Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Under any other circumstance, I’d love it here. There’s even a basement theater and a heated pool overlooking a white dock so spotless it’s unnatural.
It better. I think August must own like three large boats now. Plural.
So aesthetically, no, this isn’t anything like Brady’s place. It’s bigger and more natural. It’s missing his balmy smile and Queenie’s happy licks and a big, warm bed to crawl in with a man who gladly helps me shed my sanity.
Ugh, poor Queenie.
I miss her terribly.
And double ugh, this house. Brady would capture some amazing videos here for his Insta.
I can just see him outside, talking to his fans with Queenie’s tail slapping his legs, every time I glance out the window.
You want to know the shittiest thing?
I never gave either of them a proper goodbye.
The lump in my throat swells until it crowds my eyeballs.
“Okay, missy,” Elle says, taking my arm and dragging me up. “That’s enough glooming for one day. We’re going out on the water, and you’re gonna smile and drink wine. Then you’re going to tell me what’s going on in that pretty head.”
I snort. “Like you don’t know.”
“Eh, I know you and Playboy McFakerson broke up, and it was never real to begin with. And you’re dead set on a fake romance not meaning anything even though there’s a married girl standing right in front of you who started off in the same place.” She smiles so brightly I laugh. I’m so lucky to have her—a friend who can do pity gracefully. “But I know that isn’t the whole story front to back if you’re still this cut up about it.”
“Okay, fine. On the boat,” I promise.
“Great!” Soon, I’m trapped in her inescapable positivity as she grabs a small basket of snacks and wine and sets off for the dock.
The lake boat seems fairly modest for a yacht, nothing like the Seattle monsters that can have their own ten-person crew and helipad.
It’s a different life out here, slower and quieter. I see why they picked Tahoe to get away from Seattle’s constant energy. But Elle looks like she’s settled into her happy new life, and I’m seriously glad for her.
The wind streams her long wispy hair back from her face as we climb aboard, and the boat starts moving a few minutes later.
While Elle pops into the cabin for a chat with the captain, it gives me another chance to check my phone.
Nothing from Brady.
I mean, I wouldn’t text me either. Not after I chucked his heart in the dumpster.
Nothing from Harry, either, and that’s no big comfort.
Plenty of frantic messages from Trish and Dr. Ezzie, though, asking me about my snap decision to back out, suggesting I revisit things and maybe consider bringing Harry’s firm on as a partial stakeholder.
Fuck that entirely.
By walking away, I’m giving up on Pawsome Hearts’ survival and myself.
The clinic is Dr. Ezzie’s legacy. Her dream. It was, and now she’s running the risk of signing over its soul to the devil.
With my breath lodged in my lungs, I scroll through Brady’s socials too. I keep waiting for a big announcement about the end of our “relationship,” but so far there’s nothing.
Maybe he doesn’t know what to say.
I don’t blame him.
But I know guilt, and it stings me like crawling scorpions.
Did I make the right decision? Running away from my dream, my life, from Brady? When I think about it too much, they’ve become indistinguishable in my head.
Pawsome Hearts and Brady Pruitt, tangled up in an inseparable mess I blew to smithereens.
Oh, scorpions, you don’t let up. Your venom makes me feel so shitty, and it’s what I deserve.
It’s not like I had a choice. Not with Harry holding a blackmail gun to my head.
Sticking around would’ve meant disaster for Brady, his family, for my business. Any doctor I could’ve partnered with would’ve ran away for sure the instant they got a whiff of that scandal.
I couldn’t do it, risking a bigger heartbreak for—what, exactly? A not-relationship that was always meant to end?
And if I told him, he’d have gone for Harry’s throat. He might’ve done something unholy for me, ruining the rest of his life. The polar opposite of what this whole dumb fake engagement was supposed to accomplish.
God.
I’m wallowing in self-pity, but I try to stop when I see Elle coming my way, still wearing that permanent cheery smile.
“Isn’t it refreshing out here? I love the fresh air.”
“Yep. Worry-free,” I lie.
We’re slowly gliding toward the center of the glassy lake as she climbs into the chair next to me. “We’re on the boat now, so what’s the story? Do I have to remind you that you would’ve clawed my face off if I’d been this tight lipped during my drama?”
Touché.
I tilt my head back, staring at the baby blue sky as my stomach knots.