Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Although I have a feeling those words pained him to say, I help him without piling on more to make him feel worse. As soon as I hand it back, he turns away from me to go inside. “I’m going to shower.” My hand is still in the air like the fool he takes me for. Lowering it, I look once more into the distance of the street lined with buildings on either side, soak in the sounds of the city, and then return inside.
I’m not surprised by the treatment. I have no doubt he would treat his wife like a bother. He’s such an asshole. I bite my tongue as I move to the kitchen to wash my hands.
Staring down at the paper on the counter before him, he doesn’t give me the courtesy of acknowledging my presence. He simply asks, “What are you doing?”
I pause my hands under the stream of water and then pump the soap and start rubbing them together. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m washing my hands.”
Maybe his love language is bitterness because my tone captures his attention. I’m positive he thought he’d get away with that once-over. He didn’t. “You should shower.” I don’t let his assessment bother me. I am a mess and feel gross.
“A shower would feel amazing.” The moment I finish speaking, I realize I just fell into the trap he set. “I know you really want to take one. You go first.” I rinse my hands and search for a towel or paper towels to dry my hands.
“Middle drawer to your left.” He moves around me like I’m a hurdle he has to jump and gets an ice pack from the freezer. After wrapping it in a dish towel, he holds it to his eye.
I should really know that as his wife, but I’m failing miserably at this charade. I pull out a towel and dry my hands before angling to face him while he stands at the end of the island. He says, “I can wait a few more minutes to take a shower. I’ll ice my eye while you wash up. I’m sure you’d like to get out of that dress and into something clean.”
How do I answer this without giving away the truth? I have no clothes, no toiletries, nothing of me in this entire place. I’m such a fool. This is impossible to pull off when all he has to do is look around to see I’m lying about our relationship. “I . . .” My gaze drops to the wood floor.
Lowering the ice pack, he asks, “Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me something, Delaney?”
What could I say that would excuse my nonexistence from this apartment? One absurd plan deserves another off-the-wall idea layered on top of it. At this point, there's nothing to lose but everything. “We’re separated, Warner.” I hold disinterest in my expression, though my heart is ready to pound out of my chest.
“We’re separated?” Disbelief shadows his eyes as he processes the admission.
“Yes. I left yesterday.”
“Yesterday? The same day I got hit by a car?” The inkling of a grin lifts the left side of his face. “That’s a huge fucking coincidence. I mean, one might think that the two were related.”
“One could, but they’d be wrong.” I pull my shoulders down from their defensive positioning near my ears. “I was leaving you.”
Laughter erupts from his chest. “You were leaving me?” Then his grin falls, as does his expression, including the chuckle that dared crinkle the corners of his eyes.
“That attitude is one of the reasons I was leaving. You’re a real arrogant ass, you know that?”
“You must have found it attractive at one point since you said yes.”
I shrug. “Actually, it’s always been a problematic trait of yours.” I think that’s safe to assume. Only luck is carrying me. I need a few minutes to myself to figure this all out. “Listen, you take a shower. You were the one who was hit. I’ll be fine waiting.”
Resorting to his typical brand of intensity, he stares at me with the mastered indifference of a professional. He’s certainly good at locking his emotions away. It’s a skill I’ve never honed, but maybe it’s because I’m not a closed book like he is. I’m rather open and usually kind, but Warner Landers brings out the worst in me.
He comes closer, causing me to nervously lick my lips in preparation for the verbal standoff brewing between us. He stops toe-to-toe, not leaving so much as room to breathe in the remaining space between us, so I hold mine as our eyes latch together. Kneeling, he opens a cabinet, his hand bumping into my leg. He grabs something and then rises to his full height to tower over me again. “I shouldn’t be long, but I need a trash bag to cover my cast.” He puts the ice pack back in place and curves around me.