Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 51525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
“You’re probably right,” I mutter, putting my feet back up on the railing. “I… I saw you yesterday at the wake and earlier tonight. Thanks for coming. I… I probably should have… I just—”
“Stop.” He rests his hand over mine, and I jerk it away when his touch seems to burn me.
“Sorry.” I shake my head, feeling like an idiot for reacting to his touch like that.
“Don’t apologize.” He leans back in the chair and places his booted feet up on the rail next to mine. “Why are you out here?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” I rest my head against the back of the chair. “Why are you out so late?”
“It’s only ten. I was over at your parents’ with Mom and Dad. I came out to have a smoke and saw you out here. Wanted to check on you.”
“Oh, I thought it was later than that.” I look over at him. “You smoke?”
“On occasion.” He shrugs.
“You should quit,” I inform him, wanting to add that smoking kills, but I don’t, because nowadays it seems like everything has the potential to kill you. Pollution in the air, exposure to the sun, chemicals in the food you eat and in the water you drink, or an unexpected brain tumor could end your life suddenly. Really, it’s a miracle people are living past the age of twenty.
“I should.”
“Pardon?” I ask, confused by his statement.
“I should quit smoking.”
“Right, sorry.” I shake my head, looking at the night sky and the dark clouds rolling in.
“When was the last time you slept?” he asks gently, and I focus on him once more.
“Last night.”
“Okay, let me rephrase that. When was the last time you had a good night’s sleep?”
“A month ago.” My throat starts to get tight and I close my eyes. One month is all I had. Gabe had always had migraines, but recently they became so bad he’d get sick and be unable to get out of bed. It took me forever to convince him to go to the doctor for help, but I finally did. The doctor in town didn’t like the symptoms Gabe described and decided to send him to Anchorage to run some test. That’s when we found out he had a tumor. Not just a tumor, one that was already at a Stage Four. The doctors and specialists in Anchorage wanted to do chemo and radiation and Gabe agreed, but he didn’t even make it to his first treatment; he had an aneurism and died suddenly while at his parents’ house.
“I thought we had more time,” I whisper as wet tears trek down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Bre. So fucking sorry.” He wraps his hand around mine.
“Me too.” I don’t pull away. I flip my hand over and lace my fingers with his, allowing his warmth and strength to comfort me.
“He called me.”
“What?” I open my eyes and meet his gaze.
“He called me.” He looks away, and my heart starts to beat funny inside my chest.
“What did he say?”
“He said he was dying.” I try to pull my hand free, but he doesn’t let go. “He asked me to be here for you.” He pauses. “I would have done that anyways.”
“Why would he ask you to do that?” I whisper my question, not expecting him to answer.
“He knew I cared about you.”
My head jerks to the side. “We haven’t even spoken in years.” I finally tug free from his grasp, his words rolling though my head, my mind trying to figure out why Gabe would ask Denver of all people to look after me.
“You’re right; we haven’t, but I had my reasons. I think you get that.”
“Do I?” I ask sarcastically, trying to cover the new pain I’m feeling.
“Yeah, you do,” he growls, holding my gaze.
“You’re wrong. I don’t get it.”
“You know, Bre. You fucking know why I had to cut you out of my life.” His words are harsh and filled with pain.
“I don’t,” I deny softly, even though part of me does know why he stopped talking to me after Gabe and I got together. The same reason I started to avoid him.
His eyes close slowly and he shakes his head. “This isn’t the time for this,” he says gently, keeping his eyes off me. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He rips an agitated hand through his hair. “Fuck. You don’t need this bullshit right now.”
I want to tell him it’s okay, but he’s right. I don’t need this right now. I don’t need a painful walk down memory lane to top off the misery I’m already feeling. I don’t know why Gabe called him, but I’m also not surprised. That was Gabe. He was always trying to take care of me. Always.
I lean my head back and close my eyes. I must fall asleep, because when I wake up, I’m in my bed with blankets tucked around me. Morning light is filtering through the blinds, and my conversation with Denver feels like a dream.