Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“You think I don’t know that?” The words blaze through the cool wall he erected between us. “You are doing what you have to do, Sol. I’ve told you I understand. Do that. Handle that.”
He draws in a harsh breath.
“You’re very much occupied with cleaning up the past and getting things right for your new reality, as you should be, but the whole time you’re trying to fix what was, all I can think about is what we could be. I want my boys to know you. I want you to meet Tremaine. Really meet her and her husband, Kent. I want you to meet my parents. Did you know my father is making your Crock-Pot recipes?”
“Your dad is wh—”
“Well, he is, and he’d be thrilled to learn that my girlfriend is that pretty woman from the Facebook because he’s old and Facebook’s about as much as he wants to manage these days.”
“Judah—”
“Only you’re not my girlfriend. You’re this amazing woman I sneak around and sleep with on the weekends, on lunch breaks. Who I see more online than I do in real life. And I thought I could do this in-between, limbo thing where I get to share your bed, but nothing else.”
“That’s not true,” I tell him, tasting salty tears in the corners of my mouth. “It’s more than that.”
“I don’t want you to settle for anything less than what you want your life to look like right now, but I’m not willing to settle either.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever want to be married again,” I blurt out because my heart won’t let me hide that from myself or from him any longer. “I may never want that, Judah.”
“Who the fuck cares?” He’s louder than I’ve ever heard him. Harsher than he’s ever spoken to me. “I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m asking you to be with me. I don’t care if your friends get married twice, divorce, and marry again. I don’t care how shitty your marriage to Edward was. I’m not looking at the forty-five years my parents have been married or the partnership I had with Tremaine. I want a life with you that we make, and who cares what the hell anyone else does or calls it or expects? This could be our Wild card, Sol. We can make it whatever we want it to be.”
I sniffle, all the words I would say locked in my throat with no way out. That thing that withered and died inside me when Edward betrayed our vows, abandoned our family, reneged on promises—it could breathe again with a man like this. With Judah, my trust is regenerating, but I’m not sure if it will ever take the shape of marriage again. Even with him. It took me long enough to truly actualize into the woman I am becoming and am right now. I love Soledad Charles. I don’t want anyone else’s name. And even though Judah says he doesn’t care…
“I love you, Sol.”
“Judah, I—”
“No, don’t. Because it doesn’t matter what you feel if you’re not ready for me.”
“I don’t want to lose you,” I tell him, tears and snot and sadness streaking my face. “But I can’t be ready before I am ready.”
“I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t want anyone else. I just think this thing we’re doing now is confusing everyone, including us.”
I want to tell him he’s wrong and we can keep doing what we’re doing, having just the little that we have, but I’m afraid he’s right. That taking what we can instead of what we both deserve is a disservice to what we can be when the time is right.
“We’re not breaking up?” I curl into a ball on the chaise and swipe at my wet cheeks.
“I think we have to date before we can stop dating,” he says. “Focus on your girls. Focus on yourself, but when you do think about this relationship, don’t compare it to anything else, to anyone else. Draw a picture in your mind of what a future could look like and really believe this could be us. And whenever you’re ready, I’m right here.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
SOLEDAD
Boricua High Council rides again!” Lola sings, and she rifles through a box of albums in the garage of the house where we grew up.
“God help us.” Nayeli rolls her eyes, but a grin splits her face. “First time I’ve been in South Carolina in years.”
“Nay, I’m not sure if you’re so happy because you get to see us,” I tell her, squatting to transfer clothes from a box to a bag for charity, “or if you’re just giddy to be up from under all them kids of yours.”
“Both!” She executes a body roll, tongue out. “Ayyyyeeee.”
“You’re not calling every ten minutes to check on them?” I ask.
“No, they are with their daddy.” She does praise hands. “He can handle his own kids by himself for a few days. I do it all the time.”