Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“You thought wrong.” He pulls in a breath, but before he can speak, I turn away. I stride swiftly toward my car, ignoring the—“Weaver, please!”—shouted at my back as I go.
“By Monday morning,” I call over my shoulder. “Have the Sullivan situation taken care of or you won’t see a penny, Mark.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. It seems my nephew has finally realized that the time for begging and bargaining has passed. We’ve entered the last chance, “actions speak louder than words” phase of our relationship.
I honestly hope he’ll do the right thing and take care of his friends, but that isn’t my primary concern. Taking care of Sully and getting out of this town—preferably with her in a seat beside me on the plane—are all that matters to me now.
As soon as I’m back in my car, out of the cold sea wind, I send her a voice memo, “I got your message. I’ll call to have the charges against your father reversed now. And if you want to give me the names of the rehabs you’ve vetted, I can call to reserve a space for Leon and arrange to have him transported straight from the jail to the facility. I hope the fact that you’re advocating for him means that you’ve been discharged with a clean bill of health. I’m fine. Nothing but some bruises and swelling. I was given a painkiller and sent on my way. Please let me know how you are as soon as possible.” I sigh. “I hope the surgery is going well for your grandfather. I’m going to get a hotel room close to the hospital. When you’re ready for a break, let me know, and I can arrange for a car to take you there, as well. I want you to have a safe place to rest, while still being close to your family.” I hesitate for a beat before adding, “They’re lucky to have you. I hope they know that. Talk soon. I love you.”
I do. I love this woman. I adore her, worship her, would slaughter hordes of barbarians for her.
But can I save her from the grips of a dysfunctional family system?
I don’t know.
I would like to think so, but I’m old enough to know that in the end, we all have to save ourselves. Friends, therapists and lovers can help us out along the way, but we have to do the hard work on our own. We have to want to become a better, more functional person. We have to believe we deserve to see our dreams come true.
I don’t know if Sully’s there yet. I have no doubt she will be someday, but that day might not be any day soon, and I can’t wait for her to come around to seeing how much she matters. It would kill me, to watch her family use and abuse and take her for granted, sucking up her youth and vitality like vampires who feel entitled to her blood because they share the same DNA.
I set my cell in the cupholder, hoping to hear from her, but I’m not really surprised when I emerge from the sheriff’s station ninety minutes later to find no messages on my phone.
I check into a hotel across the highway from the hospital, but come six o’clock, when I order dinner delivered, there’s still no response from Sully. I consider messaging her again, but decide the ball is in her court.
I want her to choose me more than I want to get on the next plane to New York, but I don’t want to bully her into it. I want her here with me because it’s where she wants to be, because she doesn’t want to think about a future without me in it.
I certainly can’t imagine one without her…
Or, I can, I guess, but it isn’t pretty.
That bleak return to my old lonely life—made even lonelier now that I know how incredible it feels to love one amazing woman—plays out behind my closed eyes as I try to sleep.
Call me, Sully. Just call, text, something, I beg, willing her to hear my mental plea across the highway and pick up her phone.
But she doesn’t and eventually, I fall asleep, haunted by dreams of watching Sully guiding a lobster boat out to sea, never to return.
chapter 24
GERTIE
The afternoon passes in a blur.
I’ve just been discharged from the ER with assurances that my internal organs are in one piece and instructions to wear my sling for four to seven days and to avoid heavy lifting for twelve weeks—catastrophic news I barely have time to absorb when Aunt Cathy starts blowing up my phone.
Gramps is out of surgery and doing well, so well they might let a few of us in to see him in the next hour!