Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 31414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
She looked at him in a daze. "I...I don't understand—"
“I’ll be the one to move out.”
Tenderhearted as she was, his wife started shaking her head, but Guy knew there was no other way but this.
“The ranch is yours.” The words made Guy feel like he was signing his own death warrant. “Everything here is yours. All of it. I won’t take any of it away from you.”
“G-Guy—”
“I love you,” he said rawly, the words scraping his throat.
Her lips started to tremble, and for a moment, just one damn moment, her mouth parted as if she wanted to say something, as if the words were right there waiting to spill out—
But then she pressed them together firmly and looked away, and that almost-response hurt worse than silence ever could.
"Can you...can you at least tell me that you believe I love you?" And this time, it was Guy's own voice that cracked. "Because I do, sweetheart. I love you."
But all she did was look at him, her hands clutching a bag of seeds like a lifeline.
“I love you.”
This was the only thing left for him to do. Repeat the words one last time—
"Always."
Before finally turning his back on her...because he could see that looking at him for one second longer would break her completely, and he’d already done enough damage.
THE WEEK THAT FOLLOWED was a blur of work and more work. The only reprieve he allowed himself from it was when he had apologized to Krista and Jack. Separately at first, then together the second time. It was only fitting, considering how it was Guy's own pride that had dragged them unwittingly into his plans for vengeance.
He had been hoping exhaustion would permanently numb him to losing everyone and everything that mattered to him, but Guy soon realized even this, too, had its limits. He could work himself to death if he wished, but there was just no way to completely work the pain out of his system.
As days passed by, even his friends took notice of how he had lost weight, but he couldn't seem to derive any comfort from their concern and offers of sympathy and comfort. By the second week, desperation had gotten the better of him. All Guy wanted was to hear his wife's voice...only to find out that she had blocked his number. Tagged all of his email addresses as spam. And deleted all of her socials as if even sharing Internet space with Guy was an unbearable torment.
Poppy was his only source of information, and while he believed her when she told him that she and Valerian would keep praying for Jillian and him, her words also remained the same, the regret in her eyes only deepening every time he asked her about his wife.
I'm sorry, Guy. I wish I have something different to tell you, but I don't. It's always the same. She says she doesn't hate you, and I believe her. She says she wishes you the best, and I believe that, too. But I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. But that's all she has to say.
By the time a month had passed, Guy was this close to driving himself off a cliff, literally. His hands had developed a permanent tremor, his eyes were sunken and bloodshot from sleepless nights, and his assistant had started leaving protein shakes on his desk because she’d noticed he’d forgotten how to eat. Rock bottom had left crater marks, and he couldn’t even make himself care that everyone in his life was watching him self-destruct.
All he knew was that he just wanted to stop hurting and missing her, wanted to stop waking up every morning with the crushing realization that she wasn’t there, that she would never be there again because of what he’d done.
The thought of facing another day in this hollow existence felt impossible, and so when he found himself behind the wheel at 2 AM, staring down at the winding canyon road while seriously considering just pressing the accelerator and ending this unbearable ache once and for all—
Meow.
The sound was so damn soft and pitiful, that at first Guy thought he had finally lost his mind. But then it came again, a tiny, desperate cry that seemed to be coming from somewhere near his front tire—
Found you.
It was the tiniest little thing, so damn small it easily fit in his palm, and its eyes sealed shut by days’ worth of dirt and debris. It mewled as it wriggled, its gray and white fur matted with motor oil and God knew what else. The little creature was barely alive, its breathing shallow and labored, but the moment Guy’s fingers touched its fragile body—
Thank you.
The kitten turned toward his warmth, and Guy sucked in a sharp breath as the tiny creature communicated its trust with just a tiny little rub of its head. Instinct kicked in at that moment, with Guy cradling the kitten against his chest as he drove to the nearest emergency vet clinic.