Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
With Carmen Dallas. Model extraordinaire.
And I’m just Liv. The model who never was.
I stop in front of the ceiling-high mirror and drop my towel. I look down at my body—my slightly swollen breasts, my tender, enlarged nipples, and my barely bloated stomach.
I turn to the side and look in the mirror. My chest heaves as I brush my fingertips over my lower stomach. I know it’s bloat. I’m not seeing things that aren’t there, but my stomach isn’t flat.
Gas, water, whatever.
I curve my hand below it, holding it, and rest my other just over my belly button.
Beneath it all is a baby.
In this second, I’m not Liv, the model who never was.
I’m Liv, the mom who will be. And that’s more important.
I don’t care if this baby defines me. I don’t care if he or she becomes the reason I am who I am. I just care that they matter to me.
And they matter enough to know that the way I feel isn’t healthy. To know that the way I feel will eventually destroy them, too.
With one more look in the mirror, I turn to my suitcase and get dressed. I tie my wet hair on top of my head and take the elevator downstairs.
Tyler is shooting at the beach directly across from us, and when I look out of the lobby, I can see the people everywhere. They’re never quiet, the shoots. They’re always busy and bustling with life.
I don’t know why I’m coming down here. Perhaps it’s because the torture of watching him watch another woman will be less than the torture of imagining him watching another woman.
I cross the street and turn onto the beach path. The sand slips between my toes, spilling over my flip-flops, and I look around for Tyler.
My eyes find his dark head leaning next to an even darker one. My gaze drops—her hand on his bicep, his hand on her back…
I turn before I look any more.
Innocent.
I know that.
But my addiction doesn’t.
This is why we’re not good. This is why I should have fought it from day one. Why I should have punched him in the dick instead of fucking it.
He’s my kryptonite and my trigger.
He’s my good and my bad.
But this can’t be about him anymore. It can’t even be about me. It has to be about our baby. And having parents who are so hopelessly fucked up isn’t going to be good for them.
It won’t be good for us.
I slam the hotel room door behind me and call the hotel we’re staying in for Day’s bachelorette party. By some crazy stroke of luck, they have a room spare. Not the one we’re staying in, but a room is a room.
I shove all my things into my case and set it on the bed.
Is running worth it? But am I running if it’s right? If being apart from him, no matter how it hurts, for a short time is right for us?
Not even for us. For me.
Because me? I’m the one with the addiction that could destroy us. We both have to face up to them, but I’m the one of the edge of breaking.
His is physical. Mine is emotional.
I’m not a fucking princess and he’s not a Disney prince. We can’t overcome the villain by one of us suddenly performing a miracle. He can’t save me, and I won’t let him.
I am my own to save because I am weak.
I am my own to save because I am strong.
Because, in weakness, there is strength.
I believe that, to make this work, to let my love truly overcome my addiction, I have to walk away. I have to be strong no matter how it will kill me.
I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here, staring at my bag on the bed. It feels like an eternity of seconds passing by needlessly.
But the hotel room door opens and time stands still. It hovers in the air around me in its own sense of purgatory.
“Liv? Where are you?”
“In here,” I say, my voice cracking.
“One of the guys said a blonde girl came onto the beach earlier but left. Was that you?”
I can almost feel his footsteps as he walks into the room. I nod. “Yep.”
“Why is your bag packed?”
I grip the handles. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “But I can’t do this. I can’t pretend I’m okay with what you do. I can’t fake the smiles or act like it doesn’t matter when it does.”
“What—Liv?”
I turn, slowly lifting my gaze to his. Tears fill my eyes and I can feel my heart crumbling despite how right I know this is. In a few steps, I cross the room to him and rest my hand against his cheek.
His stubble is rough and familiar against my skin, and his dark eyes are filled with the inevitability of this moment. He knows. I know.