Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 130102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Doesn’t matter, Chelle, she reminded herself for the hundredth time.
“My girls are just obsessed with boys right now. Ignore whatever they say.”
“Not a boy.”
No, he wasn’t. He was... not a boy. Far, far, far from a boy.
She mentally rolled her eyes at herself.
“They said you should be out datin’ again. Takin’ that means you don’t got a man.”
She let that last sentence swirl around her brain and wondered if she should blow it off or answer. She hated admitting she didn’t have a husband because she was a widow.
She didn’t need a man to be strong. She didn’t need a man to be her backbone. She didn’t need a man to support her financially. She might not be rich, but they were doing just fine. She’d raised her daughters on her own for all these years. Her daughters were doing well, even getting a college education. She was proud of them.
But still...
For some reason, she hated telling people her husband was dead.
Not because it hurt—even years later, it still did—but because it made her feel vulnerable. It was ridiculous, she knew, but she still couldn’t shake that feeling.
She decided to ignore the question that wasn’t quite a question and picked up her roller. If she concentrated on painting, then she wouldn’t think about the man behind her who discovered she was single.
And wonder why it would matter to him.
Because it shouldn’t.
The only thing that should matter was getting the room finished.
She released the breath she was holding as soon as she heard the sound of paint being rolled onto the wall across the room.
She was grateful he didn’t keep pushing.
Because if he kept pushing, she’d push back. And she’d bet he’d like it about as much as she did.
After throwing out the plastic paint tray liners and the dirty roller covers in the garage, Chelle walked through the laundry room and into the kitchen to find Shawn leaning back against the counter with his legs crossed at the ankles and his arms crossed over his chest.
Probably waiting to be paid.
If he wasn’t watching her, she might have stopped inside the doorway and let herself simply absorb what a beautiful man he was.
He might be a lot younger than her but he seemed to be an old soul.
She liked that about him.
Actually, there wasn’t much about him she didn’t like. She had enjoyed spending time with him, even if they hadn’t had any deep conversations. Just his presence in the same room made her feel...
Whole.
Which was really strange and also a bit disturbing that a man she just met made her feel that way. Because in truth, she hadn’t felt completely whole in a long time.
When the Army representatives knocked on her door to “regretfully” inform her that Brendan had been killed, she thought she was going to die herself. Thought her heart had been so irrevocably broken it had stopped beating and would never start again.
For longer than she wanted to admit, she actually wished it.
She didn’t think she could live without him. Her soulmate had been ripped from her and she didn’t think she’d ever recover.
But the reality was, she had two other souls to take care of. Pieces of Brendan. It was her responsibility to make sure they survived the loss of their father. She needed to not only remain strong for them, but appear resilient, even if she was destroyed on the inside.
It was the most difficult thing she ever did in her life. She had taken a breath, patched up any cracks showing on the outside, and hoped it would be enough.
Her girls had been so young at the time they had a difficult time understanding that they’d never see their daddy again. While they were used to their father being gone a lot—every time he was deployed—he always came home on leave.
Always.
And then...
Never again.
He would never walk into their home again dressed in fatigues, put his rucksack down and hug them, tell them how much he loved and had missed them.
His voice had been silenced. His direct influence on his daughters gone. They’d never again feel his touch.
The next time they’d be near him would be when his remains laid in a flag-covered casket. She tried to remain on her feet while holding tightly to her little girls’ hands.
The three of them jumped and Chelle’s heart had beaten wildly with each explosive shot in the three-volley salute done by the Honor Guard.
After the ceremony, the tearful hugs and words of condolences from both people she knew and strangers alike, Rick had picked up both crying girls and took them away, leaving Chelle to say her final goodbye to her husband alone.
In truth, she wanted to climb into the hole, lay on the casket and let them cover her with dirt.
She hadn’t had enough time with him.