More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Life is like photography. You need the negatives to develop. —Ziad K. Abdelnour
“How old are you?” “Thirty-four.” He took another step forward until the water almost touched the toes of his worn black boots. “You?” “Twenty-one.”
“My mom was a stargazer. A dreamer.” “Was? Past tense?” “Yes. Now she’s just an alcoholic.”
“Life is living. If you’re not living exactly the way you want to live, then what’s the fucking point?”
Everything was hollow. Everything except for my heart. And having an abundant heart in a hollow world was an affliction I was helpless to overcome.
Thou is royally fucked.
I sighed, watching her prance away as she fiddled with her freshly permed hair. “I don’t like him,” I muttered to Whitney. “Of course you don’t. Prince Charming could walk through that door, and you’d still say, off with his head.”
A smile slipped, and she swished a piece of rogue hair out of her eyes with a jerk of her head. “Okay, well, he’s on the honor roll. He carries her books for her in the hallway at school,” she told me. “Oh, and yesterday he shoved some jock up against the lockers, after the guy made a suggestive comment about her.” My eyes thinned to slits. “So, he’s violent.” “Protective.” “I hate him.”
“Damn. Who pissed you off?” Scotty materialized in the doorway, his shoulder propped against the frame, arms folded. I sent him a sidelong glance, hardly faltering as the bag pendulated in front of me. “Today?” I answered through a hard exhale. “Bob Ross.”
“Speaking of too happy, why are you smiling like a serial killer who just stumbled upon his next victim?”
Why do you care? Why does it matter? Why won’t you evaporate into thin air, float into somebody else’s atmosphere, and let me finally breathe without choking on the idea of you?
“I would have taken you back to my apartment,” I said darkly, teeth gritted, my fist still tangled in her hair. “And we wouldn’t have made it to the bedroom before I knew what your pussy tasted like.”
My curiosity got the better of me, and I asked timidly, “How long?” Hoisting a twelve-pack of Coke off a bottom shelf, he slid it onto the bottom of the cart and straightened, looking right at me. “How long have I been caught up on you and unable to even look at another woman?” His tone was void of emotion, but his words were passion-doused daggers. “A year and a half.”
“Comet…look at me.” He twisted toward me as the scanner pinged with items sliding across the surface. When my eyes finally lifted and glued to his, he leaned forward and said with all the conviction in the world, “I wanted it. I wanted it more than I wanted air.” Waiting, I stared up at him, expectation blooming in the pit of my stomach. Ping, ping, ping. “But it can never happen again.” The balloon popped. I deflated before him and looked away, my jaw set and my soul withering. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I know.”
“I’m certain it’s going to hurt like hell when this is over.”
“Oh, boy.” She sighed and collapsed backward in the booth. “I saw your tears during my graduation ceremony. I had a feeling this was coming.” “Those weren’t tears. The wind was in my eyes.” “We were inside.” “There was wind.”
Pursing her lips to the side, she let a smile break free. “I’m still your little girl, Dad.” Fuck. The wind was back.
Off her giggles, the conversation wheeled back to a more palatable place, and we resumed our playful banter and french fry fight. Still, the guilt lingered. Guilt in the form of betrayal; something I’d just given my daughter a lecture on. Guilt in the form of weakness. Guilt in the form of her best friend. My Wonderwall.
She was responsive, so eager for me to take control and have my way with her. She’d let me do anything. Even break her heart.
We ate our cereal in silence, stealing glances, dodging some, both of us lost in our own heads. Before I could think of something to say, the song morphed. Fucking Wonderwall
“Every moment with you fucking hurts.” His voice was pure grit, words cracking and breaking. “Every moment without you…hurts so much more.”
“I love you,” I whispered.
“I was lost when you found me, and I’ll be lost when you leave me.”
“Yes.” Reed stopped pacing, coming to a dead stop a few feet away. He stared at me, jaw clenched tight, hands balled even tighter. “Yes, Halley, I’m in love with you. I think I proved that when I threw myself under the bus and completely destroyed my relationship with my daughter to protect you. To keep her from hating you,” he gritted out. “So, yes…I love you. I love you fiercely, wholly, selfishly and unselfishly, more than I ever fucking should. I love everything about you, from your smile, to your perfect heart, to the way your hair always slips from your ponytail when you’re running or
...more
hesitation. “Go to Charleston,” he pleaded. “Swim in the ocean, take pictures, walk down the aisle in a white gown, and raise beautiful children who see you as the center of their universe. I want that for you. I need that for you.” Pain carved its way into his words as he tried in vain to keep the shudder out of his voice. “If you don’t go, I will…but I think you should. It’s what’s right. And I know you see that, too, even though it’s really fucking hard.”
“As much as a girl can love the next best thing.”
Fight. Fight for you, for your future. Not with fists and kicks, but with what you’ve always fought best with: love. The night I met you, you sat down in a cold lake and said, “You’re welcome.” I said I didn’t thank you for anything and you replied with, “You might one day.” You were right. Thank you, Halley Foster. You’ve made me a better man. Reed
“You know what?” Reed spun back around and stalked toward me, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “Fuck it.”
“There’s a little seaside grille in Folly Beach called Rita’s. Meet me at seven.”
This was a terrible idea. Truly idiotic.
“I know. I’ve just always wanted to do this.” “Do what?” He reached out and clasped my hand, linking our fingers together. “Hold your hand in public.”
Fiddling with the fragile blooms, I forced back tears. “Flowers. Hand-holding. A long walk on the beach.” I bit down on my lip. “This feels like a date, Reed.” He took my hand again and ushered me forward. “It’s just a day.” Our arms swung with levity, the dark clouds fading into clearer skies. “A really good day.”
Still smiling, he took a seat along the shoreline, drawing his knees up as his fingers sifted through damp sand. “I’m having a strange sense of déjà vu.” I was having a heart attack.
