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How long could a person hold on to the end of their rope before their grip slipped?
Old Memphis was dead. I’d killed that version of myself. I’d stabbed her to death with the shards of a broken heart.
Maybe I’d lost my shine, but I was a better person without it.
Maybe motherhood wasn’t always being the person your child leaned on, but finding the person they needed when you weren’t enough.
Right now, it’s more important for me to count on myself than anyone else.
“You’re not alone. Not anymore.”
Because that little boy was staring at his mother like she’d hung the moon and stars.
She smiled wider, the biggest victory in my day.
She didn’t even realize her beauty, did she? Memphis was a sweet temptation and a sinful craving.
Then I spent the rest of the night reading—or staring at the same page for hours because my concentration was shit,
Knox was a good man. He was as reliable as the sunrise. As breathtaking as the Montana sunsets. He was the type of person I wanted Drake to become.
Not for me. When you lived with sharks, you marked the days when a life raft came floating your way.
“Then here’s another truth. I’m going to take them. I’m going to take all of your bests. Every damn one until you can’t keep track of the top five anymore because there are so many bests that you’ll need a hundred to capture them all.”
“Touch her again and they’ll never find your body.”
“Promise?” “I swear it.”
Actually, he was ours.
