Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
“No. Take it off.” His voice breaks, then steadies. “I’ll buy you new stuff, okay? Just…please, take it off.”
It’s all so confusing because this isn’t the first time I’ve put on one of Tad’s shirts…
I slip out of it slowly, confusion thick in my throat. He snatches it from me, staring at the fabric like it’s made of glass.
“Tad, seriously. I’m really sorry if I unintentionally did something here, but if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I can’t know what I need to avoid in the future. What is this stuff?”
He shakes his head. I don’t know if he’s trying to clear his thoughts or reset or ignore me completely, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t answer me, regardless.
And déjà vu from his dark day hits me like a freight train.
“This is never going to work if you can’t let me all the way in,” I whisper.
“I can’t do this.” The reply is tortured enough that I know better than to curse him out, but a sick twist grabs hold of my stomach and doesn’t let go. “None of this is any of your fucking business, okay? Just leave it. Leave all of it.” Charged air and burgeoning tears distort my vision. He’s never ever talked to me this way.
He’s never ever looked as distraught as he does right now.
“Tad?”
He backs out of the guest bedroom with his hands up, fabric still gripped in his fingers and his eyes on the wooden floors, and when I move to go after him, he just moves faster.
The sound of the kitchen door slamming closed and the engine of his truck firing up are the last things I hear, my heart in my throat and my hand on my chest as I will the universe to keep him safe on what I know will be a dangerous, distracted drive.
I want desperately to go back to the box and the photo album. To dig through until I get the answers he’s not willing to give me himself.
But I don’t.
I know, no matter how badly I want to know, he’d never forgive me for the intrusion of privacy in this moment. Hell, I’d never forgive myself. Whatever these clothes are—whatever life he lived before—there’s so much more to them than meets the eye.
I set the bag of food on the kitchen table untouched, the hunger long gone, and then head to the living room to stoke the fire in the woodstove.
I’m tear-stained and chilled to my bones.
But the more wood I add, the more obvious it becomes the cold I’m feeling has nothing to do with lack of heat. The fire rages, burning so much it could stand to lose a little energy. I mess with the vents Tad showed me, but when I can’t get them to move, I settle for leaving the front door cracked a little.
I pad softly down the hall, shutting the door to the guest bedroom with a quiet click, all while trying my best not to sob.
He’ll be back eventually, right?
Right?
Yes. He will be back, and when he is, I want to be in the right headspace to meet him where he needs. I can’t be like this—heart pounding, gut churning, right on the verge of breaking down completely. Somehow, I have to find a way to calm down.
I walk back down the hall to the master, close the door, and head to the bathroom to run myself a bath. I light a candle, pour in some gentle suds, and strip down, climbing into the soothingly warm water.
I close my eyes and blow out a deep breath, cradling my stomach with gentle hands and willing my mind to stop racing.
I don’t know much, but I know, without a shadow of a doubt, what happened with Tad is the result of a man grappling with things that changed him forever.
A man who’s been through it all.
A man who’s barely hanging on.
It’s only after I’ve settled in that a thought jolts me upright. My phone—I left it in the guestroom. If Tad reaches out, I need to see it.
I climb out carefully, wrap a towel around myself, and tug a T-shirt over my still damp skin before stepping back into the hall. But the world tilts hard to the side.
“Whoa,” I whisper, catching the wall as the edges of my vision pulse gray and wooziness slaps me in the face.
I stumble to the wall just inside the bedroom, sliding down until I’m sitting on the floor.
Fuck, I should have eaten.
Head spinning and heart racing, I lie all the way down and blink up at the ceiling as the overwhelming notion that I’m about to pass out overtakes me.
Yep. This is happening.
The last thing I see before the world fades is the ceiling swaying above me like it’s underwater.