Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 593(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 593(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
“Because I had to sell it and lost a shit-ton of money the moment I realized you were going to be my neighbor if I stayed in my current place. Real talk, Rosie, you are all I ever wanted. Even when you wanted me to be with your sister. She was a comforting candle. You were the dazzling sun. I’d lived in the dark—for your selfish ass. And if you think I’m going to settle for something, you’re dead wrong. I am taking everything. We will have kids, Rose LeBlanc. We will have a wedding. And we will have joy and vacations and days where we just fuck and days where we just fight and days where we just live. Because this is life, Baby LeBlanc, and I love the fuck out of you, so I’m going to give you the best one there is. Got it?”
There was a moment of silence that I really hated, because after this kind of speech, the last thing you want to hear is a half-assed “okay.” Rosie didn’t “okay” me. She pressed her forehead to my chest and breathed me in.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you so much that I hated you for a while. And now that I know that you are damaged, I love you even more. Perfect things are not relatable. Unbreakable is fascinating, but not lovable. You’re breakable, Dean Cole. I’m going to do my best to keep you whole.”
I took her face in my hands and kissed her until she lost her balance. In the rain. In the reservoir. In the middle of fucking nowhere. This mess was our mess. This chaos was where we thrived.
When I pulled away, she growled.
“We’re getting married,” I stated, not asked. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but we are. And we’re having kids. At least two. Maybe more. I haven’t decided yet.”
“You’re crazy, Dean Cole.”
“I am,” I agreed. “And yet, this crazy train is in motion. You can’t stop it.”
“I love you.”
“Forever starts now, Baby LeBlanc. With you.”
THANKSGIVING DINNER WASN’T TERRIBLE.
Or maybe it was terrible and I hadn’t noticed because Rosie LeBlanc told me that she loved me, several times, and I was going to put a diamond on that finger. It was an impulsive decision, but then anything worth doing usually was. When you think about it, anything passionate—lust, love, violence, hatred—is spontaneous. Why not this?
I would have been perfectly happy marrying her on that night we took the elevator up together and I had Kennedy and Natasha by my side. I simply didn’t know it was a possibility. Now that I knew, I was going to put that shit on lock as quickly as possible. Vicious was wrong. He always said I loved the variety too much to settle for one girl. But the truth was, I never loved any of the women in the catalog enough to stop browsing. Once I found what I needed, I dropped the habit of Tinder and threesomes and fucking strangers in sordid bars so I could get off on the danger because casual fucks didn’t make the cut anymore. And unlike alcohol, I didn’t miss it one bit.
Anyway, yeah, dinner was okay.
We ate, talked, did the usual family shit. Rosie’s parents still nagged her about moving back to Todos Santos, even after I confirmed that I wasn’t a total douchebag. That didn’t seem to pacify them, but at least her dad stopped looking at me like I was sodomizing her on an hourly basis.
After dinner, Jaime summoned all four of us and we took Vicious’s Jeep north to L.A. Face-to-face board meetings were always in an office. We couldn’t risk losing our shit in public, which happened more often than not when the four of us shared the same space.
Things got intense in the vehicle before we even broached the topic that brought us all together. I was behind the wheel because I was the only guy who hadn’t had a drink. Vicious sat next to me, looking glum. He must’ve had a general idea what we were going to ask him for—put two and two together, I’m sure—and Trent and Jaime were in the back, talking football.
“How’s Luna doing?” Vicious asked Trent sometime during the last seven miles on Interstate 5. Everybody shut up immediately, and Trent cleared his throat, looking between Jaime and me in the rearview mirror.
“Not terrific.”
“How come?”
“She doesn’t eat. Doesn’t talk. Doesn’t walk.”
“Does she know how to walk and talk?” I’d give Vicious one thing, his voice wasn’t hard or rough. Plain conversational.
“She does,” I intervened. “I saw her walking last time we were in Todos Santos in August.”
“Wanna know my angle?” I saw Trent from the rearview mirror scratching his head on a heavy sigh. “I think she’s depressed. I’m not sure what’s happening yet, but we’re having it checked out.”