Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
I let out a breath.
I would probably not get any more sleep tonight. My brain wouldn’t shut the fuck up.
Greer was on my mind, and he was shaking his head at me. I wouldn’t say he was the brother of mine I was closest to, but we had a great relationship. When he talked, I listened. And he was always so interested in what was going on in my life. He was genuine and blunt. He cared a lot and took the time to get invested. He and Francis had come out to visit when Cas was born.
Uncle Greer was never too busy for his nieces and nephews, which spoke volumes, considering I’d lost count of them all.
He’d be incredibly disappointed in me now, though.
Last Christmas, he’d opened up a little about something that’d happened to him recently. He’d met a guy who hadn’t divulged the fact that he was with someone. And Greer had been cheated on in the past. The last thing he wanted was to take part in another man’s affair.
I ran a hand through my hair, then stared at it, at the tape Jake had applied. No wedding band underneath.
Cheater.
I drew a deep breath and slumped my shoulders.
The San Diego skyline judged me too.
I judged me. But maybe more because I couldn’t regret anything. I judged myself for being a selfish dick. A horrible husband. Sandra deserved better.
I remembered our fight over the phone—how I’d been right there. On the verge of breaking up with her. I’d held back because I’d wanted us to be in the same room. I didn’t wanna be the asshole who broke up over the phone, except…now I was the married asshole who did her dirty instead. Jesus Christ.
Jake had told me stories of how it’d been growing up with parents who didn’t fight. He and Haley had sensed the tension in the air, resulting in two young kids who’d tiptoed around their folks. And I couldn’t help but wonder if Sandra sensed something. If her insecurities weren’t so unfounded after all. We picked up energies all the time. We walked into a room and could often feel if it had a bad vibe.
So even though I had shown her I was putting her and Casper first… Even though I was there for every date, bought her flowers, suggested romantic getaways, and texted her in the middle of the day… What if she sensed my heart wasn’t in it? What if she knew I functioned on autopilot most of the time?
I’d really fucking tried to fall for her. I knew I loved her; I hated upsetting her, and she was a good mother. When she cried—like, when she was honestly distraught, not just weeping at a sad movie or when a purse she wanted was sold out—it hurt me too. But we lacked that deep connection I felt with Jake. He and I could be stuck in a crowded room, and I would still feel like we were the only ones there. I was so aware of him. Every move he made. The tone of his voice, the shifts in his posture, his expressions.
Now too. He wasn’t asleep anymore. His light snores had faded, and he’d turned and twisted twice in the past minute. That meant he was awake.
I heard him exhale.
In the reflection of the window, I saw him fold an arm under his head, then promptly remove it again. Yeah, I knew what it was like to be reminded of bruises and cuts. He shouldn’t even be sleeping on his back.
He turned on his side instead, toward me, but it was too dark to see his face.
I looked at him over my shoulder, and our gazes met.
Neither of us said anything. We knew we had reached the “What now?” part of the night, and I guessed he was as ready for it as I was. As in, not at fucking all.
It was poetic in a tragic way. Between us, we had the bed we’d fucked in earlier. But we couldn’t be on the same side of anything for what came next, could we?
Not that it stopped me from stealing the last moments we might have. I flicked on the light by the window and then walked over to him—my sweats stayed on—and he lifted the duvet for me.
A second later, I was in his arms and enveloped in warmth.
He squeezed me to him and pressed his lips to my forehead.
This sucked. This hurt.
I let out a breath and resigned myself to break the silence.
I knew where to begin. What to fess up.
“I saw your therapy journal last year,” I said quietly.
He inched back, and I glanced up at him, not surprised to find a guarded expression on his face.
“I don’t remember what I was doing in your bedroom—I think I went to grab something,” I continued. “And it was right there on your nightstand.” I broke eye contact and sat up instead, needing some distance. Or rather, his arms around me now felt…forced. I could sense he wanted to pull away, so I did it for him. “I was so shocked that I didn’t think. I opened it—” I caught how his jaw tensed. “I’m sorry, Jake. I read the first two entries before I shut the journal—I swear that’s all.”