Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
I don’t bother to add the fact that I think Derek blames Jeannie for his mother being in New York as part of the reason I assumed it was Derek. Because that doesn’t matter at this stage.
“Thanks for telling me that, Craig. I’m still so very sorry for your loss. She was a member of your family and I’m sorry you lost her.”
“Thanks, Chloe. And thanks for trying to get him to leave me alone.”
“Has he?” I ask.
“So far.”
“Good,” I whisper with relief.
“You hangin’ in there all right?” he asks.
“I… um… not really. But anyway, you’re a good guy, Craig. A good cop. I would’ve hated someone forcing you to be someone you’re not.”
“Wouldn’t have happened, Chlo. Being dirty just ain’t in me. Gotta go. Take care, okay?”
“Okay. You, too.”
I stare out the window, deep in thought for the rest of the drive to the cemetery.
“You’ll wait here to bring me back home afterwards?” I ask the driver.
“No, Mrs. Steele. I was told your husband would be taking you home.”
“That’s not… I… can you wait? Or come back for me in about an hour?”
“Sorry, ma’am. I have another client to pick up.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“One moment, I’ll open your door for you.”
I watch her step out of the car looking glammed up like an old Hollywood starlet, ready for a red carpet. Red lips. Dark hair falling to her bare shoulders in soft curls. Cat’s eye makeup. Body looking incredible in that gown.
My mother would approve. I assume my mother chose it for her. I know I approve.
Her eyes scan the crowd to find me immediately. And it’s satisfying as fuck.
Only the sight of my wife could soothe me right now. I need her. And more than that, I need her to need me. I need her to want me. To let me do what I want most to do – take care of her every want and need. So I can feel like I’m not powerless, the way I’ve felt the last few days. How the fuck do I get her to need me? To want me? To forget about the way I’ve gone about trying to be everything she wants.
Despite everything, I know I’d do it all again. Again and again. Because she’s it. The one. The one who makes me feel the closest to human, I guess.
A lump of something gross forms in the middle of my throat. I swallow it down and move toward her. Her eyes scan my face and then drop as her front teeth catch her bottom lip.
She’s not looking at me the way she did the last time I saw her. But that expression of hatred is already burnt into me; haunting my thoughts whether I’m asleep or awake.
I hold my arm out and she hesitates, but takes it. I press my lips to her temple and inhale her scent, hearing a shutter clicking in the distance. Fucking vultures.
I lead her to the front row of chairs reserved for the family. Jonah and Grace are already here. They rise. Jonah hugs her. My back straightens and my eyes narrow.
Jonah doesn’t notice, which helps because it shows me he’s not trying to rile me up. Though that’s more Ash’s style, not Joe’s.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Jonah,” she says softly.
I grind my teeth at the soft tone for him, at the nothing I got.
Jonah says something under his breath, releasing her.
She wraps her arms around Grace next and Grace squeezes her tight.
“You look beautiful, Grace,” Chloe says into my sister’s hair, looking like she means to share affection instead of it being simple good manners.
More jealousy flares in my system.
“Not as beautiful as you,” my sister returns. “You understood the assignment. Mom would gush over you right now. Thanks for being here.” Grace kisses Chloe’s cheek.
“Of course,” Chloe says softly.
Irritated that I’m so fucking jealous of my siblings, I gesture to the empty seat beside Grace.
My wife sits. I sit beside her and wrap my arm around the back of her chair, giving in to the urge to run my thumb along her clavicle.
She shivers, then goes stiff at my touch, but says nothing.
Her eyes land on the casket and I watch as sadness seeps into her features.
Sadness. For my mother. Kindness to my brother and sister.
Despite everything, she’s still so good, so caring. Because it’s who she is. I chose well.
In actuality, it feels more like I was chosen. Chosen to make her happy. To give her everything she wants.
If only I had more of her goodness in me. I seem to have it only where a few people are concerned, mostly her. My eyes land on the exorbitantly priced and decorated box containing the empty shell that used to be one of the other few people that I give an actual shit about.