Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
And the thing is, I understand the feeling. I know it. I’m going through it, too.
For the first time in longer than I can remember, the restless animal locked inside my chest is calm. There’s nothing in my head but sweet silence. No screams. No memories.
A man could become addicted.
I think I already have.
“I have a question.” She slowly turns her head to give me a long, clear-eyed look. “When can we do that again?”
CHAPTER 26
TATUM
Two words hit me like a bomb as soon as I open my eyes to a dark bedroom. What now?
The steady, throbbing ache between my legs is a reminder of the time we’ve spent together in bed today. This bed, where the pillows and sheets now smell like a mix of my lavender shampoo and his spicy cologne and sex. A lot of sex. I’m exhausted, but in the best way possible. I stretch under the blanket bunched around me—he must have tucked me in when he got up. I must’ve been out cold since I have no memory of that.
So after this… what happens next? What now? It’s too much to think about. Too depressing. I want more of him. He’s a drug I’m already hooked on. Not only his body or what he did to mine. What he did to my soul. How free I felt. No fear. No ugly memories. I was entirely in the moment.
A sound by the window draws my attention to Romero, sitting in the armchair and staring out into the night. The silver light from a full moon highlights his sharp profile and throws half of his face into deep shadow. I doubt he sees what’s in front of him. He’s wearing the look of a man gazing into the past.
As much as I hate to disturb him when he’s brooding like this, I clear my throat. It doesn’t startle him – he probably knew I was awake, even if he’s not looking my way. It always did seem like he had eyes in the back of his head.
“Are you alright?” I whisper. It’s a little awkward now, with the two of us back to our usual selves rather than the animals we were earlier. That was how I felt, anyway.
His bare shoulders rise and fall. “I don’t know.” For once, he’s telling the truth instead of giving me some half-assed response and brushing me aside.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I should know better than to ask, shouldn’t I? Though it seems like the sort of thing you ask someone who appears as troubled as he does right now.
“I don’t know what there is to talk about.”
“Are you… thinking about the things I said earlier? I didn’t mean to hurt you. Really, I didn’t. I only ever wanted you to let me in and treat me like a person instead of a job you had to do. I was just trying to get you to…” To what? To see me? To let me help him? I’m not sure anymore.
“You don’t have to explain,” he murmurs, finally turning his head a little until he’s looking at me. There is pain in every line, every curve of his face. Like he’s being tortured. The emotion welling up in my chest is sudden and powerful, and it’s only knowing that he’d hate it keeps me from going to him and wrapping my arms around his bare shoulders. He’s always been so strong and tough, whereas he’s anything but right now. It’s my fault, at least partly. I forced him to go back through so much he’s been trying to forget.
I sit cross-legged with the sheets bunched up around my chest and my back to the headboard. “I won’t try to force you anymore, but I will listen to anything you want to say. I’m here, Romero. I’m not going anywhere.”
At first, I figure he’s going to brush me off as usual – the way he sighs, the way his head slowly turns back toward the window doesn’t leave much room for doubt. I have to brace myself against the disappointment that inevitably follows. We’ve had sex, and he still can’t talk to me. It’s hard not to take something like that personally.
“I was thinking about the night I met your dad.”
My whole body starts to tingle, but I clamp my lips together before I can do something stupid like urge him on. He needs to do this in his own way, on his own time. I feel it.
“You don’t know what it’s like for me to come back here. Oh, sure, you’ve picked up on things. You’re not stupid. You have to know I had it rough growing up. My father…” His voice catches and his head touches the back of the chair. “He was violent. He hated the world. Lost his job; couldn’t stay sober long enough to keep another one. And somehow, that was everybody else’s fault but his. But that’s nothing new. Back then, I guess you couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting some bitter, drunken wreck who got old before his time.”