Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
I understood why he was pissed. Dylan and Angela had had similar reactions when I’d confessed the depths of Jeff’s abuse. On some levels, it was sweet that Truett was so protective. But I’d just had amazing sex with a gorgeous man who touched me with love and care, who had promised to work on himself so we could then work on a future together the way it was always supposed to be. The last thing I wanted was to be discussing Jeff fucking Weaver and his dumpster fire of issues.
Standing up, I slowly made my way over to Truett. I pressed up onto my toes for an all-too-brief kiss. “I love you. I’m sorry that beautiful moment we shared ended with this conversation, but it’s done. He can’t hurt me anymore.” I patted him on the chest and pleaded with my eyes for him to let this go. “We have a lot to do today, so I’m going to go take a shower. We can grab some lunch and then head to the restaurant. Okay?”
He stood there, stone-faced as his jaw ticked at the hinges, obviously still so pissed it was hard to breathe the same air. But he didn’t delay in replying with, “I love you too. More than you will ever know.”
I grinned. “You shower already?”
He shook his head.
Walking my fingers up his still bare chest, I teased, “Well, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to water conservation recently. Maybe you should come join me. You know. For the environment.”
A ghost of a smile flitted over his mouth. “You go ahead. I need a few minutes.”
Disappointed, I pressed one last kiss to his lips and then left him standing in my living room.
When I came back downstairs twenty minutes later, he was gone.
And so was my car.
Truett
I loved that Gwen had such a logical and composed attitude about the way that asshole had treated her. She had her son to focus on. It was obvious he had become her beacon of light in the darkness.
I, however, wasn’t so forgiving. Abuse was abuse, and it did not sit well with me that this piece of shit had gotten off scot-free. He was out there, living his life, while she was saddled with the memories of throwing up after sex.
I would never win husband of the year.
I’d failed her on every front.
But not that one.
Never that one.
A quick Google search of his name brought up a bio for a law firm only five minutes away. The prick still had a picture of her and Nate on his “about me” page.
I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing, so when I saw her keys on the kitchen counter, I took it as a sign.
Fury, molten hot and unrestrained, raced through my veins as I flung the door open and stalked into the lobby. A sign that read Weaver, Lowry, and Dixon hung on the wall above the front desk. The older woman sitting behind it looked up with a smile on her face that fell the moment she caught sight of me.
“Jeff Weaver,” I spat, the name burning as it tore from my throat.
Her eyes widened as she glanced down the hall and then back to me. “He’s, uh, in a meeting. Can I take a message?”
The only message he would be getting from me would be delivered in person.
Veering right, I marched down the hall in the direction she had inadvertently indicated.
“Sir! You can’t go back there! Sir!” Her frantic voice echoed behind me, but I paid her no mind.
Conveniently, the first door on the right had a gold plate engraved with his name. With the door cracked open, I could hear voices coming from inside. I gave exactly zero fucks if I was interrupting something. I shoved the door open and stalked inside—a predator on the prowl.
He was the only one in the room, sitting reclined in a leather office chair, his feet propped up on a large ornate wooden desk. Behind him was a wall of framed diplomas that probably made him feel superior, feeding his apparent case of little man syndrome. I clocked the wall of windows to my right, and to the left of his desk were bookshelves, filled to the brim. They rattled when I slammed the door behind me and locked it in one swift motion.
He sat up, his feet finding the floor as he snapped, “Who the fuck are you?”
“Excuse me?” A voice came through the speaker of the phone positioned on the corner of the desk. I snatched it up, ripping out the wiring as I launched it across the room.
“Hey!” he shouted with all the confidence a five-foot-five man wearing penny loafers could possess. “Have you lost your damn mind?”
“Yep,” I clipped, rounding the desk. I fisted the front of his yuppy-ass button-down shirt with one hand and dragged him to his feet. Bending, I brought my face just inches from his and growled, “You fucking piece of shit!”