Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
I set it on the mantle.
And my chest aches.
Because a month ago, I was sitting on a tarp-covered bedroom floor with blood on my gloves and guns in the hallway. A month ago, I didn’t know if I’d ever see Papa’s face again.
A month ago, my world was a tight circle—work, home, his medications, his meals, his oxygen, my exhaustion.
Now I’m in a house with high ceilings and an in-law suite and a man who looks at me like I’m not just someone he wants in his bed. Like I’m someone he wants in his life. A life he wants to build alongside me not around me.
I hear footsteps behind me—heavy, familiar, purposeful. Miles comes into the living room carrying a box like it weighs nothing. His cut isn’t on today. Just a fitted T-shirt that clings to his shoulders, jeans that sit low on his hips, and that expression he gets when he’s quietly pleased.
He sets the box down and walks straight to me, stopping close enough that I can smell him—soap, leather, and something uniquely Miles that I can’t name.
“Whatcha staring at, baby?” he asks, voice low like he’s trying not to spook me.
I blink and realize I’ve been frozen again. “This,” I admit, gesturing vaguely at everything. “All of it. I don’t, I don’t know what to do with myself.”
He smiles, small and soft. “Unpack.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “I know that part.”
Miles reaches up and tucks a loose piece of hair behind my ear, fingers lingering at my cheek.
“You good?” he asks, but his eyes say he already knows I’m overwhelmed.
I nod anyway. “I’m just in awe.”
He raises a brow. I wave a hand toward the room for my grandfather. Toward the stairs. Toward the sunlight. Toward the silence that doesn’t feel lonely.
“Miles, you bought a whole house,” I state, like maybe saying it out loud will make it make sense. “With an in-law suite. With ramps. With wider doorways. With—”
“With a bathroom you can roll a wheelchair into,” he finishes for me, like it’s no big deal.
My eyes sting. I swallow hard. “You did all this in a month. You didn’t make us try to fit into Raff’s house, even though he was nice to offer. You found this place and had all the upgrades done to allow my life to blend into yours and made it look easy and I know it wasn’t.”
He shrugs like I’m talking about changing oil. “Had help.”
“From who? The easy button from the ad a few years ago doesn’t exist, in fact I think that company even went bankrupt or had to close stores. It’s not that simple to do all of this in a month.”
“Raff knows a contractor. Josie knows everybody in Salemburg practically. Country Boy knows how to persuade a person’s estimated timeline.” His mouth quirks like he’s trying not to laugh.
I stare at him. “That’s not normal,” I whisper.
He steps closer, hands settling on my hips, grounding me. “It should be,” he says simply. “And get used to support. You’re not in this life to fight for mere existing. Did that myself, you opened up a whole different thing inside me. Life is about embracing the easy rides and pressing on in the hard. And for me and you, we do it together.”
The words hit harder than I expect. Because he doesn’t say it like he’s trying to impress me. He says it like he genuinely believes a woman shouldn’t have to fight for every inch of her life.
My throat tightens again.
“Come on,” he murmurs. “I wanna show you something.”
“You’ve shown me everything,” I protest, but I let him take my hand anyway.
Miles leads me through the hallway toward the back of the house, past the guest bathroom, past a small office space with built-in shelves, toward a door I’ve opened already but never really seen.
He pushes it open. The in-law suite.
It’s not just a bedroom. It’s a small apartment tucked into the house like it belongs there—bedroom, sitting area, kitchenette with a mini fridge, a little table, a private bathroom with grab bars and a walk-in shower. He has installed a lifter so we can get Papa moved from his bed to his wheelchair. He even has a partition up with a futon behind it so we can have overnight caregivers some too. He’s literally thought of everything Papa could need.
A sliding glass door leads to a small patio.
Papa’s new recliner sits already positioned near the window, as if Miles knew exactly where he’d want to be. “Set him up to not live every second of every day stuck in bed. I know he’s lost the core strength to stand and the tremors are too much for him to pull himself up anymore, but we have the lift and plenty of people nearby to help get him around more.”