Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Eventually… I just stopped leaving.
And then when I did want to, it was no longer a playful show of him not wanting me to leave — it was a threatening one. It was him suspicious of me going to a bar without him, asking me how I would feel if he did the same? He twisted innocent nights into me not wanting to spend time with him. He used the fact that he was busy against me, like I should want to spend any time he had at home together. How could I want any more alone time when he was already gone so much?
So, yeah… friends had rightfully given up on me. Who wanted to keep inviting the person who never came, who never invited you anywhere?
My topsy-turvy stomach situation wasn’t helped any by the fact that I’d been a wreck the last week since I’d spent a day with Shane.
I’d felt so guilty that night when I went home, taking a long hot shower as if I could scrub the impure thoughts from my head. I’d tucked the wooden page holder away between books I knew Nathan would never touch, and I lit the candle I’d bought, burning it down to the wick before throwing it in the trash and taking the trash out to the garbage can outside just in case.
When Nathan came home the next day, I swore he’d see right through it, like I was standing there at a crime scene red-handed.
But he didn’t notice a thing.
In fact, he’d been more preoccupied than ever since he returned from his trip. He hadn’t even batted an eye when I’d reminded him of craft night tonight. He’d kissed my forehead before he left for work and told me he’d be out late anyway and to have fun.
I knew he was busy with his new team and staff, but it was rare for him to leave me alone so much.
Not that I was complaining.
It was a nice break. I didn’t mind at all that I could spend my days working on Sweet Dreams and my evenings working on the house. I loved when Nathan texted me that he wouldn’t be home for dinner, and I could order in or make a bowl of pasta and rot on the couch watching Bravo. I especially loved the nights he was so late that I was fast asleep by the time he made it home.
My gut churned again at that.
What kind of wife would wish to never see her husband?
I tried not to let myself dwell on it too much as I followed Grace inside. I didn’t need to think about Nathan tonight. I didn’t need to think about Shane, either — whom I’d insisted leave me to deal Sweet Dreams on my own unless I specifically needed help with players. The last thing I needed was time alone with him in close proximity.
One day had proven how dangerous that could be.
It was strange, how quickly my emotions had warped after that day. I’d left angry and sad, storming home with smoke fuming from my nose. But even that night, my anger had subsided, leaving only sadness in its wake. And by the next day, I found I just…
I just missed him.
I missed the Shane I spent nearly two years of my life with at a time when I felt like possibility was endless. I thought the worst of my life was behind me and I had nothing but brighter days ahead. I’d lost myself in that boy and the promises he made so easily, because I trusted him. I never had a reason not to.
Until the day he showed me how fair-weather love can be.
I shook my head, determined to let it go. No thoughts of Nathan or Shane allowed.
No, tonight was about making friends. It was about building community in my new home. It was about me.
That was probably why I felt so uncomfortable.
It had been so long since I’d done anything for myself that I felt guilty for even considering it.
“Welcome to Craft Night Chaos!” Grace said when we made it to Maven’s living room.
I was stunned enough to stop walking, my lips parting as I took in the gorgeous space. The sliding glass doors along the back of the room led out to a private beach on the Gulf, which was currently showcasing a stunning sunset. Pinks and purples darted across the sky, the sound of the waves crashing just barely audible over the soft music playing on the speaker.
Sitting at the dining table near the kitchen was Maven, along with two women I didn’t recognize.
And one who had me even more shell-shocked than the beach view.
“Is that…”
I pointed at the pop star, who looked deceivingly normal at the moment with a messy bun of hair piled on her head and an oversized t-shirt. Her tan legs were folded beneath her, and she was painting ghosts onto what appeared to be an old, vintage painting of a farmhouse, her tongue out as she focused. She sat back with an appreciative smile at her work before her eyes met mine.