Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I arched a brow. “Wait, wha—”
Before I could reply, she kissed me. Her arms wrapped around my neck and she pulled me in, kissing me as if she’d been waiting for that day to come. It took a few moments for me to realize what was going on, but the moment I did, I kissed her with the same intensity, if not more. My hands fell against her lower back, and I pulled her closer to me, holding her as long as I could.
When our mouths parted slightly, she brushed her lips against mine and whispered, “Gabriel?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you, too. The rest-of-forever kind of love.”
“Oh. Well. Good.”
27
Kierra
Present Day
I returned home to find a dining room table filled with flowers. The house felt eerie as I walked inside. Sitting at the head of the table was Henry, who had a glass of dark liquor in his hands. He was wearing the same outfit as the night before, but his white button-down was undone, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.
He leaned back in the chair and raised his head to meet my stare. He huffed a little. “About damn time you came home.”
“I needed space to clear my head.”
“Let me guess, you still want a divorce.”
“Yes. But you’re drunk, and you look like you haven’t slept. We can talk about this—”
“My deal fell through,” he mentioned. “With the team in China.”
I nodded slowly, uncertain of what Henry I was going to get that morning. “Tamera mentioned that.”
“It was a nine-figure deal. I found out yesterday. That’s why I was acting out.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Henry. But that doesn’t excuse—”
“Have some compassion, Kierra. I had a bad day. The worst day. And you expect me to just be okay after that? Listen, I didn’t mean to do what I did last night—”
“Which thing are you speaking about? The sleeping with Ramona on my birthday thing or the hitting me on my birthday thing? Which one didn’t you mean?”
He grimaced. “Both? But more so, the second thing. I didn’t mean to do what I did.”
“You mean hitting me?” I cut in. “You didn’t mean to hit me?”
He cringed at me stating what he’d done. Saying, “I didn’t mean to do what I did,” was a way for him to not use words that might make him feel guilty.
Hit me.
He hit me.
He closed his eyes and took a deep inhale. “I thought you would be more understanding. With your job and all.” When he opened his eyes, he looked so sad. Broken. Like a lost little boy searching to find his way home again. For a moment, I felt guilty. I felt as if I saw the same broken boy who’d told me about the trauma his father had caused him. I saw the hurting soul who needed comfort. I saw the pain that he used anger to cover. I saw his pain in his eyes.
But he hit me.
How was it my responsibility to comfort the one who caused me pain? Why was it my job to fix the broken man who time and time again took a sledgehammer to my soul?
“I can’t do this, Henry. I can’t do this,” I said, gesturing toward the dozens and dozens of flowers. “I can’t keep pretending that this life is normal. That we are normal. I’m not your wife, and you’re not my husband. Truthfully, I think you’ve known that for a long time.”
He lowered his head again before chugging the brown liquor in his glass. He poured himself another from the bottle sitting on the table.
“Where were you last night?” he whispered.
Was he even hearing the words leaving my mouth?
“I just needed space to clear my mind,” I told him, scared of what the next few moments would unlock within him. He was acting strange. Sure, I’d seen him be strange before, but he seemed freakishly quiet and calm as his hands wrapped around his glass.
“Where did you clear your head?”
“I stayed the night at Rosie’s.”
“You’re lying,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“No,” I countered. “I’m not.”
His eyebrows knit together as he poured himself another glass of bourbon. “I tracked your phone,” Henry whispered. The calmness of his voice sent chills down my spine. “It’s just odd to find out that Rosie lives at the same location as Gabriel Sinclair.”
My heart dropped to my stomach. “You track my location?”
He laughed. “That’s enough of a confession to me.”
“Henr—”
“Fuck you, Kierra!” he shouted, throwing his full glass of alcohol across the room, hitting a wall and making the glass shatter into a million pieces. My system went into high alert. My eyes darted around the space. I needed to figure out which direction was the quickest way out. Escape routes. I needed an escape route.
“What is it?” Henry barked, his rage echoing off the bourbon-stained wall. “I fuck Ramona, so you screw the boss? Is that how you deal with your issues? You try to get back at me?”