As the tears come, I pull the blanket up higher, hiding and wanting to bury myself in it. Maybe I’ll regret it, but right now, I’d regret not leaning into him more than anything if I don’t do it this second.
I crawl closer to him, turning around so I’m able to push my body into his. His left arm raises, giving me room and I put the pillow on his thigh. At least I give him that to separate us. My breathing struggles as I bury my head there, pretending the dams haven’t broken. His arm lays easily against my body, the weight of it hugging my curves. His warmth is instant. He doesn’t shush me, but he does hum lightly; it’s a soothing rumble.
The overwhelming sadness came from nothing and it feels like everything. I swear I was okay. I was.
With heat rising to my face as tears pool under my eyes, I focus on his strong hand splayed over my hip, his thumb rubbing soothing motions.
The sobs take over; I can’t control them. I wish I could hide my face better, but Zander refuses to let me, brushing the hair out of my face. In an attempt to swat away his hand so I can hide beneath my dark locks, I lift my arm, but his grip is faster. Catching my wrist in his hand.
Inhaling deeply, I peer up at him through my thick lashes, tainted with beads of tears. My vision is still blurry when the rough pad of his thumb runs under my eyes. One at a time, ever so gently, and at odds with the calluses he’s earned over the years.
The distraction pulls me from my outburst and a moment passes and then another before my breathing has steadied again, and I’m able to fully recollect what happened.
Neither of us speaks for a long moment as I calm myself, taking in long inhales and blowing out even longer exhales.
He’s the first to speak and although I dread it, I’m grateful he takes the lead in the conversation.
“Do you know what brought it on?” he questions me just as I’m replaying the scene in my mind. Shaking my head I whisper no and consider moving, but he’s still running those soothing circles through the thin fabric of my nightgown. More importantly, the pillow shifted at some point behind me, and now my cheek rests firmly against his thigh. The jeans aren’t nearly as comfortable pressed against my skin, but they smell like him.
And he’s so damn warm. Everything about him is comforting. Almost familiar in some strange way.
“I don’t know,” I add and note that my throat feels like it’s on fire. I barely even spoke today. Just as I’m reaching up to my throat, Zander reaches across me, one hand holding me in place, the other picking up the cup and handing it to me.
“Drink and tell me if you need it warm,” he commands. I obey, the peppermint soothing even though the tea is now cold.
“Sometimes it’ll come from nowhere,” he says as if justifying my outburst but then he adds, “Are you familiar with the ‘ball in a box’ analogy?”
I shake my head, never having heard of it. He explains, “The ball is large, filling the box when grief first appears. There’s a small button on one side of the box but the ball is so big it constantly bumps against it, triggering the emotional response. As time goes on, the ball shrinks in size, moving and colliding into the walls and occasionally, the button. There’s no stopping it and no matter how small the ball gets, there’s always a chance it will hit the button. There’s no preventing it.”