Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Perfect.
I park by the barn and kill the engine. The silence is thick. No hammering, no compressors. Just the wind and the faint clatter of something loose on the roofline.
I step out, boots hitting hard ground, and walk to the front door—or what will be the front door once it’s hung again. Zach is beside me, panting with a big doggy smile on his face.
Even though the place is in shambles, he knows we’re home.
Inside, the place smells like drywall dust and pine. Cool air rushes through the exposed studs where insulation hasn’t been installed yet. I walk through what will be the living room, my boots echoing over subflooring. The new windows are in—floor to ceiling. They flood the space with light, even on a cloudy day like this one. In the distance, the Rockies rise like the majestic mountains they are.
“Looking good, huh, boy?” I scratch behind Zach’s ears.
I step into the kitchen and grin. The island frame is done. I picture Tabitha standing there, barefoot, coffee in hand, hair a mess from sleep. I picture her here too easily.
That scares the shit out of me.
The bedrooms are framed in. The primary suite is taking shape—walk-in closet, private bath, corner windows. I run my fingers along the edge of the windowsill. It’s smooth, solid. The crew did good work.
It’s becoming real.
My house was beautiful, but after…
Fuck.
After I killed Ralph Normandy.
I need to just say the words—or think them.
After I killed Ralph Normandy, I needed a change. A total renovation.
Even with the renovation, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to live here. Not after the months of pretending I was okay when I was coming apart.
But now…
Now there’s her.
Tabitha.
I close my eyes and breathe in the sawdust and the faint scent of lilacs from outside. I imagine her laughter echoing down the hallway. Her clothes hanging next to mine. Her toothbrush beside the sink.
I open my eyes. “It could work,” I say out loud.
Zach cocks his head at me.
“It could,” I say, “if I don’t fuck it up.”
I walk back out through the studs, past the place where the fireplace will go. The stones are stacked outside, waiting to be set. Just like me.
I head back to my truck, heart pounding now with something that feels like hope. I’ve got a full tank of gas and nothing left to lose.
“Feel like a road trip?” I say to Zach.
Time to drive to Boulder. Tabitha will get there several hours ahead of me, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.
And this time, I’m not letting her walk away.
Just as I’m about to leave, something shifts.
A soft crack behind me—sharp, almost like a tree branch snapping. I turn my head instinctively and scan the half-finished porch.
And then—
Crack!
Blinding pain explodes across my skull.
The world tilts.
Spins.
A sharp yap. I think it comes from Zach.
A support beam—one of the unfinished braces—lies on the ground beside me, splintered at the edge. I don’t remember falling. Just the jolt. The white-hot sting.
My knees gave out.
I hit the dirt hard, my cheek pressed into the gravel, blood pooling warm beneath me.
The last thing I think about before everything fades is her name.
Tabitha.