Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“Do you talk to your mom and brothers? Do you have a relationship with them?”
My throat closes painfully, and I shake my head. She looks like she wants to reach out to me, to touch me in comfort. It’s a knee-jerk reaction to want to pull back, but at the same time, blood, adrenaline, and desire go careening through my veins.
I want to have her touch me. I want her to pull me close. To be the first one to dare to do it because I don’t think I’m brave enough to make the first move.
“You haven’t talked to them since the day you left?”
“Not in any meaningful way.” It makes me sound like a supreme asshole to say that out loud, but Ephemeral sees right through that.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how hard that is. Did you not…that therapist you were seeing—did you talk about any of that with her?”
Another shake of my head. It was easy to discuss my professional life, the shit that was bothering me, the ghosts that lingered, my future, and all the shit related to me, but my family? I don’t know why I couldn’t go there.
“I think maybe you should try again. Misunderstandings, even the trivial ones, can do real, lasting damage. No one is an island. No one can go through life alone. You love your family so much, and it’s such a tragedy that you haven’t truly spoken to them for years.”
“A tragedy of my own making.”
The wind kicks up, whipping her hair wildly around her face. It carries her scent, mixed with mine, straight to me. It makes me feel strangely lightheaded. My breath ratchets up a notch, so different from my normal controlled state.
“That’s not entirely true, but I bet they miss you. A lot. You probably seem untouchable now. Unreachable. Maybe they think you don’t want to see them or that if they tried, they won’t be able to reach you anyway.”
“Undoubtedly,” I murmur.
“I think you should call them.”
“I’ve never really cared what other people think.” It’s an asshole thing to say, and I’m only snappy because things are real and close, and that means painful. It means vulnerable, exposed, and raw.
She snorts. Snorts. She’s having none of it. “Call,” she whispers. “You’ve heard the term before it’s too late all your life, but I’ve lived it. It might be hard and awkward, but you’re a tenacious man. Anything you want, you’ve made into a reality. So do it for this. Money is the easy part, but—”
“There are some things you can’t buy,” I finish for her as the water crashes a little bit harder against the rocky cliffs, buffeting and softening my words by drowning them out.
She finally does it. Her hands move, and they grasp my forearms. I’m still wearing the professional clothing I had on earlier. I slipped on the hoodie before I came out here because it was cold, and it happened to be in the backseat of the car.
“Yeah,” she breathes, looking up at me with an expression I can’t decode. “But that’s not what I was going to say.”
She’s past my defenses, and now she’s touching me. I don’t know what the expectations are with this. With the way she’s looking up at me, her eyes heavy-lidded, her pupils blown, and her lips parted in expectation, she’s begging to be kissed.
And then what?
She has her life. I have mine. Neither of us is looking for that meet-in-the-middle moment. If she did want a significant anything, I know I’d be the last person in the world who would be a suitable candidate.
Right now, I can’t listen to my brain. I’m hearing the wind and the water and my heart slamming in my ribs so much more violently. I feel the breeze buffeting me, her hands burning through my shirt, and a wild storm of butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
Yes. Me. Butterflies.
I need to pull away now before either of us gets hurt, but instead, I find myself taking her chin in my hand and leaning in. She tilts her face up, inviting my thumb to stroke along her soft, velvet skin. I run it along her lower lip but jerk away when she shivers in obvious pleasure. Her eyes glaze over, burning bright with a question. This is the exact moment where I pull away, or at least when I should pull away, but I don’t. I bring my thumb to my own lips and paint them with the feel of her.
It's weird, and I know that, but her eyes widen, and not in a way that says she’s turned off. She’s so much shorter, but she’s the one who grabs the back of my neck and locks eyes with me. She’s the one who exchanges a thousand unspoken words with just that single look.