Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
There’s not a damn thing I’d do differently either. Hell, Rand honestly deserved far worse than he got. And yet, the events of that night fucking haunt me.
The helplessness I felt. Since then, I’m just… drifting. No direction, no purpose, and it sucks because I want purpose. I want to help people. To protect them. To make the world a better place.
During my last therapy session, Beck asked if I regretted stepping back from the line of duty, and the answer is unequivocally, no. I don’t regret it. I want to help people without all the red tape. I just don’t know how.
And so, I run.
Usually I’m a trail guy, but today I’m running through town. Sometimes I forget how quaint it is, with the historic brick buildings, blooming flowers, and cobbled sidewalks.
I’m about five miles in when a familiar head of brown hair catches my eye. I’m tempted to turn the other way and pretend I don’t see her. But her mother steps out behind her and spots me immediately.
“Oh, Ellis, honey!”
That has me stopping in my tracks.
“Mom,” Scarlet hisses, glaring at what can only be described as the future version of Scarlet. Their similarities are uncanny, well, looks-wise that is. Where Stacey is soft and sweet, Scarlet is harsh and bitter.
It's a shame she didn’t get her mom’s personality. Maybe then I could tolerate more than five minutes in her presence.
“Good morning, ladies,” I murmur, lifting my shirt and shamelessly flashing my abs as I wipe the sweat from my face.
“We were just talking about you.” Stacey says, blatantly checking me out over the top of her sunglasses. Scarlet, on the other hand, is busy trying to convince herself I don’t exist.
“Oh, were you now?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
“Nope. She’s mistaken.” Scarlet looks like she wishes the sidewalk would open up and swallow her whole. “We absolutely were not talking about you.”
I lift my brows in amusement, wondering exactly what was said.
“Ignore her.” Stacey’s tone is the perfect mix of scolding and indulgent. “I was just telling Scarlet—”
“She was just telling me bye. Love you, Mama. Text me when you get home so I know you made it safe.”
Stacey huffs and rolls her eyes, her amusement and love for her daughter clear. “Love you, too, Sweetpea. Ellis, why don’t you be a dear and walk Scarlet to her car?”
“Pretty sure I can get there on my own. I’m literally half a block away.” She has her hands of her hips, all attitude. She kind of reminds me of a rain-soaked kitten—pissed off and pitiful all at once.
“A lot can happen in half a block,” Stacey chides, and I have to roll my lips inward to keep from laughing.
I rest my hand over my heart. “I’ll make sure she gets there safely. You have my word.”
Scarlet’s mom practically swoons as she reaches out to pat my cheek. “Such a good boy.”
“Bye, Mama.”
I cut my eyes to Scarlet, silently signaling for her to cut her shit.
But in true Stacey fashion, she simply rolls her eyes and huffs out an amused laugh. “I’ll take lots of pictures. Love you.”
“All right, hurry it up, I don’t have all day,” I say once her mom's out of sight… and earshot.
She rolls her pretty, dark eyes. “You don't have to walk me to my car. I assure you, I can manage all on my own.”
I smirk, knowing my next words are going to get under her skin. “Your mama wasn't wrong. A lot can happen in half a block. Plus, I gave her my word.”
“Yeah, ’cause your word means so much.”
I bristle. “The fuck? My word does mean a lot.”
“Right.” She nods, running her hands through her long hair.
“I may be a lot of things, Princess, but I'm not a fucking liar.”
She regards me for a moment and shrugs. “Okay, Ellis, whatever makes you feel better about yourself.”
She turns and sets off toward her car, and I fall into step next to her. “You know, not everything has to be a fight between us,” I tell her.
She snorts. “Sure.” She glances my way from the side of her eyes. “If you really feel that way, stop picking fights with me about every little thing.”
“Right, because it’s always me.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“Not always.” She smirks. “Just ninety percent of the time.”
“You’re such a fucking pain,” I mutter.
“And proud of it.”
I swallow back any retort, determined to escort her to her car so I can get back to my run. Except when her car comes into view, she freezes, a small gasp escaping her glossy, pink lips.
“What?” I ask, instantly on high alert.
“Are those…” She trails off squinting into the distance. “Flowers?”
There’s something off about her, but I can’t put my finger on it.
I grab her hand and tug her behind me, not hating the way her soft skin feels against mine—not that I’d ever admit that out lout.