Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
I only stared at the telephone number, not opening the messages. Tommy and Nico had kept me up to date on what was happening in Texas. They’d had some trouble today when an entertainment news truck had the audacity to pull directly up to the sanctuary.
Any available hotels and Airbnbs within an hour of the ranch were full. Mace’s family’s saloon and liquor store were popping. The diner was now open twenty-four hours a day. But my guy had opted to stay away until the buzz died down.
I should text Mace. The guilt was real.
He needed me right now, but did he really?
What had I ever done for Mace except push my ego onto him?
The man deserved so much more than what I gave.
Who was I to have forced my life on such a kind, decent man?
My eyes closed. An exhale ran long and slow. On instinct more than any other reason, I let go of my doubt and opened the messages icon.
I didn’t read his messages for fear one of those texts told me to get lost.
I quickly used my thumbs to ask for time to get back to Mace. I didn’t know how he’d take the words, but it was far better than my current problems dumping on his shoulders. I’d given my oath that I’d care for him and I failed. I tossed the phone on the edge of the sofa beside me and went for my closet. I needed something with an elastic waistband, ready for my expanding belly.
Terminated.
At least I now knew what that felt like.
Chapter 31
Slade
Saturday Afternoon
“What?” I asked, no barked into my cell phone, angry for so many reasons. This time was due to the way I fell asleep last night, so drunk that I must not have set the do not disturb option.
“Boss?” Nico asked in a combination of a deep gravelly tone mixed with uncertainty.
Why the fuck was he concerned about anything on my end?
“Just tell me what you fucking want. Dammit,” I growled, a piercing headache blinded my vision, and I rolled for the glass of water on my nightstand. Jeez.
I cracked my eyes open again. Why was it so damn bright inside my bedroom?
Did the curtains just stay open all the time?
The years I was out of the house before sunup and home after sundown, played in my head, but I couldn’t seem to put the two thoughts together. I lifted the glass of water, taking a long gulp. Motherfucker, I spewed out the watered-down vodka, coughing and gagging at a taste I never wanted to experience again.
Shit. The phone dropped as I rose, still in the loungewear I’d put on last night. Sleep meant no clothes. What the hell was happening to me? I knocked my way around and went for my en suite bathroom. The sink was my goal. Once there, I decided I needed water all over my body, not just my mouth and turned for the shower.
With a flip of the faucet, water cascaded from multiple jets. I discarded my clothes where I stood, then stepped directly under the temperature-controlled spray. Fuck. My normal hot water was way too hot and the pressure too forceful. Luckily, I bent and threw up.
My excessive alcohol consumption over the last few days had finally brought me to my knees. I couldn’t even chastise myself properly with the way my head pounded.
It took everything I had to rise and allow the water to clean my mouth and finish the shower. Fuck, I felt bad. When had I turned into such a lightweight.
I managed to leave the shower, brush my teeth without hurling, and wrap the damp terrycloth around my waist. As soon as possible, all this hair was coming off. I never wanted to wear another beard again. But that had to wait. Right then I needed carbonation and maybe some sort of fruit juice. And a lobotomy.
I got through both of those drinks before glancing at my digital alarm clock. It was four-thirty. A sharp glance at the window reinforced it was actually the afternoon, not the middle of the night. Even then, it was such a difficult concept to believe I’d slept so long that I searched for my phone in the disrupted blankets on my bed to prove the time wrong.
Okay, based on my phone, it was also four-thirty in the afternoon. My alarm clock didn’t lie. My ass hit the mattress, my head still hurt, preventing my ability to consider anything I’d done, which was beautiful.
Mace.
My Mace.
I slid my fingertip down the background image staring at me. Tears built quickly, which was interesting with as dehydrated as I was. The love of my life. The only person to ever love me with an unconditional grace.
I lowered my hand to my lap as the decisions I’d made last night came to the forefront.