Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 86398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I just wanted someone to tell me it was going to be okay.
For someone to see me.
Actually, see me.
Not as the reason the love of his life was gone, but as my own person. God, it would feel so good to have that. Maybe that was why I liked Tank, but I would be lying to myself loving a man like Tank, wouldn’t I?
He was more friend than lover.
Savior.
Safe.
I deserved safe, damn it! So why was I attracted to broken and deranged?
And why was I on the verge of tears—all because I just needed to be seen, to maybe have a hug, or a pat on the back, to be told that eventually, it would be okay, maybe not now, no now it was painful, but one day it wouldn’t be.
I swiped the tear on my cheek and grabbed my bag, then slowly got out of a car that cost more than the average house in Chicago.
I went from the garage to the kitchen and decided to make some food. Thankful that nobody was in there to watch me.
I lived there, but I still felt weird eating their food, like the orphan caught stuffing their faces in the pantry for fear they wouldn’t get fed again. I couldn’t help it; when you have a past like mine, you learn to look over your shoulder in dread for the next time you take a misstep, and it seems that the only thing I was good at.
Was offending people.
Ash included.
Heart heavy, I looked around the corner again and quickly opened the fridge door, my chest tight, wondering how long I had before someone barged into the kitchen and judged me for taking some lunch meat and cheese.
I knew it was stupid.
In my gut, I knew if I just said something to Chase, he’d probably build me a kitchen, he was so extravagant, but I wanted to still be treated like everyone else.
Like Ash.
Which left me in the position of feeling like a thief in need of an after school snack.
I grabbed the mayo, some sliced cheese, and lunch meat, then went over to the bread box and tugged out some sourdough.
I had my sandwich done in under a minute, crumbs cleaned from the counter, all traces of what I’d done gone, just as Phoenix rounded the corner.
Anyone but the scary one.
I had trouble looking him in the eyes most days. His were piercing, filled with secrets that I was convinced he’d sell to the highest bidder if he didn’t have a loving wife and son.
“You see Chase?” He leaned against the door frame, his massive build taking up over half of it as he ran a hand over his closely buzzed dark hair. Tattoos peeked out from his blue suit jacket. He never wore a tie, and more often than not, weirdly matched Andrei, the Sinacore boss, as if they’d decided to use the same personal shopper when everyone knew they’d rather be shot than be seen shopping.
The sandwich was dry in my throat as I swallowed, then croaked out. “N-no, I just got back, though. Um, Ash is probably sparring, though. Downstairs.”
With shaking hands, I hid the sandwich behind my back like a thief out of total habit, hating that I was afraid for the other shoe to drop.
Phoenix’s eyes softened as he slowly made his way past the door and toward the breakfast bar. “I used to hate color.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Why was he still here?
“Eating color,” he clarified, jerking his head at the hidden sandwich. “Didn’t think I deserved anything that tasted good. I was bad, you know. The worst of all the bosses. Sometimes I still think about it, about how I punished myself because I didn’t deserve better, because I was so used to the darkness I forgot the light even existed.”
Tears welled in my eyes. “I’m not punishing myself if that’s what you think.”
“No,” he whispered. “I don’t think you’re punishing yourself. I do, however, think you’re afraid to hope, and sometimes I think that’s worse than self-punishment because at least one you can control, the other…” His words trailed off as his face took on an inscrutable expression.
“I’m okay,” I found myself saying. “Chase and Luc are great.”
“Of course they are.” His smile was sad. “I wasn’t talking about Chase and Luc, though…” He took another tentative step toward me. “It’s okay to sit, Annie. It’s okay to sit and to grab a plate. Nobody’s going to take it away from you.” He reached out and brushed the side of my face; a crumb came back on his fingertip then fell to the floor.
Embarrassment washed over me as I looked away.
“Ash’s favorite fruit snacks are on the bottom shelf hidden behind the maple syrup.” He pointed out. “Do me a favor and eat every last one. Little shit deserves it. And next time you make a fucking sandwich, I want it to be too big to eat. I want you to get so stuffed that you have to throw half of it away—and I want you to know you deserve every last bite.”