Total pages in book: 181
Estimated words: 177690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 888(@200wpm)___ 711(@250wpm)___ 592(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 888(@200wpm)___ 711(@250wpm)___ 592(@300wpm)
She takes an envelope out of the purse on her shoulder and holds it out to me.
“What’s this?” I ask, staring at it like a three-headed snake that might strike at any time. In my experience, a woman handing you papers is never a good thing. It usually involves them demanding money.
“I thought White and your friend Gavin were insane, but now I realize they do know you better than I do.”
“You’ve talked to Gavin?”
“Briefly with White. I’m… He’s protective over you and I don’t think he trusts me.”
“Gee, I wonder why.”
“I had my attorney draw them up,” she whispers. She takes a step toward me. I back away. She looks at me and I see it. I see it, because it’s the same look that stares back at me every morning. She’s broken. She’s suffering. She feels empty.
She places the papers on the step, when it becomes clear I’m not going to take them from her.
“You may not believe me, Aden. I know what I did was horrible, I do. I was just so afraid…” she whispers.
“You should have been. You should be now!” I growl, angry at her for being here. “I should sue you and bring you to your knees for what you’ve done. No one should play God with another person. You made me into your fucking puppet.”
“Is that how you remember our time together?”
I don’t answer her. I don’t think I have an answer.
“Because I remember it as the best time in my life.”
“Get the fuck away from me, Hope,” I growl, my voice hoarse.
“I’m going. Can I ask you one question?”
“You can ask. It doesn’t mean that I’m going to answer.”
Her eyes close as she takes that from me, when they open back up I can see tears shining in them. Is this her game now?
Is she trying for sympathy?
“How can you not expect me to be terrified of losing everything, when even now your first response is to sue me? I don’t live in your world, but—”
“That’s right, you don’t,” I snarl.
“I don’t think I’d want to live where there’s so much hate that money is the only thing on your mind.”
“Just fucking leave me alone. Go!”
“My Aden wouldn’t be happy in this fancy house.”
“You never had an Aden,” I tell her, ignoring that she’s right.
“My Aden would waste away in this cold world. He laughed, he…loved.”
“Get the fuck away!” I yell, again.
“I’m going, Aden. I won’t bother you again,” she whispers, as she walks up beside me before she leaves. She doesn’t touch me, but she stands right beside me, staring straight ahead—not at me.
“You need to know,” she whispers. “The reason I kept the truth from you for so long might have started because I was afraid you were going to sue me. It quickly changed into fear that I would lose you, though. I couldn’t imagine not having you in my life. I knew it would destroy me and… I was right,” she finally whispers.
I was wrong. That’s the death punch. That’s the punch that kills and it does it so swiftly, so direct that I have to brace my feet, because it makes me stagger under the pain.
“Leave,” I order her, looking down at the ground.
She walks back toward the golf cart and I can’t breathe. My heart, my head, my fucking soul is choking on the scent of vanilla.
“I’ll walk. I can call a cab on the trip back down,” she tells Derek, and then she starts walking.
I hear the click of her shoes against the pavement. Each sound taking her further away. Each click ripping my heart open and leaving me to die.
fifty-six
hope
I’ve almost made it back to the gate when I hear the electric whirr of the golf cart behind me. I turn, expecting to see the man who works for Aden. I figure Aden has ordered him to make sure I leave. My heart jumps up into my throat when I see Aden instead. He comes to a stop beside me and we just stare at each other, neither one of us speaking for a bit. My gaze is glued to him, afraid to blink—just in case he disappears.
“You fucked up,” he growls, getting out and standing beside of me.
“I know,” I whisper.
“Just now. You fucked up. You put a personal letter in the envelope and basically confessed to every fucking thing you did.”
“I… I guess… Did you read the letter?”
“I started to, realized what it was, and discovered I don’t have to, because you fucked up.”
“How… you really should read the whole letter, Aden.”
“I don’t have to. You fucked up.”
“Will you quit saying I fucked up?” I ask, or more like demand, feeling frustrated. “You need to read the letter!”
“No. I’m not listening to any more shit. You fucked up and now I’m in control.”