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)
That alone should be laughable, because I didn’t have a lot. Yet, what I did have was important to me. This motel was important to me because it was a part of Aunt Edna—because it was family. My mom might not know the meaning of the word, but I did. Family is important. Someday Jack will need family, he will need ties, he will need…history. I haven’t been able to give him much, but I want to give him that. This motel was a small way of doing that, but it was important and Aden would destroy that in a second.
But the bigger problem was that the Aden who was sitting on my couch, who was touching my face gently and promising he wouldn’t leave, is different. He’s not the same Aden. He’s a new Aden—and it should be said I liked the new Aden. Seriously liked. So much so that now the biggest fear I had might not be him suing me or pressing charges anymore.
Now, my biggest fear was him leaving.
How does that even happen in the space of a week? I can’t begin to explain it, but I know that it is true. Which has me freaking completely out.
“Aden…”
“Babe, what’s wrong?” he asks. Jesus. I should hate that. Babe. I mean that’s the name of a pig on one of the old movies that I bought that Jack loves. It’s silly and meaningless, but when he says it…my pulse speeds up and my heart flips in my chest.
My moment of truth.
“You’re not going to like the answer, Aden.”
“I’m not?”
“No. You might even hate me,” I whisper and then more to myself than to him, but I suppose he can hear me as I continue, “I’m terrified you’re going to hate me.”
“You just made me a chocolate cake. The best chocolate cake I’ve ever tasted in my life. How can a man hate a woman who would do that?”
“You don’t remember having chocolate cake before,” I answer, not laughing at his smiling face, which I’m positive is what he is aiming for. Instead, I’m looking down and feeling rather hopeless.
“You made it, Hope. With all the million and one things you’ve been doing to keep things going, you took time out to celebrate my birthday and bake me a cake. I may not know a lot, but I know that the cake you made is the best fucking cake ever made, simply because you did it.”
“That’s sweet, Aden,” I whisper, feeling even more lost. “This would be so much easier if you hadn’t turned sweet.”
“Turned sweet? Hope, honey, you’re not making much sense here.”
That’s when the tears fall. I don’t plan them and I try to keep them back, but they fall and I can’t stop them.
“You shouldn’t be sweet to me,” I cry out, sounding pitiful.
“Jesus,” Aden whispers and then before I realize what he is doing, or can find a way to stop him, he pulls me into his lap, cradling my side to his front, and fixing my head so that it can rest in the curve of his shoulder.
I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of him, letting the heat of his body surround me. I can’t stop crying so I don’t even try.
“You were mean, you hated me, and I could deal with that. I was dealing with it. I was! I was making you leave,” I cry not realizing what I’m saying, just trying to tell him everything all at once. But, I’m not paying attention to how it sounds, or the broken fragmented story I’m giving him. I’m lost in my own misery, and in the fact that I’m about to lose a man that I suddenly find I really want to keep.
“You were making me leave?” he says quietly. His fingers press tight into my side, holding me close.
“Yes! You were so mean! But then you fell! And you hit your head, then poof.”
“Poof?” he asks, and it sounds like he’s laughing, but he can’t be. There’s nothing about this entire story that’s funny.
“Yes, poof. You weren’t you anymore,” I cry, unable to catch my breath from the force of my tears.
“Who was I, Hope?”
“Someone I actually liked!” I tell him.
He doesn’t talk after that. Instead he just holds me and lets me cry. I don’t know how long we sit like that. Eventually my tears stop, and my breathing evens out.
“Piecing this together, Babe. I’m getting I was a dick to you and not nice.”
“Yeah.”
“Did I make you cry?”
“Yeah,” I whisper again.
“I scare you?”
“Kind of, but—”
“Did I hit you, Hope?”
“What? No. Of course not.”
“Thank God for small favors, I guess,” he mutters.
“Aden—”
“I think I’m talked out for right now, Babe. Let’s watch the movie,” he says and I know it’s wrong—weak even, but I stay there in his lap, snuggle my head even closer into him and let him start the movie.